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soaps-mohawk · 5 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 28: Two Is Company, Three Is A Party

Summary: Things don't quite go as expected during your heat, but he can hardly complain.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12.150 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, UNSAFE SEX (please do not do this in real life, practice safe sex), anal sex, anal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), Dom/sub dynamics, threesomes, heat cycles, knotting, kissing, body fluids, cum eating, face sitting, spanking (it's like twice), Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, aftercare, and fluff

A/N: Well, this one got away from me. Not much to say other than heed the warnings and DO NOT read this in public or in underwear you care about...also maybe ditch the underwear all together this time.

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Kyle’s eyes immediately dart back to meet John’s gaze. The word coming from your lips has shocked him, startled him even. You hadn’t said much during your first heat, reduced mostly to unintelligible mumbling when you were aware enough to look around with that hazy gleam in your eyes. Here, but not aware. Now your eyes are clear, staring up at him intently as you cling to his wrist. He can’t help but wonder if you’ll remember this, or if it’ll stay lost in the haze.

John stares back at him, his gaze focused but Kyle knows him well enough to tell he’s just as surprised. He’s still drinking the electrolyte drink, his throat bobbing slowly with every swallow. Kyle knows he’s doing it so he won’t have to answer right away, assessing the situation in the moment of clarity from his rut. He’s still wrapped around you, still locked inside you.

The moment seems to last an hour, the tension between the three of you palpable. The anticipation from Kyle, waiting to see what John will say, the intense desire from you to pull him onto the bed, and John’s uncertainty as to how to proceed. It's not uncommon for betas to join during heats, it's not even that uncommon for betas to be the ones helping during heats. The pups of a beta and omega pairing do exist after all.

Kyle's eyes haven't left John's, even as you mouth at his wrist, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth gently scraping like you're trying to devour him. He can't help the stirring in his pants from the heavy scents in the air, the sounds that had been coming from the room less than 20 minutes ago still ringing loud in his ears.

John pulls the now empty bottle from his lips, taking the time to screw the cap back on. Kyle holds his hand out automatically, ready to take it like he could escape your tight grip to toss it into the garbage with the others. He debates throwing it into the garbage from where he's standing, but the loud nose might startle you, which might make John get defensive.

Instead he lets it drop to the floor. He'll pick it up later.

John continues to stare at him, holding his gaze. There's sweat beading on Kyle's back as he waits for what's coming next, what John's decision will be. He has no reason to be nervous. The fact he's in this room, so close to them speaks volumes of trust John has, the safety he feels letting Kyle around his omega in such a vulnerable position.

“She wants you.” John finally says, leaving it open to Kyle. It's not an order, it's not a hesitant decision left open for you to make, it's not even a direct question. It's an opportunity, an opportunity for Kyle to make the final decision. You've already decided, and in presenting this opportunity, so has John.

Kyle takes half a step back, a whine leaving your lips but you let him go. Your whine cuts through him, desperate and needy and almost sad. It hurts him, only aiding his decision.

He kicks off his shoes, stripping out of his shirt and pants. He debates leaving his boxers on, but he already knows what's going to happen, what the endgame of this will be. It’ll be one less obstacle for all three of you.

Your eyes are intense as you stare at him, lips parted as your eyes zero in on his half-hard cock. Kyle approaches the bed again, the sweet scent of omega in heat thickening in the air. You reach out for him again, but not for his wrist.

John folds your arms against your chest, shifting the two of you backwards to make room. “Not yet,” he murmurs in your ear. “Let him get settled in.”

Kyle stares down at where the two of you are still connected, your pussy gaping wide around John’s knot. He swallows thickly, his cock twitching to life. He’s careful as he climbs on the bed, not wanting to cause you to shift on John's knot. He lays down face to face with you, a content smile tugging at your lips. The haze is returning, your eyes getting glassy as you tug Kyle closer.

He's not expecting it as you kiss him, wet and sloppy as your tongue traces his lips. Kyle shifts himself closer, his hand settling on your hip as he kisses you back, your mouth wet and hot as his tongue slips inside, dragging against yours.

His hand slowly trails down your hip, fingers gliding across your still warm skin. You moan against his lips as his fingers follow the dip of your hip down closer to your mound. He can feel where John's knot begins, bulging in your pelvis right above your slit. Kyle lets a finger brush your clit and he can feel the way you spasm around John’s knot. John lets out a groan as you tighten around him.

You pull away from his lips with a whine, pressing your face into his neck. Kyle leans up on his elbow, giving you more skin to explore as his fingers trail lower, brushing around your puffy lips to the base of John's cock, the small bit that still sticks out of you. He runs his fingers over the red, almost pulsing skin. John lets out another groan, his hips grinding against your ass. It tugs at the knot inside you, causing you to let out a breathy moan that blows hot against the wet spot you’ve made on his neck. Goosebumps form on his skin as he brushes the underside of John's cock, the alpha pushing his hips against yours again.

Kyle pulls his hand away as pain erupts in the dip where his neck meets his shoulder. “Ow-fuck!” He hisses, jerking away as John sinks his hand into your hair with the arm that's under you, forcing your head back.

Kyle rubs the sore spot on his neck as John chuckles, leaning his head against yours. “She's in a biting mood this time.” He rasps, a satisfied grin pulling at your lips, still shiny with a mix of yours and Kyle’s spit. “Got me at the start, naughty little thing.”

John grinds his hips against you again, your eyes nearly rolling back as you meet his movements, grinding back against him. Kyle can see it, the change beginning to happen. The haze is settling back in, the moment of clarity gone. It's been almost just over a half hour. It can take between 30 minutes to an hour for an alpha's knot to deflate.

“She's so sensitive.” John continues, his lips brushing your cheek. “Can make her cum so easily.”

John's other hand wraps around you, pushing against the bulge in your pelvis. You let out a high pitched whine, your body shaking as you cum around his knot just like that. John curses, eyes squeezing closed as he presses his face against the side of your head. His cock is twitching, his knot tugging on your pussy but you don't seem to care.

“Fuck...” John groans, the sound long and dragged out as his hand leaves your pelvis, sinking into the sheets in front of you.

Kyle sits all the way up, watching curiously as John's cock continues to spasm. Quiet growls leave his lips as his cock begins to soften. His knot is getting smaller and smaller, deflating and releasing its hold on you. John lifts your top leg up over his hips before pulling his cock free. A gush of slick and cum is forced out of you as your walls spasm, slowly relaxing after being forced open for so long.

Kyle can't help himself as he reaches out, gathering some of the viscous cocktail that's gathered on your thigh. It's almost slimy as it coats his fingers, your slick wetter than your normal arousal. Not quite as sticky. John's cum has thickened it, tainting it a milky white color.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” John smirks, watching Kyle rub the mix of their fluids between his fingers. “Give her a minute, she'll be gushing slick again and you can get a taste.”

He's right, you've begun to tremble, the skin of your thigh starting to warm even more where his leg is pressed against yours. Your pussy is fluttering still, pushing the rest of John's cum out.

Kyle can't help himself again as he gathers more of your release on his fingers, pushing it back inside you. You're tight around his fingers despite the fact you had just taken your alpha’s knot. You squeeze around him, slick gushing around his fingers. It coats his hand, warm and wet. He pulls his fingers from you, watching your pussy spasm as more slick seeps out of you, coating your folds and dripping onto the skin of your thigh. Your scent has thickened in the air, making his mouth water. It's going to his head, making his cock throb.

He can understand now why alphas will fight over an omega in heat.

John moves, shifting both of you on the bed until his back rests against your headboard, your body between his legs. He grips you behind your knees, pulling your legs up until you're damn near folded in half. You don't seem to care, panting as sweat begins to bead on your skin. You've gone almost limp, pliable and willing so long as the ache in your core gets relieved.

John's eyes are dark as he stares at Kyle, his fingers digging into your skin. “Well?” He smirks. “Are you going to give her what she wants?”

Kyle's eyes drift between your legs, your pussy spread open before him like a buffet. It’s not a new sight. He’s been between your thighs many times, tasted you on his tongue. Yet it feels different now, because it is different. The situation has changed. He’s not fucking you because you’ve come to him, sought him out to relieve the ache between your legs, the neediness that’s built up the whole day. You’re still needy, still begging, but it’s because you have to. Your body needs to be filled, needs to have an alpha’s knot to ease the ache. Your body wants pups, and so it’s forcing you to the peak of attraction to an alpha. Pheromones thick in the air to drive alphas into their most base state, slick coating your thighs to ease the taking of a knot.

His eyes are glued to you as slick continues to seep out of you, sliding down your ass until it drips onto the sheet below. He’s no alpha, but your pheromones are getting to him, fogging his own mind in need. He’s felt it when he enters to clean, to ensure you’ve eaten and hydrated, that nothing has gone wrong, but the feeling leaves as soon as he’s in the clear air in the hallway. He had thought it was simply the knowledge of what was happening, the sounds from the room and then seeing you and his alpha knotted together. It’s a natural reaction to a beautiful omega naked in front of him.

He understands it now as his mouth goes dry, staring at your shiny pussy. It’s his turn to experience it, his chance to understand firsthand what both you and John go through. He feels the urge to bend down, to taste you, to drink from the source like your slick is the only thing that will ease his thirst.

He bends down, laying flat on the bed so he’s face to face with your weeping slit. The room is silent, even your own panting breaths quiet, waiting in anticipation. He leans forward, pressing his face against your slit. He inhales deeply, his eyes almost fluttering as your pheromones go straight to his brain. They swirl around his synapses before shooting down his spine, seeping into his veins and warming his body. His cock is hard and leaking onto the mattress beneath him, throbbing for some relief. He won't give it any yet, wanting to wait until he at least gets a taste of you.

He drags his tongue through your folds, moaning at the sweet taste of you. There's still a hint of your natural taste under there, but the sweetness of your slick has him burying his face in your folds. He laps at the source, pressing his tongue into your pussy, drinking up your slick like a man starved. His nose presses against your clit, and he inhales the sweet scent of your slit with every breath. Your skin is hot, feverish as his hands slip under you, holding your hips up as he feasts on you desperately. He feels like he's in heat himself, or perhaps as close to a rut as a beta can get. His face is soaked, your slick dripping down his chin, adding to the mess both dry and still wet on the sheets.

You're panting and whining, pushing your hips up against his face desperately. He doesn't care. He'd drown here happily. His nose continues to brush your clit, making you whine all desperate and needy. His cock is throbbing, but he resists the urge to grind against the bed. Not yet.

“Please, please!” You whine, pussy fluttering around his tongue. You are sensitive, nearly to the brink and he's barely touched you.

He presses harder against your clit, a loud moan falling from your lips as you cum around his tongue, sweet slick gushing into his face along with the familiar, tangy taste of your cum. He licks every last drop from your pussy, or at least as much as he can with how your slick is still seeping out of you endlessly.

He lifts himself up from your pussy, meeting John's gaze. John beckons him closer, gripping Kyle's chin as soon as he's within arm’s distance and pulling him against his lips. There’s a low rumble in his chest, the sound shooting straight down Kyle’s spine. It makes him shudder, his cock twitching.

John licks into his mouth, tasting you on his tongue before licking your slick from his face. Kyle can't help but moan, his cock smearing precum against your thigh.

“You want her?” John breathes against his lips. “You want to feel her?”

Kyle breathes out a quiet moan, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

He backs up as John releases your legs, letting you flop onto the bed. He maneuvers out from behind you until you're laying flat on the bed, limp yet willing. You let out a whine, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. He can’t imagine you’re getting any, not with how slick your thighs and pussy are.

John moves off the bed, cock hanging hard and heavy between his thighs. “Present for your beta.” John says, the alpha command strong in his voice as he slaps your ass lightly. “Show him how good of an omega you are.”

You let out a whine, flopping over and shuffling your legs under you. Kyle doesn’t think you’ll be able to do it, given your weak state, but you surprise him. Your upper body is still pressed into the mattress, but your hips lift, slick still drooling out of your pussy. Kyle is nearly drooling himself staring at your puffy lips and soaked skin.

He jumps as John's hand slaps his own ass cheek. “Well, give her what she wants.” His voice is rough, his alpha still slipping out around the edges.

Kyle moves forward almost automatically, obeying the command of his alpha. He shifts so he's kneeling behind you, fisting his cock. It's still hard and throbbing, precum dripping from the tip. He drags the head through your folds, slipping through easily thanks to the slick. He’d understood the importance of slick before from his research for your first heat, but now he’s getting a firsthand demonstration.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you steady as he presses into you with a groan. You’re so hot and wet and tight around him, your pussy fluttering around him like it’s trying to pull him in. Soft, breathy moans slip from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as he sinks into you completely with one press of his hips. He pauses in surprise as his hips press flush against your ass without even having to work you open. He supposes you’ve been taking John’s not repeatedly, but yet you’re still just as tight around him as he remembers, if not tighter. He shifts forward slightly so his hips are flush with your ass, his eyes following a bead of sweat as it slides down the line of your spine. It’s hot in the room, and you’re hot under his hands, skin burning with the flames of your desperation. He understands can’t give you what you need, not completely, but he can give you a little relief.

He can feel John’s eyes on him as he begins to move, pulling back before sinking back into you. Your pussy seems to have a mind of its own as it flutters around him, letting him pull back before pulsing around him, pulling him back in. He’s fucked you plenty of times, but it’s never felt like this. So slick and warm and responsive. Your body moves in accordance with his movements, pushing and pulling with every thrust of his cock in and out of you. It makes his head spin, his movements starting to pick up speed. There’s no resistance, his cock gliding in and out of your pussy easily.

“Fuck...” He groans, clinging desperately to his sanity as he tries not to cum immediately. You’re whimpering and whining under him, legs already shaking but he can’t tell if it's from the effort of holding yourself up or from your pleasure.

Low growls rumble in John’s throat, the wet sound of him pumping his cock mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy. It’s an obscene chorus, the harmony of moans and growls and the wet sounds of sex. Slick continues to drip out around his cock, smearing on his skin. You’re pushing back weakly against him, moaning and drooling on the sheets. You’re doing what omegas are supposed to do during heats, lay there and take your alpha’s knot over and over in hopes of being bred. You won’t be, you have protections against that, but your brain can’t comprehend that right now. It can’t comprehend much of anything in this state.

You squeeze tightly around him, trembling as you’re thrown into an orgasm. Your walls clench, gripping him like a vice, so tightly he almost can’t move. Slick gushes out around his cock, soaking his pelvis, dripping down his thighs. The sensation is almost heavenly as you spasm around him, almost trying to pull him deeper, coax a knot out of him that he can’t give you.

He starts to grind against you, his vision almost going dark as his own orgasm is forced out of him suddenly, his hands tightening around your hips. You whine as he holds you, hips probably sore from John, but he can’t find it in him to care as he bends over your back, holding your ass flush with his hips. He’s gasping for air, trembling himself from the shared sensation of your orgasm and his own.

It’s almost too much.

Almost.

“You’re not done.” John says, trailing a hand down Kyle’s spine, smearing the sweat that’s broken out across his body. “Give her another.”

Kyle can’t disagree, can’t even ask for a moment to gather his head as he begins moving again, your body sucking him in so tightly he can hardly do more than grind his hips against your ass. You don’t seem to care, needy whines and moans slipping out of your lips.

John’s hand dips between Kyle’s thighs, collecting some of your slick before he presses his finger against Kyle’s hole. Kyle lets out a sound that’s almost a whine of his own at the sensation.

“Open up for me.” His alpha growls, nipping at the skin of his ass cheek. “Be a good boy.”

Kyle nearly cums again, fighting to relax as he continues to fuck you. He bends over you further as John presses a slick covered finger into his ass, a deep groan leaving his throat. You’re still laying there, eyes pinched closed in pleasure as you create a puddle of drool around your mouth. Whisps of hair stick to your face, falling out of the braid Johnny had done for you. He should redo it, keep it in place for the few days still left of your heat.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when John grips his throat, pulling him back upright. John’s finger is still in his ass, moving with the thrusts of his hips. “Gonna make her cum again?” John growls, licking Kyle’s lips. Their kiss is rough and sloppy, spit passing between them as they lick at each other’s mouths.

Kyle groans as John pulls the finger from his ass, gathering more slick before pressing two back in. “Shit,” He curses, his hips stuttering against your ass.

You cum around him again, legs nearly giving out. He clings to your hips, keeping you up. He understands why you carry such nasty looking bruises around your hips after your heat now. It’s not just John’s iron grip, it’s to keep you steady.

“That’s it.” John growls, fucking his fingers into Kyle’s ass, opening him up.

Kyle’s cock twitches in anticipation, his hips driving into your ass to hasten his own orgasm in excitement for what’s coming next.

Kyle’s body does give out as his orgasm slams into him, his hands just barely managing to catch him before he falls into you. Your own body trembles, squeezing around him, milking every last drop. Your legs give out, your body slumping onto the bed. Kyle follows you, keeping his cock inside you. You’re tensed around him, still seeking what he can’t give you. It has to be torture, your body desperate for a knot, for some relief to the pain you must be in, yet Kyle can’t stop. He can’t have mercy on you, not yet.

It’s addicting, the feeling of fucking you during your heat. He gets the insanity alphas seem to be overwhelmed by during an omega’s heat. It’s not just the pheromones driving the mating instinct, not the sweet scent that drives them crazy. The feeling of your body, the way your pussy sucks him in all wet and hot...for a moment he does wish he could knot you, just to feel what it’s like.

John pushes a hand into his back, pressing him fully on top of you. Kyle moves onto his elbows, just preventing you from taking his full weight. You’re hot under him, skin feverish and slicked with sweat. His cheek rests against your damp hair, one of his hands slipping up the bed. He brushes your drool slick skin with his thumb, your shallow gasps pressing your back up against his chest.

“Please....please...” You whine, pushing your ass back against him.

“Easy.” John says, kneeling over both of you on the bed. His hand slips down between your legs, gathering the slick still seeping out around Kyle’s cock.

The wet sound of John smearing your slick on his cock is loud in the silence, Kyle’s cheeks clamping in anticipation. You’re clenching around him, almost begging him to move again, but it won’t be him in control anymore.

Not that he really was in control in the first place.

John presses his tip against Kyle’s hole, the beta pressing his face into your hair as he groans. His own hand grips the sheets as John presses further in, shifting closer to Kyle’s ass as he works himself into the tight passage.

“Fuck...” Kyle whines, grinding his hips against your ass. You whine softly at the sensation, pressing against him as much as you can with their combined weight pinning you down.

“That’s it.” John groans, pressing in further. “Fuck...you can take it.”

John begins moving his hips shallowly, thrusting further and further into Kyle’s ass. Kyle feels a bit like you, unable to do much but lay there and take it as John begins to fuck his ass. John’s thrusts push him into you, his cock grinding into your pussy. Their combined rocking has your clit rubbing against the bed, your eyes rolling in pleasure.

You cum twice around Kyle’s cock as John fucks him, his hips slapping against Kyle’s ass. John's hands grip Kyle’s hips tight enough Kyle might sport bruises of his own after this. Deep growls rumble in John’s chest, echoing almost in time with his thrusts. Kyle feels like whimpering from the combined pleasure of your pussy clenching around him and John’s cock driving into his ass. He can’t think anymore feeling just as out of it as you look.

For a moment Kyle is worried you might have passed out under him, and he lifts himself higher up on his elbows, ready to tap out in concern. You shift under him as he presses up, trying to push yourself up too, arching against Kyle’s chest. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as you move, unable to do much still except whine and plead.

“Please, please, please,” You repeat it like a mantra, head bending back as your body spasms, the sweetest moans falling from your lips. “Alpha!”

You cry out for him as slick and fluid gushes out of you, your hips lifting off the bed as you push your ass against Kyle. John lets out an animalistic growl as he picks up the pace, fucking Kyle so hard he nearly sees stars.

“I’ve got you,” John grunts, bending over Kyle’s back. “I’ve got you.”

Kyle can feel it, worry flooding through him for a moment as the base of John’s cock swells, pushing against the ring of his ass. He’s never taken a knot before, never had a chance to. He’s not sure he wants to as the feels the size of it. He might tear in half.

Instead John pulls out of him, grunting as he jerks his cock until he’s spurting his hot cum across Kyle’s ass. You’ve gone limp beneath him again, your only movement the slow push of your hips backwards against him. Kyle gently turns your head so your face isn’t pressed into the mattress. The last thing they need is you accidentally suffocating yourself. He can’t help but wonder if John has enough awareness to do the same, or if suffocation is a fear he should worry about during your heats. He hadn’t even thought of that during your first heat.

John slaps his ass, getting his attention again. “Off.” He says, pushing Kyle to the side.

Kyle gets the memo, his cock sore as he pulls out of you, flopping over to the side. John drags a hand up your back, the motion very soft and intimate compared to the rough fucking you both had just taken. John wraps his arms around you, lifting you up against his chest. You let him move you, limp again in his arms, your head pressing back against his shoulder. Slick still dribbles out of you, mixed with Kyle’s cum.

“Over here. On your back.” John directs Kyle and he moves despite his own exhaustion, laying where you had just been. The bed is wet, the sheets soaked through. Kyle silently thanks whoever created plastic heat protectors for mattresses as he settles on his back.

John lets you flop to the side, Kyle grateful you just miss smacking your head against the wall. You’re staring at him, eyes lidded as you continue to pant. Your hand slips down between your legs, fingers pressing into your pussy despite the fucking you had just taken, the fucking you’ve done since your heat started. John tugs him further down the bed, his knees bent and feet against the footboard. His cock twitches as he waits patiently for what’s going to come next.

John tugs you up, a whine leaving your lips as your fingers are forced out of you. He maneuvers your body into place, kneeling over Kyle’s face. Excitement thrums in his veins as slick dribbles out of you, dripping onto his chin. He licks his lips, dipping his tongue down his chin to try and get a taste of it again.

Kyle feels like he may be in heat as John pushes you forward just slightly, his arms wrapped around your middle as his cock presses into you. His knot has deflated for now, his length slipping easily into your slick pussy. Your hands grip the headboard as John begins to fuck you, holding you up over Kyle’s face. Kyle sticks his tongue out, catching your slick and the remnants of his own cum as John’s thrusts force it out of you. Despite the soreness of his cock it’s twitching back to life, the taste and scent of you on his face nearly driving him over the edge.

You let out the most delicious sounding whines as your alpha finally fucks you, promising you what Kyle can’t: temporary relief from the fire in your veins and the ache between your thighs. A knot. Your legs shake around his head, Kyle’s hands coming up to grip the backs of your knees. He wouldn’t care if you dropped on him. He’d take a broken nose if it meant he’d get to taste your slick from the source again. He could always text Dr. Keller to come and patch him up, though he’d have to tell her how it happened.

He doubts she’d care.

John keeps his hold on you tight though, keeping you up as he fucks into you roughly, the bed shaking from the force of his thrusts. You tremble above Kyle as you cum again, more slick gushing out around John’s cock. It’s obscene from his angle, John’s cock driving into your sopping pussy, slick oozing out around his cock, wetting your thighs and John’s thighs and Kyle’s face. He licks as much as he can from his face, basking in the sweet taste of you raining down over him like manna from heaven.

John groans, his cock twitching as he cums inside you, his hips pressing tight against your ass. Your legs nearly give out again, Kyle’s grip tightening around your thighs instinctively. John pulls out of you, quickly lowering you over Kyle’s mouth. He doesn’t have to say anything as Kyle’s hands slide up to grip your hips, holding you in place as he begins to lick up the slick and cum seeping out of you.

It’s a musky, sweet concoction, savory and sweet on his tongue. John is still holding you up, keeping you steady as you twitch over Kyle, sensitive and dripping all over his face. Your knees squeeze Kyle’s head as you cum again, Kyle having to turn his head to breathe for a moment as you nearly waterboard him with your slick.

Kyle licks every last drop of your cum and John’s. He could lay here, licking your slick all day, but he knows that would be near torture for you. No matter how many times he can make you cum, he can’t give you what you need.

He pushes you up slightly, back into John’s hold. “Do it.” He gasps, taking in deep breaths after nearly being drowned in your slick. “Give her what she needs.”

John pulls you back, backing up slightly as Kyle moves up the bed more. Your slick is still coating his face, dripping down his chin to his neck and chest. John bends you over Kyle’s chest, letting you rest there as you present for your alpha, somehow still able to hold yourself up. Omega instincts he supposes, giving you the strength to present all pretty and dripping for your alpha. Kyle’s fingers brush your burning skin, your entire body soaked in sweat. You’re still rocking your hips, trying to push back against John. How you’re even awake, let alone still moving is a miracle to him. Another wonder of omega biology.

You let out a content sigh as John presses back into you, his hips immediately snapping against your ass as he sets a near brutal pace. He’s been fighting it as well, fighting that urge to knot you as soon as he can. Kyle feels honored, having this opportunity, sharing this moment with the two of you. His research has paled in comparison to seeing it in person. He understands it better now, understands the two of you and how you fit together perfectly in this moment. Your body responds naturally to your alpha’s, pulsing around John’s cock as you seek out his knot. John brings you endless amounts of pleasure, both of you ruled by your instincts which provide you both with an intense stamina.

Kyle doesn't have that stamina, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t even imagine doing this for a day, much less a week. Yet, despite his exhaustion, his cock still continues to twitch, half hard as he holds John’s gaze. His alpha’s eyes are dark, focused and intense. Growls leave his lips, rumbling through his chest. You answer with your own whines, only driving the animalistic instincts within you both. You’re lost in your heat now, just as John is lost in his rut, only bordering on awareness because of Kyle’s presence.

Had Kyle not been in here, he knows John would have had you in this position for the next hour, fucking you relentlessly until he could finally knot you and bring both of yourselves a little relief. Kyle would have stayed out in the hallway for a while, letting you both rest and John care for you until he decided it was time to check on you both and clean things up a little.

You’re both close. He can tell by the way you shake over him, hands pushing into his chest as you try to lift yourself up, fingers scratching at his skin, but they can’t get enough of a grip to hurt. John is close too, deep growls rumbling in his chest as he pulls back into his thrusts. His knot must be swelling, pushing against your entrance.

“Please...Please alpha!!” You cry, trying to push back against him. ��Need it!”

“Need that?” John growls, grinding against you. “Need my knot?”

“Please!” You whine pathetically, writhing over Kyle.

He wants to watch, he wants to see John’s knot push into you, spread you open, push in until you’re locked in place. “Let me see.” He breathes, still holding John’s gaze. “Let me see it.”

John understands even in his hazy state, bending down to lift you back up against his chest. Kyle can see it, his swollen knot pushing against your pussy with every thrust of his hips. You’re crying, begging incoherently for it, trying to push down on it.

“Shhhh,” John shushes you, his lips brushing your cheek. “Alpha’s got you.”

The words nearly have Kyle cumming again, his balls tightening as John reassures you, promises you he’ll give you what you need. Your neck bends back, your head pushing against John’s shoulder as he begins to lower you while pushing his hips up, fighting the natural resistance as his knot spreads you open. The slight tapering of it makes it easier, easing your pussy open in preparation for the widest part. You’re shaking, body almost spasming as he presses his knot into you, your pussy spread almost impossibly wide as he slips all the way in, groaning as he locks in place inside you. Kyle can see your pussy spasm, your eyes rolling back as you cum again around him, the last bit of slick dribbling out of you before the rest is trapped inside you by your alpha’s knot.

John doesn’t let you drop this time, instead lowering you down gently against Kyle’s chest, moving with you. The dark intensity of his eyes has lessened, softening back into the blue he recognizes. John gently moves you off Kyle’s chest, shifting to the side so you’re lying next to the beta. Kyle turns onto his side facing the two of you, his body covered in slick and sweat and your drool. The heaviness of your combined scents has faded a bit in the air, not quite as intense as it had been even just moments ago.

He’s breathing heavily, almost as heavily as the two of you. You’ve fallen unconscious, or at least you look like you have as you lay there limply, eyes closed, sweaty with drool still wet on your chin. “Thank you.” He says, his gaze meeting John’s again. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

The corners of John’s lips pull up in a smile. “I’m glad you got to experience it. I doubt she’d complain if you wanted to stay.” He says, trailing his fingers down your arm. You twitch just slightly, and Kyle can imagine how overstimulated you must be from everything.

Kyle breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I could handle much more.”

John does smile now, his eyes flickering downwards. “One more?”

Kyle swallows as John reaches for his throbbing cock, nodding in agreement. He shifts slightly closer as John’s warm hand wraps around his length, his thumb teasing Kyle’s leaking slit. Kyle sighs softly, his cock sensitive from the intense fucking it had just experienced. He’s gone for longer, but it hadn’t been like this. You squeezing around him, tightening like a vice as you came, sucking him in as your body searched for a knot.

John begins to move his hand, pumping Kyle’s cock. He won’t last much longer, nearly burning with overstimulation and sensitivity.

“Fuck, fuck.” He curses softly, eyes squeezing closed as his balls tighten, the wet thwack of his cock filling the air. It’s damp still from your slick and the mixture of his cum and John’s.

He cums with a moan, spilling on his chest and the bed. He’s surprised there’s anything left, a whimper leaving his lips as John continues to move his hand, working him through his orgasm. John squeezes the base of his cock before releasing him, lifting his hand to Kyle’s face. Kyle licks the bit of his cum that leaked onto John’s thumb before leaning into his touch.

“Good boy.” John praises, his eyes hooded with exhaustion.

The base of Kyle’s spine tingles from his alpha’s praise, but he can’t even bring himself to think about getting hard again, much less actually doing it.

You let out a soft sound, your eyes cracked open as you stare up at Kyle. He meets your gaze, surprised to see you still conscious. Your hand lifts weakly, thumb pressing against Kyle’s lips before it falls back to the bed. “Pretty.”

Both Kyle and John chuckle as you drift back out of it, John keeping one arm tucked under you, the other reaching over to pull Kyle closer. He should get up, grab you all electrolyte drinks and nutrition bars but he can’t quite get his body to move. Instead he lays there, staring at you both as you drift in and out of sleep during your quick moment of relief and clarity. John is purring quietly, the sound so different to the deep, animalistic growls that had just been rumbling in his chest.

You’ll be back at it soon, needy and desperate to fuck like you haven’t been for almost two straight days. There’s still at least three more days to go, four if you’re unlucky. Then he’ll have to worry about things after your heat ends. It had been rough the first time, and he can imagine it will be again, especially with the week you had before your pre-heat started. He’ll call Dr. Keller again after it’s over, let her come and help you, make sure everything is alright. He doubts anything will go wrong, that John would let anything happen to you.

“Alpha’s got you.”

The words still ring in his head. The sincerity, the promise in them. He really does have control, he does make sure you’re safe and well cared for, he does catch you when you fall. Not just during your heat, but outside of it. The difference between John and Simon is only getting clearer as you begin to bond with the pack’s second alpha.

John is the caretaker, the comforter whose strength comes from his heart and his emotional control. The one who can stay calm and lead even in the most dire situations. He’s seen it in the pack, and he’s seen it out in the field. His dominance is soft and he’s only harsh when the need arises.

Simon is the protector. He’s rough around the edges, a man of action not comforting words. A clear minded leader, but one well versed in raw power and violence. He’s abrasive and standoffish, yet fiercely protective of those he deems his.

They can see it the most now with you. John is the one you turn to when you need comforting words and to be held. Simon is the one who looms like a protective shadow, a silent threat behind you.

Yet he can see the softening around Simon’s harsh edges, those walls he’s built up since you arrived crumbling down around the two of you. It’s not just in his physical acceptance of you, but the mental acceptance of you being a part of the pack, you being a part of him.

He hopes Simon does do it. He hopes Simon will claim you someday, let you bring together both halves of the pack completely. He knows Simon wants to. Johnny has talked about the yearning, the stares, the lingering. You’d let him. You probably want him to yourself. Yet he knows Simon will hold off, torture himself with it until he has no choice but to give in.

It’s a pattern, a fatal flaw of his.

It will happen eventually though. They all know it.

It’s quiet. Has been for nearly an hour. It’s been a while since he’s checked on you both, forcing a nutrient bar into John’s hands as Kyle sat by the bed feeding you one. Neither of you had been interested in eating, but had begrudgingly chewed the indistinguishable dried mush of nutrient-rich foods shaped into a bar. Kyle had tried a bite of one just to see what it was like.

It wasn’t good.

He had taken it as a sign the end was near. The thumping of the bed against the wall had slowed, losing the ferocity with which it had steadily thump-thump-thumped against the wall for the last five days. Even the moans and groans and growls have quieted, and the breaks between rounds have gotten longer and longer.

He gets off his cot, padding silently to the door. He opens it, slipping in before closing it quietly. You and John are cuddled together on the bed. You’re shivering, the blanket he’d folded and draped over the footboard five days ago is draped over you both.

Kyle steps up to the bed, John’s eyes opening. He looks tired, eyes slightly red and bags hanging heavy under them. You both have to be exhausted, physically and mentally. He presses his hand to your forehead, a soft whine leaving your lips. John gently shushes you, tightening his hold around you. Your temperature is considerably lower than it has been, even a few hours ago. Kyle lifts the blanket for a moment, checking the two of you. John’s knot has deflated and the only thing still leaking out of you is a mixture of leftover slick and John’s cum.

“I’ll go start the bath.” Kyle says, letting the blanket drape over you again.

He heads into your bathroom, starting the water in the tub. He waits until it gets warm before putting the stopper in, letting it fill. He opens the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the epsom salt Dr. Keller recommended to help with the soreness. He’s used it himself, the few times he’s had a bath in the last few years, mostly after missions when he’s been particularly sore, bruised and aching after taking a beating physically and mentally. He’d used lavender scented salts to try and calm his mind, but he’d chosen to go with unscented for your heat, knowing the added scent may confuse you. You’ll need your alpha’s scent close to ground you in the disoriented state you’ll be in for the next couple hours.

He pours some salt into the bath, stirring it with his hand until it’s dissolved. He seals the bag, slipping it back in the cupboard before pushing himself to stand. He heads back into your room, pulling the blanket back again before helping John off the bed. They try not to disturb you too much, John flinching at the whine you let out as his warmth disappears. Kyle knows he doesn't want to leave you, but you both need the bath to help with the sore muscles and keep them from locking up after so long. You also need it to help with the sudden drop in your temperature.

Kyle eases John into the warm water, helping him sit in the tub. He wishes it was a bigger tub as his alpha’s long legs bend at the knees, unable to stretch out completely. They’ll want a longer, deeper tub in the seaside cottage you’ve dreamed of. Maybe one with jacuzzi jets. Kyle turns off the water, John leaning back against the tile wall, his eyes half closed.

Kyle pushes himself up to stand after a moment, heading back to the bed to get you. You’re shivering, letting out quiet whines as you search out your alpha in your confusion and disorientation.

“I know, I know.” He tries to soothe you, projecting his beta scent into the air. It won’t be enough, but it at least offers up some comfort in your state. You still need your alpha even though your heat is over.

He scoops you up, wincing as you whine in pain, but he knows it’s necessary. You need the warm water to help keep you stable, and a moment with your alpha to help get you grounded.

He eases you into the tub, John’s legs parting to make room for you as Kyle settles you against his chest. Your alpha wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as you whimper softly. Kyle makes sure the two of you are settled before getting back up, ensuring the towels are ready before heading back into your room.

He pulls the sheet off your bed, crusty and still slightly damp from the week of near nonstop fucking. He knows some of those crusty spots are his own cum, yet he still can’t quite believe it really happened. He’s spent the last few days thinking about it, pinching himself to remind himself it wasn’t a dream. He really did get to experience some of your heat.

He can’t get the image of John’s knot pressing into you, your puffy, slick pussy spreading wide around it. The way your body shuddered, the relieved moan as you finally got what you wanted, what you needed. It was a beautiful sight, and he wishes he had Johnny’s talent so he could paint it and keep it forever.

He bundles your clothes in the sheet along with the blanket to take them to the wash, cleaning up the wrappers and bottles and adding them to the trash bag he’d started. He pulls the plastic heat protector from the bed, balling it into another trash bag. He packs the bundle of laundry to the laundry room, starting the washer before taking the two bags of trash out and stuffing them in the bin to get picked up later this week. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them goes missing, some young, desperate alpha pulling it out to jerk off to your scent.

It makes his nose scrunch up in disgust.

He heads back to your room, pulling the clean sheets out of the top of your closet, remaking the bed. He puts your comforter back on the bed, folding your blankets and putting them at the end of the bed. He stacks your pillows and stuffed animals back in place as much as he can remember, though he knows you’ll remake your nest later once you’re more aware. Right now it’s important you be surrounded by the comfort of familiar scents.

He makes sure everything is as back in place as it can be, pulling a shirt out of your closet for you to change into once you’re out of the bath. He’s not quite sure whose it is, the only smell coming off it is the scent of laundry detergent. It’s soft after being washed quite a few times, likely one of the first you got from them, or at least one you’d stolen early on. You’d cut the tags out, something you’ve done with almost all of your clothes. He can’t blame you. If he could, he would do the same.

He heads back into the bathroom once everything looks as back to normal as it can, kneeling next to the tub.

“How do you feel?” John asks.

Kyle nearly laughs at the question. He should be the one asking him that, but of course John would be worried about the rest of his pack before himself. “Not bad.” He answers. “Tired, but nothing compared to how you have to be feeling right now.”

John huffs out a laugh, gently stroking your hair as you whimper softly. He’s taken it out of the braid, managing to untangle it a little. “This is the hardest part, I think.”

Kyle nods. “I can imagine.” He grabs a washcloth, squirting some of your strawberry scented soap onto it before he begins gently scrubbing your skin, attempting to get some of the dried fluids off.

“Fucking nonstop for days in a lust induced haze is easy.” John says, shifting you slightly so Kyle can reach more of your skin. “It’s coming down from it, when you start to feel the effects of fucking for days nearly nonstop that it really starts to settle in. The aches, the pains, the exhaustion from almost no sleep, the hunger, the thirst.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’m just old.”

Kyle makes a face. “You are getting up there.”

John gives him a playful glare, shaking his head. His face softens as he looks at Kyle, dutifully cleaning up after their five day instinct-induced haze. “Thank you, for earlier. Giving her what she wanted.”

Kyle nods. “Of course. Couldn’t turn down a chance to experience it, and I wouldn’t want to leave you with an upset omega during her heat.”

John snorts quietly. “I doubt she’d have been upset for long. Probably doesn’t remember most of it.”

Kyle hums, John helping him get you sitting up so he can rinse your back and attempt to get some of the dirt and fluids out of your hair. A part of him knows that’s true, but a part of him hopes you will remember at least some of it. He’ll never forget it, his mouth watering slightly as the memories of your slick on his tongue, dripping onto his face. John fucking you over him, letting you drip all over him. It may be a bit selfish of him, but he wants to experience that over and over, every time you sit on his face, every time he fucks you, every time John fucks you in front of him.

Kyle helps hold you up, wincing at your whines both in pain and from the loss of your alpha’s touch as he scrubs the dried slick off of his skin. The water is murky from the mix of soap, slick, and cum coming off of you both. The water is starting to get cold as he rinses John’s hair, making sure to get the soap off of you both.

“Ready?” He asks, reaching down to pull the plug.

“No.” John says, lips tugging up in a half smile, likely all he can manage in his exhausted state. “But the bed is more comfortable than the tub.”

Kyle grins at him, slipping his hands under your arms, and with the help of John, he gets you standing. John twitches at your whine of protest, Kyle holding you up as he tries to towel you off as much as he can. The dryer he can get you, the less cold you’ll be once you’re back in bed. You’re still shivering despite the bath, your face pressing against Kyle’s chest in search of any warmth you can get.

Kyle scoops you up, carrying you to the bed. You let out a whine as he eases you down onto the edge of the bed, but he shushes you gently, quickly drying your hair as much as he can. He pulls the shirt over your head, pulling your arms though the holes before shifting you to the head of the bed. He pulls the comforter over you, letting you sink into the softness of your stuffed animals before he heads back to the bathroom.

John has gotten himself standing, leaning against the wall as he dries himself with the other towel. Kyle drapes one of his arms over his shoulder, helping guide him back to the bed, lowering him onto the edge. He finishes drying John off before he grabs a pair of boxers from your dresser. He’s not sure whose they are either, but they fit decently enough for now.

He helps John under the covers with you, his arms wrapping around you. You immediately gravitate towards him, pressing against his chest. John holds you tightly, shushing your quiet whimpers.

“Here.” He passes John an electrolyte drink. “Keep hydrating yourself. I’ll go scrounge up some real food.”

“You’re a good man, Kyle.” John says. “A good beta.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kyle says, looking over the two of you again before leaving the room in search of food.

You’re crying when he returns.

He’s expecting it this time, less shocked by your shuddering breaths and quiet sobs. John has shifted you both, his back against the headboard, your body curled up between his legs. There’s a stack of blankets wrapped around you, and one of your stuffed bears clutched tightly against your chest. John is purring softly, the sound vibrating in his chest as he tries to soothe you through the disorientation and sudden drop in hormones as you become more aware.

“I let Dr. Keller know.” Kyle says, setting the tray of food down on the nightstand. “She’ll be here soon. Wants to do a quick checkup.”

“Fine with me.” John says, shifting you just slightly so he can set the tray in his lap. You let out a whimper at being moved, John’s purr intensifying until you settle again. “I’m starving.” He says, picking up the fork.

“Johnny went and picked up lunch.” Kyle says, pulling your desk chair over to sit next to the bed.

John chews the bite of food in his mouth. “How are they?”

A smile tugs at Kyle’s lips. “Holding up. Johnny’s got a noticeable limp to his step.”

John lets out a quiet chuckle. “I’d imagine so. Might have to mark him down as a casualty.”

“I don’t think he’d complain.” Kyle says. “I can’t imagine any of us will be doing much for the next few days.”

John shakes his head. “Definitely not. You and Simon are probably in the best shape. You’ll have to hold down the fort.”

“We’ll do our best.” Kyle says.

John eats his food eagerly, managing to get a couple bites of potato and some peas into your mouth. You’re aware enough to chew them a few times, probably not wanting to eat in your current state, but your body knows you need to. He’s glad omegas have the drive to eat as much as they can before their heats. You might not survive if you didn’t. Not on those nutritional bars.

Kyle takes the tray once John is finished, setting it on your desk for now. He’ll give it to Johnny to take back when they go for dinner. John adjusts you against his chest again, resting his chin on your head as he goes through his emails and messages. You shift in his arms, pressing your face into his neck, your tears sliding down his skin. He rubs your back, keeping you pinned against him as he quietly purrs, trying to soothe you. It hurts them both that he can’t, but Kyle knows it’s a natural response. He doesn’t blame you. It must be so jarring not remembering, and all the physical things changing so rapidly, and adding on top of that the pain? He’d probably cry too.

The knock at the door is soft and quiet, yet you still startle at it, jumping slightly in John's arms. He gently shushes you as a whimper chokes out through the tears.

Kyle lets Dr. Keller in, closing the door behind her. The soft scent of beta fills the room, Dr. Keller doing her best not to startle you further in your disoriented state. John shifts you slightly so she can see you better. You let out a whine of indignation at being moved, the quiet purr still rumbling in John's chest.

Dr. Keller sets her bag on the floor before kneeling next to the bed. “Hi honey.” She says, opening up her bag. “Still pretty out of it, huh.”

The tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, your eyes barely open as you stare at her. You’re still leaning heavily against John’s chest, unable to hold yourself up. Dr. Keller brushes the hair away from your face before taking your temperature, holding the digital thermometer up to your forehead.

She glances at the screen when it beeps, her brows furrowing just slightly. “A little low,” She says, putting the thermometer back in the bag. “But not concerning.”

John maneuvers you again, pulling an arm free from the blankets so she can check your blood pressure and pulse.

“How did things go this time?” She asks, placing the blood pressure cuff around your arm.

“Better.” John responds. “Smoother.”

“Easier now that we know what to expect.” Kyle says.

“Good.” Dr. Keller says, taking your pulse and blood pressure. “Heart rate and blood pressure are normal.” She puts the monitors back into the bag, pulling out a pill bottle. “Muscle relaxers, same as last time. Her temperature is a little low, but that could just be a response to such a rapid drop in body temperature as well as changes in her hormones. If she starts feeling cold to the touch, or her extremities start turning blue, get her to emergency.” She zips up her bag, pushing herself up to stand. She gives John a pointed look. “Take care of yourself too. I recommend ice packs.”

A smile quirks John’s lips, but he doesn't offer any arguments or disagreements. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Kyle already knows he’s going to be sent for ice packs soon.

Dr. Keller turns to face him, giving him a soft smile. Kyle hasn’t had many interactions with your doctor, most of them being during your heat and after. Yet, he can’t help but feel comforted by her presence. Maybe it’s her ability to project her scent so much, enough to make even him feel relaxed, or maybe it’s just her calm demeanor, the way she always seems to be so confident and in control.

“Same thing as last time. Check for blood, if she’s still unresponsive or refusing food after a couple of hours, call me.” She says. “You did a good job, again. You should be proud.”

Kyle smiles. “I am. Thank you, doctor.”

He sees her out of the barracks, standing in the cool air for a moment before he closes the door, heading back to your room.

You’re tucked against John’s chest again, curled up as tight as you can. John has shuffled down the headboard a bit, relaxing back against your pillows. You’re still crying, but it’s been reduced to mostly sniffles. He steps up to the bed, running a hand over your head. He wants to braid your hair again, keep it from tangling but he wouldn’t dare move you right now. His hand moves lower, wrapping around John’s wrist, his thumb brushing his alpha’s skin for a moment.

“You should go do something.” John says, eyes half closed. “Get out of here and take a break for a bit. We’ll be fine. Going to take a long nap.”

A smile tugs at Kyle’s lips. He loves moments like this, when his Captain, his alpha is sleepy. He’s softer, the usual sternness that paints his face gone, his shoulders relaxed. It’s partially due to the pain he has to be in, and the exhaustion after the last five days beginning to hit him now that your heat has passed. Kyle squeezes his wrist for a moment before letting go. He’s a bit unsure of what he should do, after standing watch and taking care of the two of you for almost a week. It feels strange to leave now, especially with the two of you so vulnerable.

John’s hand wraps around his wrist before he can move away, and he turns to look back at his alpha. “Grab me an ice pack first.”

Kyle’s lips tug up in a smirk. “Of course, sir.”

He heads to the rec room, pulling one of the larger ice packs out of the freezer before heading back to your room. He doesn’t bother closing your door this time, letting the room air out just a bit as he goes to your bathroom. He grabs a hand towel from under your sink before wrapping it around the ice pack. He pushes the cabinet door closed with his foot before heading back into your room.

He pulls the stack of blankets and your comforter up just enough to slip it underneath, feeling blindly as he situates it against John’s crotch. The alpha lets out a quiet sigh as he settles the ice pack in place, the cold already beginning to sink through the towel.

“Thank you.” He says to Kyle, eyes half open as he stares up at his beta.

“Get some sleep.” Kyle says, tucking the blankets around the both of you before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

He stares at his cot, knowing he should start cleaning up, but he’s tired himself. He feels the urge to lay down again, but instead he heads for the laundry room, switching over the laundry.

He stands in the middle of the hallway once he’s done, staring down one side towards the rec room. He could always sprawl out on the couch and turn on some daytime TV show and pass out there. It wouldn't be too terribly uncomfortable compared to the cot he’s spent the last five days on.

He turns his head down the other side of the hallway, glancing toward Simon’s office. They have yet to show their faces, not since they left to grab lunch. He wonders if they’ve even returned, or if they chose to stay away for the time being. He chews on his lip for a moment before making his decision, turning down the hallway towards Simon’s office.

The scent of alpha is strong down the hallway, the musky scent a relief after the sweet scent that’s permeated his thoughts. He doesn’t mind your scent usually, but after five days of the intoxicating sweetness, he needs a break. He needs something fresher, something...different.

He pauses at the door, hesitating for a moment. He could use some company for a while. He’s been alone with his thoughts far too much. He takes the plunge, knocking on the door. There’s no immediate response, which he was expecting.

“Just me.” He says, pressing close to the door as he waits.

“Enter.” Simon’s gruff voice finally says, Kyle just catching it through the door. He might not have heard it if he hadn’t been so close.

Kyle turns the knob, opening the door. The scent of sex and the thick musk of alpha hits him like a train as he leans into the office. Simon is seated on the edge of one of the cots, mask off and pants flung onto the floor by his desk. Johnny is on his knees between Simon’s legs, a distinct choking sound coming from his throat.

Simon releases Johnny’s head, letting him pull back from his alpha’s cock. He takes in deep gulps of air, his hand still wrapped around Simon’s hard length. Kyle leans against the doorway, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk.

“They’re done and cleared, whenever you’re ready.” He tells them.

Simon grips Johnny’s mohawk, still looking at Kyle as he pushes Johnny’s head towards his cock again. “We’re not quite done here yet.”

“Looks that way.” Kyle says, and he can’t help the stirring in his pants as Johnny takes Simon back into his mouth.

A smirk tugs at Simon’s lips as he stares at the other beta. “Want to lend a helping hand? Give poor Johnny a break?”

Kyle’s throat goes dry at the idea, his eyes flickering to where Johnny has Simon in the back of his throat, lips wide around the alpha’s thick cock. Kyle can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been in that position over the last few days. Johnny lets out a whine as Simon pushes him deeper, his nose almost pressed against the light hair at the base of Simon’s cock.

“Fuck.” Kyle groans, closing the door behind him.

Simon wraps his fingers around Kyle’s arm as soon as he’s close, yanking him down so hard Kyle almost falls against him. Kyle has a clear view of Johnny sucking on his alpha’s cock, bobbing his head on the massive length from this angle. Simon’s hand is tight around his forearm, holding him still as he presses his nose against Kyle’s throat. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, his teeth nipping at Kyle’s skin.

Of course. Kyle hadn’t showered or changed clothes after he left your room.

He smells like you.

Simon’s hips buck up, Johnny letting out a strangled gag before he pulls back off of Simon’s cock.

“Fucking christ.” Johnny chokes out, coughing after getting hit in the back of the throat by Simon’s cock. “Gonnae kill me.”

Simon doesn’t pay him any mind, his tongue too busy trailing Kyle’s throat, as if he could lick every inch of your scent from his skin. There’s a low rumbling vibrating in Simon’s chest, his grip tight around Kyle’s arm.

Kyle’s own cock is throbbing, almost as much as it had upon seeing slick drip out of your pussy. Simon lets out a growl before releasing Kyle’s arm, gripping him around the back of his neck. Kyle lets out a quiet moan as Simon forces him down on his knees next to Johnny. The alpha stands from the cot, towering over them as his hard cock nearly throbs in their faces.

He stares down at them, his eyes dark with lust. It’s not unlike how John’s eyes had looked when he was lost to his rut.

“Such pretty boys.” Simon rasps, running a hand over each of their heads.

Johnny purrs, leaning into his touch. Kyle feels the beginnings of a purr rising in his chest, his beta pleased by the large alpha’s praise.

Kyle turns to face Johnny, gripping his fellow beta’s chin. He turns Johnny to look at him, that gleam in his eyes and stupid grin he gets when he’s subby on his face. Kyle leans forward, licking Johnny’s lips, silently conveying what he wants. Johnny responds immediately, opening his mouth to Kyle. Kyle drags his tongue along Johnny’s, tasting the familiar muskiness of Simon’s cum.

They’ve been at this for a while.

Johnny moans needily, his lips closing around Kyle’s tongue, sucking it into his mouth. Kyle groans, pressing his lips to Johnny’s, kissing him deeply.

“Fucking hell.” Simon groans, fisting his throbbing cock as he stares down at the two betas making out in front of him.

Drool drips down their chins, Kyle’s mind flashing back to the drool that had dripped out of your mouth, pooling on his chest. His cock throbs and he presses closer to Johnny, holding his face still as he licks the spit from Johnny’s skin.

Simon groans, watching them. “If you two don’t get back to what you’re supposed to be doing...”

Johnny grins playfully, both of them turning to face Simon with shiny faces. Simon’s cock is hard and angry looking as he holds it out for them, waiting patiently. Kyle slides his hand down Simon’s cock, replacing the alpha’s hand as he grips the base. Johnny and Kyle both lean forward, dragging their tongues down the sides of Simon’s cock, tracing the veins popping out. Simon groans as they work their way back towards his head, their tongues meeting at the tip. Their tongues swirl over the engorged head, flicking along his slit to gather the precum dripping from the tip of his cock.

They pull away for a moment, Johnny licking the fluid from Kyle’s mouth before they kiss again, Kyle’s hand pumping Simon’s length. Kyle’s free hand sinks into Johnny’s mohawk, tugging him away from his lips. His hand is still pumping Simon’s cock as he guides Johnny back towards his alpha, Johnny’s mouth opening eagerly. Kyle guides Simon’s thick length into Johnny’s mouth again, using his grip on Johnny’s hair to move him along Simon’s cock.

Johnny takes more and more of Simon into his mouth, choking slightly as Simon’s head pushes against his tongue. His throat has to be sore after this last week, but not nearly as much as his poor ass. Kyle pushes Johnny all the way onto Simon’s cock, the beta’s nose pressing into the hair around Simon’s cock. Johnny gags, his hands pressing against Simon’s thick thighs before Kyle pulls him off his alpha’s cock.

Kyle quickly replaces him, licking Johnny’s saliva off the thick length before taking Simon’s cock into his mouth. He relaxes his throat, bobbing his head lower and lower on Simon’s cock. He’s always impressed by the alpha’s size, his own cock throbbing at the memory of John’s cock, the knot pressing right against his rim.

Simon’s knot must be damn near colossal.

Kyle presses down until he can feel it, Simon’s cock pushing on the back of his tongue. He pulls off of Simon’s cock, pumping the length for a moment as he breathes. Johnny takes his place again, sucking on Simon’s tip as Kyle cups Simon’s balls in his hand. Simon groans, a growl still rumbling in his chest as your scent still lingers in the air.

“Gonna cum for us, alpha?” Kyle says, squeezing Simon’s balls gently.

“Fuck...” Simon groans, the word long and drawn out.

Kyle and Johnny switch places, Johnny fondling Simon’s balls as Kyle takes Simon’s cock in his mouth again. Simon reaches down, cupping the back of Kyle’s head as he begins to thrust into his mouth, the tangy precum dripping onto Kyle’s tongue telling him everything he needs to know. The alpha is close, his thick length twitching against Kyle’s tongue. Johnny massages Simon’s balls, holding onto them as Simon continues to fuck Kyle’s mouth, the beta suctioning around the alpha as best he can.

Simon pulls out of Kyle’s mouth, pumping his cock rapidly as he cums, his seed spurting out and landing on Kyle and Johnny’s faces. Kyle licks the salty cum from his lips, wiping the bits from his face with his fingers before sucking them into his mouth. He leans over, dragging his tongue over Johnny’s skin, gathering the rest of Simon’s cum.

Simon is breathing heavily as he watches Kyle lick Johnny clean before they kiss again, passing Simon’s cum back and forth on their tongues. Simon moans, squeezing around the base of his cock, trying to keep himself from getting hard again as he watches the two betas.

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny groans as Kyle licks his lips one last time before swallowing down Simon’s cum. “Never gonnae tire of that.”

“Such a good boy.” Simon praises, running a hand over Kyle’s head. “A reward for taking such good care of our alpha and omega.”

Kyle grins, practically preening from the alpha’s praise.

They have no idea.

NEXT ->

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164

@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

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k3n-dyll · 3 months ago

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Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika, dom!Ambessa, rough sex, porn with zero plot, oral (r!receving), strap usage, strap sucking/face fucking, spit, squirting, spit roasting Word Count: 898

Notes ☆ this is just a sleepy, disgustingly horny, rant, man. Like, more so than usual.

Sevika practically holds you down with her body, mech arm caught tight around your torso as her flesh palm paws and squeezes at your tits, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. She's enjoying the view more than she'd ever admit out loud, silver eyes fixated on the other woman that's had her head snug between your legs for what at this point feels like fucking hours. Neither of you can seem to take your eyes off of the way Ambessa's scarred back and broad shoulders move as she forces you to keep still for her, the same large hands that so gently caress your face and hold you close any other time now locked in a vice grip against your thighs, sure to leave bruises against the soft skin.

The noises coming from her sucking and lapping at your cunt are bordering on obnoxious, the amount of time you've been pushed over the edge with her mouth alone having landed you sitting in a wet spot of a collection of your own squirt and her saliva. The overstimulation has reduced you into a babbling, trembling little mess, and yet neither of them have had their fill yet.

"I c-can't, I can't..." You slur, both women letting out amused huffs of laughter at your pathetic attempt to speak. Dumbly, you think that Ambessa pulling away and Sevika's grip on your body loosening means that you finally get a little bit of a break, your sigh of relief getting cut short by Sevika's voice as she whispers into your ear.

"You're not done, doll. Hands and knees." Her coaxing is gentle, her hands keeping you steady as you switch positions with the elegance of a newborn calf. It'd be humiliating if your brain hadn't been rendered so useless, eyes half-lidded as you watch Ambessa's tear-blurred form tower over you, a hand coming to grip your chin.

"Such a pretty thing you are. You've got a little more in you, don't you angel?" Ambessa's sultry tone fills your ears, a dopey grin crossing your features at the praise as you give an equally lazy nod. Gently, she presses the red silicone hanging from her hips against your mouth, seeking permission for entrance. "Good, girl. Open that pretty mouth for me"

Your jaw slacks almost immediately, a low hum of approval escaping the woman in front of you, her murmured praises and the feeling of her hand gently palming the back of your head distracting you from the girth stuffing your jaws. Distracting you from what's happening behind you as well.

You get little warning - the bed slightly sinking in from behind and the cool touch of a metal hand against the plush of your hip before you start to feel Sevika pushing her own strap inside of you. A choked yelp of surprise escaping you at the feeling, your body tensing up.

"Uh-uh, relax... that's it, just breathe baby.." Sevika purrs, leaning down and peppering wet kisses along the arch of your back to ease your tension, though she doesnt stop her advances, each shallow pump of her hips stretching you further.

They give you grace, letting you adjust, kissing and marking you as you settle around them but the gentle front doesn't last long. Sevika can't stop herself from slamming into you from behind, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, her own pussy dripping against the harness at the sight of the white ring forming at the base of her cock.

Each thrust from behind forces Ambessa's strap down your throat, every gag forced from you sending strings of saliva pooling from behind your lips and onto your chin, your neck, the bed...

"You're such a fucking mess, look at that.." Ambessa chuckles as she watches you struggle to take her in your mouth, enjoying how eager you are to please, even if it turns you into well...this. She rewards your eagerness by pulling out of your mouth, barely letting you get down a few much-needed gulps of air before she's shifted the harness down off of her hips, instead shoving your face flush between her thighs, letting you taste her.

Your breathlessness doesn't stop you from lapping at her like a woman starved, fingers curling into the sheets as you do your best to focus on the task at hand without succumbing to the intensity of Sevika's sloppy pounding from behind. Their grunts and overlapping praises drown out all thought, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shaking and twitching as you're split between the two. The only warning you're able to give before your climax ultimately rips through your body is a couple of muffled, loud whines.

Your head falls from Ambessa's grip, the woman letting you breathe as you cum, Sevika's hips just barely slowing as you finally let go, too enthralled in the way you squirt around her, the liquid wetting both your and her lower halves.

"Gonna have so much to clean up when we're finished with this one - fuck" Sevika boasts, letting her human palm land on your ass with a thwack. Ambessa just chuckles, her palm lightly patting the side of your face to keep you grounded in reality.

"You'll get to rest that pretty head in a little while, angel..." She coos. "But we're not quite done yet..."

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @glass-apothecary, @cobraisveryhorny - Wanna be tagged?

We're gonna pretend I tagged the correct ppl the first time, 'kay? <3

#lesbian #wlw #arcane smut #arcane ambessa #arcane sevika #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #☆drabbles

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sublimitymp3 · 5 months ago

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Do you, brother?

Pairing ✵ Aegon Targaryen/Younger sister!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, swearing, smut (Dub-con, p in v, fingering, choking, slight breeding kink), mentions of death, mentions of child loss, descriptions of birth, and heavy themes

Word count ✵ 2.6k

Summary ✵ The death of your son leaves behind a shadow upon everything, and after an overwhelming funeral procession for him, your evasive brother finally comes to you in the night.

Jaehaerys

Your little boy. Jae-hae-rys. The syllables roll off your tongue in a smooth manner, as they always have done. Sweet Jaehaerys. The very thought of the name conjures memories in your mind of the day you labored him and his twin into the world, screaming and writhing in pain as you felt as though you were being torn apart at the seams. He was a small, splotchy babe, who exited you covered in blood and wailing and squirming in the maester's arms. But even through your delirium and searing pain, you knew then what love was.

He was a precocious boy, eager to learn and to explore the world. "He has the makings of a very fine king," you recall your grandfather telling you once. The thought of Jaehaerys on that throne made your stomach feel uneasy, and the words loomed over you, lingering in the back of your mind and refusing to leave.

Even now it still lingers.

The once dreadful notion has been reduced to a silly daydream, for Jaehaerys will never be king. He will never grow, never explore the world, never ride his dragon, and you will never cradle him in your arms again.

It feels wrong to carry on. It feels wrong to do much of anything with the knowledge that your sweet Jaehaerys will exist only in memory now. Your mother tries to console you, to hug you in her cold arms, but you do not want her now. After all, what does she know about losing a child? The funeral procession your grandfather insisted on felt even more wrong than anything else.

Your son, the martyr.

Hundreds of the smallfolk clambered over each other to catch a glimpse of your little boy, and you. Your tears bought their sympathy and a new resentment for Rhaenyra, but it mattered little to you. They had sewn his head back on, you saw. It was an ugly sight, where black thread met severed skin.

Jaehaerys

How you longed to climb over to the cart carrying his body just so you could hold your boy one last time, but your mother's steadying and sobering grip on your knee kept you from doing so. "Deepest sympathies, my queen!" "Curse Rhaenyra!" "We love you, our queen!" Their shouts of support felt more like a ringing in your ear than anything. You didn't want this. You only wanted everything to be quiet.

You had a headache and felt nothing but exhaustion, and you couldn't even bring yourself to weep any longer. It was as if you were wrung dry. You cursed under your breath at the seemingly endless flights of stairs in the Red Keep, for all you wanted to do was to go and lay in bed. But then you saw him. First, you saw his hair, hair much like yours, only it was messily cropped short. Next was his eyes, violet in color and mirrors of your own. The scowl upon his handsome face, well, you didn't care for it, but you couldn't pry your eyes away. You found yourselves gawking at each other on the stairwell, and only then did you remember how much Jaehaerys looked like Aegon.

"Your grace, I-" Is all you can say before Aegon quickly turns away from you and hurries down the steps. You stand there, watching as the head of silver hair swiftly disappears from your line of sight. You snap your mouth close, pressing your lips into a firm line and continuing up the stairs. 'Foolish girl, when has he ever confronted anything in his life?' you cannot help but think.

You don't see your husband for around two weeks. Fleeting glimpses in the hallways, mentions of him from your mother, and murmurs about the king from the courtiers are all you have of him during that time.

As you prepare yourself for bed, you try to banish all thoughts of him from your mind to get some semblance of much-needed sleep. The nights seemed so long and torturous now, and yet you hardly could find sleep no matter what you did. Tonight was the first night in what seemed like centuries that you finally felt tired, and you wasted no time settling into bed to drift into a slumber.

You dream odd things, nonsensical things you'll forget when you wake, mostly. And even more odd, you begin to dream of Aegon. Of his strangely soft hands on you, of him pushing your nightdress up to your hips, and of him maneuvering you onto your back. It feels real, but you know it isn't. He won't come near you, no, not now. But even your mind begins to suggest otherwise.

With an irritated whine, you feel yourself being pulled from your sleep. It is only when you open your eyes to curse at what you assumed was a maid disturbing you, that your assumptions are quickly proven wrong.

Aegon is on top of you, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. Salty, hot tears drip from him onto your face, and his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can question him. You must make a face unwittingly, for he begins to speak,

"Shh, shh, it's alright, it's just me...just me," Aegon soothes, and you smell the wine on his warm breath. He's drunk. Or at the very least near drunk. "I-I am sorry, sorry for you, sorry for our boy. Oh, my poor son," his words are ever so slightly slurred, and he retracts himself to sit on the edge of the bed and weep in his drunken stupor.

You sit up, a bit startled to discover your nightgown bunched up by your hips. Your smallclothes were even pulled down a bit, but not fully. You realize now what he was attempting to do, and you can only sit in a tense silence with him. "He was my son too, you know," he mumbles like a petulant child, once he catches a glimpse of your resentful face.

"I grieve him just as much as you, mayhaps even more. He was my heir, my only heir," his words linger in the stagnant air, not sitting well with you. His gaze unnerves you even more, staring at you expectantly. The implications in his voice are clear to you; he means to beget another heir.

"Take another wife then, I am tired," The brazen words escape you (before you can think) in a whisper, and you lay back down, wasting no time to turn your back to him. "I don't want to again, I can't again. No more, Aegon." and you close your eyes, letting your tears roll down the side of the face.

You refuse to subject yourself to it all over again. To the aches, the uncomfortable swell of your belly, and the terrible pain birth brought. You know what it will all end in. It's a deep knowledge that has burrowed itself between your bones, embedded itself in your brain, and wrapped around your heart.

The Stranger will come for you all, surely.

The bed dips again as he shifts himself closer to you, and he grabs your shoulder in a bruising grip to turn you onto your back. His face gets so close to yours that the tip of his nose nudges your own, and you feel his warm breath fanning against your lips.

"I wasn't asking what you thought of it. You're my wife, my little sister. You were born for me to have. A king needs an heir, surely you understand that? You're not a stupid girl," he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, mockingly, almost.

He manages to wedge himself between your thighs, and you feel his wandering fingers pull down your smallclothes. "Aegon-" "Don't say a word, don't say a damn thing," he interrupts, irritated by your unwilling mood. "Wouldn't it be nice to have another little babe to rock in your arms? Hm? We'll make more, yes? Enough to fill this fucking castle," Aegon grunts, pushing his fingers past your folds. A whine involuntarily escapes you at the invasive feeling, and even more so as he pumps his fingers in and out.

In and out, in and out, in and out.

You feel your body give into his ministrations and get wet. 'Betrayal,' you think. A pleased hum escapes from him as you leak onto his fingers, and you feel your cheeks burn with shame. This isn't right. No, no after what has happened.

"You weep down here too, did you know, sweet sister?" He mumbles, pulling his fingers out of you just to drag them along your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine at his actions, forcing you to bite your tongue to muffle any noises. You don't want him to hear you. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

He fully retracts his fingers, and you know what is next. He undresses himself quickly, untying his breeches and tunic with a practiced speed before pulling your nightdress off of you, leaving you vulnerable and cold. He chuckles at your little shivers and the way you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "Shh, do not worry, you'll be warm soon enough," he laughs as if this is a lighthearted moment between two lovers. Your stomach churns slightly.

"You're so beautiful, you know. I've never thought otherwise. So pretty like this, all for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he lines himself up with your cunt.

The burning stretch of the intrusion is what you feel first. It has been long since he bedded you, and your body had forgotten the feel of him. "F-Fuck, how are you so tight? Like you're trying to squeeze me to death," he groans against your neck, before suckling bruises into your soft skin. He bottoms out completely, and you feel his tip brushing against your sweet spot.

It's overwhelming for you. It's too much. You close your eyes and let your mind drift to happier days. Days long before you called Aegon husband, days when you would play with your sister by your mother's skirts. Days when the most daunting task was getting out of bed or letting the maids bathe you. It almost brings a smile to your face. Almost.

Your blissful daydreams and nostalgia are interrupted by Aegon gently slapping your cheek repeatedly, rudely reminding you of where you are now. "Hey, hello, where are you? Look at me, for fucks sake," he grumbles, slowing his thrusts you only now are noticing. He grips your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his familiar violet eyes.

It's cruel to have to stare into your own eyes while this happens, you think.

"Don't do that again. Think of me," he whispers against your lips, his voice a bit shaky and heavy with lust. "Only me, and this."

His thrusts resume, and his lips are soon pressed against yours. He kisses you with a greedy, bruising force as if he's trying to devour you whole.

"Messy girl," he muses as he wipes drool off your chin with his thumb, and the action is oddly tender to you. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your sweet spot, making your mind turn to mush and your legs turn to jelly.

You hate how Aegon has this talent to make your resolve slip with only a few touches and kisses. You could be upset with him for weeks on end, and yet all he had to do was hold you down and you'd soon forget whatever grievance you held against him.

"A-Aegon, brother, please-" you whine, even more so as he maneuvers your knees to press against your chest. He holds you down like this and the new angle allows him to push further into you. The sound of skin against skin reverberates in your chambers around you as he drives into you at a faster pace.

"Stay still, stay still. Quit squirming, don't you trust me, sweet girl?" He huffed, still irked by your light resistance. His hand reaches back down to your weeping cunt, and his thumb rubs gentle circles into your bud. The added stimulation makes you cry out with overwhelming pleasure, and you feel like your very bones are gyrating.

"There we go," he smirks, dragging out his words. He's found the combination that makes you fall apart around him and he finds it satisfying. "You like that, don't you? 'Course you do, sweet girl. You were made for me, made to take my cock and bear my children. You were born to be mine. Nothing more, nothing less," He groans, his own peak beginning to build up.

His words ignite a fire in your belly, and it feels so wrong. His words are mocking, demeaning even, and on any other given day and situation you'd have retorted and isolated yourself from him until you calmed down. But this night was not simply any other night. His words and his movements bring you closer and closer to the edge, and the coil in your belly tightens up as it prepares to snap.

"Aegon, gods, keep going, please don't stop-" you moan, lost now in the bliss of it all. You selfishly buck your hips against his, desperate for your own impending release.

"I got you, pretty girl. Go on, let go for me, sweet sister," and with his words, the tightly wound coil in you snaps. It is a white-hot pleasure that wracks through your body, and you feel as though you are floating.

You come to when you feel Aegon increasing the pace of his already rough thrusts. He is close, you can tell. You have no strength to tell him to pull out, to beg him not to finish inside. He's fucked you too good for that. Maybe that was his plan after all, you think.

"F-Fuck, I'm so close, sweetling. I'll fill you up, make sure you're nice and full with my seed. In nine moons time, we'll have another little boy, hm? Another silver-haired beauty," he pants, before his grip that still pushes your knees against your chest tightens. He brings one hand to squeeze around your throat, and you feel his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. There will be a bruise there in the morning, no doubt.

His movements are rough and fast as he chases his release, and soon, his steady pace falters and his hips stutter to a halt. "Gods be good," he moans, slumping over to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Spurts of his warm and sticky seed coat your velvety walls, a familiar feeling. Surely you will be with child by the next month.

Exhaustion is what you feel. Exhaustion, and a pang of sadness in your heart. Another babe you will have to labor into the world, another pawn in this war. Another victim of this needless bloodshed, as brother and sister tear each other apart.

Aegon gently kisses your lips, rubbing your stomach with his hand, no doubt imagining you are pregnant already. "I love you, I really do." He whispers, holding you close and breaking you from those thoughts of impending doom.

Violet eyes meet violet eyes, and you gaze upon his features that are not dissimilar to your own. The very same blood that runs through you, runs through him. The same blood that ran through your son, you think. You do not know what to make of his drunken declaration, and it is like your body speaks for you then;

"Do you, brother?"

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monamipencil · 5 months ago

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dilf neighbor! mingyu

genre; nsfw, some fluff, mdni <3 | tw; oral, (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), outdoor sex (but not public), unprotected sex (don't do this), creampie, mingyu with impregnation kink, ages are not mentioned but he's in his mid thirties and reader in mid twenties. | a/n; kinda ended it abruptly but hope you guys like it <33

dilf neighbor! mingyu who can't keep his eyes off you.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who knows it's wrong to lust after you. especially with a half-baked divorce in the process. but could he blamed?

dilf neighbor! mingyu who had a crush on you right after a small conversation you had with him during a neighborhood event. he feels stupid, and giddy as he walks home, thoughts of you sprouting in his mind.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who smirks when you complain about the hot summer. you tell him how you would like to use a pool, but the community one is too crowded and nasty. so he offers that you could use his pool instead.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who has a hard time hiding his boner when you wear your skimpy swimsuits. he denies whenever you ask him to join you, simply smiling and shaking his head.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who shows you around his house after your swim. he feels stupid to have crushes at his age, but he can't help it all. and the sight of your swim suit drying on the drying rack along with the rest of his clothes makes him giddy.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who eventually joins you in the pool but maintains a distance. the distance gradually reduces with your increasing visits.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who picks up on your flirting attempts when you ask him to apply sunscreen on your back. whether or not, he's applying the sunscreen, he's definitely feeling you up.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who offers to give you a massage when he feels your tense body. you agree, cunt throbbing with excitement. he slowly unties the knots in your muscles, descending lower and lower till he reaches your ass.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who sucks in a sharp breath when you tell him to undo your skimpy underwear for "better access."

dilf neighbor! mingyu who massages your inner thigh as you complain about the pain from the workout. you're talking but he can't hear a single thing, way too lost on your dripping cunt that glistens in the sunlight.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who tries to stay rational despite the odds. he tries to continue with the massage but it's fucking impossible with your small moans and groans.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who loses it when you turn around, laying on your back. your legs are spread before him, and you offer him a sultry look while lowering your pink tinted sunglasses.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who devours you open. his tongue laps at your cunt like he's been waiting for this. your arousal drips down his chin and lips and he scissors you open with his thick fingers.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who fucks you into the pool chair. he bends you in half with your legs over his shoulders while he fucks you deep. his cock stretches your gummy walls and it sends flutters to your stomach.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who makes you ride his cock out in the open. your moans are divine to his ears and he goes a little crazy, seeing the creamy white ring form at the base of his cock.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who sucks on your tits like it's his last day on earth. he fucks harder into you, cock slamming into your cunt again and again. he doesn't stop sucking on your nipples as he does so, adding to your oncoming orgasm.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who makes you cum around his cock, loving the way you clench around his length. and so he does, making you cum again and again.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cannot stop the thoughts of knocking you up in his brain. the urge to cum inside and fill you up is overwhelming. his breath hitches watching your breasts bounce as you ride him. his thoughts are infected with you lactating.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cums inside, filling you up with his cum. but he also buys you plan-b's, and makes sure you pee right after. he cleans you up, and carries you to his bed.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who cooks dinner for you as you sleep. you wake up to the sound of cooking and see his large back hoarding the kitchen. he smiles, looking at your hesitant visage and beckons you to come in.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who melts seeing you in one of his t-shirts. he has to resist the urge to smother you in kisses but he does hug you and give you a long kiss.

dilf neighbor! mingyu who assures he wants more than just a physical relationship with you. he kisses your forehead and giggles when you reveal that you had a fat crush on him.

dilf boyfriend! mingyu who has you move in with him to take care of you and spend more time with you. plus why should you spend money on bills when you have him?

dilf boyfriend! mingyu who installs a hot tub for you to use during winters. he always wants the best for you and at his expense.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)

#mingyu smut #svthub #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu #seventeen #mingyu drabbles #mingyu hard hours

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absfawn · 5 months ago

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bestfriend!abby who begrudgingly slaps on a fake smile every time you mention a woman you’ve gone on a random date with. she was always happy for you, or shown you in some way that she is happy and proud of you for stepping out your comfort zone and meeting new people, but deep down, it makes her more depressed the longer she thinks about it. each time you look her in the eye, describe how your date went and how happy you were that someone shared the same interests and loves as you, abby hummed and nodded along. too busy and focused on that smile of yours, the way you laugh quietly at something you’ve said, not that she pays attention to your words, more your facial expressions. she hates all of it. she loves to see you happy, but not with someone who isn’t her. she’s been in love with you since you both bought a shared apartment across from campus. she’s tired of not being the one to take you on a date. to make you laugh. to make you smile.

bestfriend!abby that same night, who feels completely pathetic when she finds herself in her bedroom, door locked, far away from you and music slightly louder than usual, with her hand down her pyjama shorts and head tilted back with parted lips and soft breaths ripping through her throat. she hates that this is what you do to her and have no idea. reducing her to a mess, touching herself when you’ve gone to bed. hates to feel so pathetic that she can’t go to bed without sinking her fingers into her cunt each night, chanting your name under her breath and pleading for you to do something, anything that can give her the release she wants oh so badly.

your name falls from her lips like a shared secret, the slick sounds her cunt was making had her ears ringing loudly and face flushed, almost burning. blonde hair creating a halo beneath her head and she whimpers at the mere thought of her fingers being replaced by yours when she curls them deep inside her cunt. how yours would feel hitting that spot that has her toes curling, back arching and eyes rolling. it makes her feel hotter, sinking more into the mattress.

“fuck, need you so bad” she whimpered out, screwing her eyes shut tightly. “need your fingers so bad, baby” her voice quivers, tears slowly welling up in her baby blue eyes the faster she fucks her fingers into her sopping pussy. her lips part and her moans slowly increase in volume. not scared in the slightest if she gets caught.

her pussy flutters, tightens around her fingers and abby’s thighs tremble as her breath comes out in slow stutters, eyebrows furrowing and back arching more off the mattress when that familiar feeling pools in her lower stomach. “need to cum” is all she can choke out, free hand vice like gripping the sheet below her. “please let me cum for you, baby, please”

your name continues to fall from her lips so effortlessly, like all she could ever speak was your name, nothing else. she’s got her fingers so deep, still wishing and praying they were yours, against her g-spot, and it feels suddenly too late to think or do anything else when all she can get out is another chant of pleads mixed with your name as she gushes all over her fingers with a string of whimpers.

it’s different this time, it doesn’t stop after a few moments. the warm hot liquid continues soaking her sheets as her body convulses. all she sees is blindly, white steaming pleasure and your beautiful face as she squirts for the first time, ever.

her chest rises up and down quickly, her pants are heavy as she flutters her eyes open minutes later. crimson blush coating her face more once the final realisation kicks in that the thought of you alone had made her a mess that she squirted and made a complete mess in her bed. you didn’t even do anything and she’s fucked. fucked out in so many ways.

all abby craves is to be fucked out by you instead.

massive thank you to @andersonfilms and her juicy brain for helping me with this, and giving me the best and yummiest ideas. ily <3

#bestfriend!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou

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ode2rin · 7 months ago

Text

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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wormsdyke · 2 years ago

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girl. it is soooo loud in here. let’s turn it down a notch huh? (alone in a completely silent room)

#a teensy bit drunk rn. the world is Buzzing #will noise cancelling headphone reduce ringing in ears? stay tuned to find out #i have to. i have to get up and get them which is a monumental task #update it helps :)))))#orating!

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months ago

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An Ode To Greed

Nikto x F!Reader || Smut Drabble W. An Utterly Down Bad Man (AKA Nikto)

No Dark Themes - Body worship, praise/dirty talk, p in v, edging, implied overstim, cunnilingus, implied somnophilia (but it's totally up to you), domestic Nikto, implied dom/sub & switch dynamics, etc. Minors interacting will be blocked.

Nikto was nothing less than an attentive lover.

Many days you found the man already done with the chores before you had the chance to get up—the light spilling through the curtains on his day off from KorTac. He was an early riser, the large Russian, always itching to move and to get his mind going. The mornings were organized, methodical, and always delicately thought out to the last detail: what cup he would use for his tea—black tea, of course, with lemon—to what he would clean first. Even down to the ingredients of the breakfast he would make you, leveled and weighed on the kitchen counter waiting for his experienced hand.

You left the cooking to him, and he never disappointed.

But…on the very rare days Nikto chose to sleep in, that body as big and as all-consuming as a bear rumbling right next to yours, it was something to greedily latch at like a cat with a toy. Luckily, your influence was the one thing that could always reduce the Russian to a panting dog in heat.

“Птичка,” Nikto grunts harshly into your ear, his hand grasping your hip as your breasts jerk along the mattress under you. Your mouth is open in a feral example of drunk pleasure, fingers kneading the ruined sheets. “Good girl, yes? Taking it so deep for us, this cunt.”

You whine loudly, eyes clenching shut as the sounds of wet rutting echo in your ringing ears. Your legs shake, backside up and chest stuck to the bed with Nikto’s shadow looming, repeating the action of grinding his cock in and out of your weeping slit one shove of his pelvis at a time. Everything about him was large, down from his appetite to his need for sex—you were always happy to feed him in whatever way possible.

Nikto’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, pulling himself back to grip the both of them tightly and watch, sweat dripping down his throat. The cold eyes widen at the sight of your pussy taking him down one increasingly fast thrust at a time, the shine of your slick staining his thighs, slipping down where it cools and adds to the dichotomy of temperatures.

“Speak,” he licks his lips, pushing your sleep shirt higher up your back with a flexing hand. He needs to watch. Nikto flights down a shaky breath, head tilting to the side as your walls tighten. The Russian groans throatily, clenching his teeth and bearing them like a mutt.

He’s been edging you for hours, a near-cruel way to see your eyes go glossy and drool to pool on the sheets. He almost gave in multiple times—particularly when he’d been tongue-deep into you, running his calloused thumb over your clit as your thighs trapped his head at your core. The remnants still drip from the divots of his facial scars, and he licks at the corner of his mouth to taste once more with a grunt of worshiping satisfaction.

Delicious.

When you can’t utter up more than a writhing whimper, nostrils flaring for air and lungs heaving, you hear his low chuckle before fingers grasp your chin firmly and pull. A tongue finds the side of your angled face as you’re trapped against his bulky chest, his arm strapping your side as the muscle leaves a long stripe of saliva over your jaw.

The angle leaves him thrusting up, and his free hand travels slowly from your waist to your pulsing bundle of nerves, tapping your flesh cunningly as he goes.

You moan brokenly through an agonizing electricity of senses, head snapping back to Nikto’s shoulder as your hips jerk; back arching as the tension in your body grows ever stronger.

You needed it—you needed to let go, feel the devastating breaking of your release slamming through you.

“Speak,” Nikto grinds out into your ear as tears slip from the corner of your eyes—teeth bite all along your neck, thighs smashing into the back of yours. All the while, rapid circles run over your clit, and the sounds follow a feral rhythm that would leave no question to anyone else as to what was going on in this bedroom. It was the way you’d been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to ring pleasure out of that made this perfect—starting so greedily that you’d had him all to yourself this morning; letting his eyes roll into the back of his head as you’d rode him, his arms shaking as his spend had filled you, spilling out over his lower body when he’d finally finished his broken thrusting.

“Nikto,” you stutter, biting your lip and feeling every inch of his cock bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm that you’d been begging for ages to let loose. “Please, fuck, please, I’m so close.”

“Да,” Nikto grunts, holding you closer as you quiver in a deliriously confused arousal, playing with you. He smirks, but you know the tension in his abdomen that builds and builds against your spine. The man pants, cruising out in growled Russian under his breath, heavy and hard. He barks, “Can feel it. We know your little squirms by now, hm? We know that way your eyes roll back—your pretty pussy, Птичка. She is too good for me,” Niko smirks into your skin, taking a deep breath as his fantasies take over, hot breath puffed into your slick flesh. “I can’t help but want to leave her begging one more time, just to watch how she will flutter.”

“Please!” You sob, hands clawing behind to grasp at the man’s head, shoving it further into your neck as your body tightens, legs all but numb. The Russian grumbles in approval, liking the way your nails drag his close-shorn hair. “Fuck, Nikto, please, I need it so bad.”

It was like you’d lost your mind and your dignity all at once.

“We know,” Nikto’s scars move up and down your back, and you can sense every rub and caress of them intimately. To have him in this way was as addictive as it was the first time.

Nikto bites more and more at your shoulders, nipping your ear and inhaling your scent—so much like a dog it was pathetic the way he was obsessed with your body; your orgasm. While you had no trouble coaxing one out of him in whichever way you desired, he always made yours a spectacle and a mystery. Rope, toys, blindfolds…there was only a limit if you said there was one, and that was something that only needed to be said once.

But there was something to be worshipped about the raw, animalistic, desperate fucking with Nikto that never seemed to get old. Especially when it was in your bed, especially when you had watched his cold eyes be blown wide by lust as his cock grew hard, especially when you could spend the rest of the day naked in your penthouse; skin on skin, switching dominance like a coin to be tossed.

Nikto was good at giving you exactly what you wanted, and not an inch less. So different from the standoffish brute that he showed to everyone else. Nonetheless, he was, you suppose, still that same brute—but your brute. And, fuck, if he wasn’t using you like a perfect deadly instrument in his arsenal, making sure you worked properly.

Your breath is cut off to gasped moans, lower body vibrating and cunt so wet that the sloping suck of Nikto’s stained cock was heard and felt far more violently.

The man’s gargantuan hand spreads from your flesh to press into your abdomen, and you sob loudly at the sensation of thin skin above the indent of a prodding mound; nails almost drawing blood from where they drag at Nikto’s head.

“Please,” you repeat as if a broken record. “Oh, Nikto, please, fuck—”

“Shh,” Nikto shushes, still abusing your clit before he presses his previously prodding hand above your heart, in the process, groping at your breast; kneading as you place open-mouthed and saliva-dripping kisses to the beast’s chin—a coy attempt to please him into allowing you your nearing release.

Nikto’s fingers push and pull, and your walls strangle him just right until his balls are betraying him, tensed and near bursting as he grunts and groans, all of his words a garble of gravel and sandpaper.

The accent, while it lets you know he’s just as desperate as you are when it gets like that, only makes the knot in your stomach flare with friction. You loved it when he was minutes away from breaking.

“Want to feel your heart stutter.” It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and your hips try to meet his rutting as best as they can, arms losing strength as the pressure mounts you as Nikto does. Voice a harsh grind, he accentuates his point by pushing you back down the mattress all the way, getting the angle he needs to pound into the softest part of your cunt as you keen so loud you’re thankful you have the place all to yourselves because you can’t stop making sounds you can’t be described. Your body is bent and pushed to the limit, sweat and the scent of sex potent in your nose.

Nikto fucks like it’s the last time you’ll ever take his cock.

“Want to know the exact moment you claw for air again when you gasp it all away, my Птичка. My sweet little Птичка. Drug to my senses, yes? Can never take cunt unless it’s yours,” his voice grows faster, breathier, English words slurring until he divulges into his mother tongue, losing all sense beyond how you suck him in and squeeze him—warm walls inviting and the only place to spill himself. He can’t even jerk off anymore; you’ve ruined it for him.

He needs to fill you up until he has nothing left to give: the only mission that he’d complete time and time again with no complaints or second guesses. The only mission that mattered.

Nikto barks and spits, biting your flesh as you plead one last time.

“Tell me,” you all but shout. “Tell me I can—”

“Да!” Is the reverberating answer, and the way your body immediately responds is nothing short of utter devotion.

Your body seizes, shoving itself into the mattress as the headboard slams into the wall, arching and toes curling—the knot in your core snaps as if cut by a crude knife, sawing you in half as your release gushes to flood out of the ring of Nikto’s plug.

The Russian’s hand over your breast squeezes as you ride out your high on him, Nikto’s own orgasm rising to meet yours as it always does, only able to get off after he knows he’s done a good job of pleasing you. His scarred face buries itself into your neck, mouth open as his silent release is accented by the small, cut-off, grunt he gives with every slowing thrust. The joining of your flooded womb and his shining cock is a milky frothing of cum, sounding like someone slapping thickened water as the sticky juices are a testament to lustful need. They slip down your thighs, as Nikto licks and sucks on your skin, unable to slip himself out of you and your welcoming walls as they flutter.

With every tightening surge of your cunt, he instinctively grinds himself further into you again, and you whine as his lips finally find your mouth, tongue pushing inside, still tasting of your cum. Eyes rolling back, you let his tiny thrusts continue if only to hear his canid-like groans and feel the slap of his balls so close to your puffy clit.

You moan into his mouth as his teeth nip at your lips, sucking at your tongue before the ringing of your ears fades to hear his growls between the wet gasps.

“Get a good taste of us. I’m greedy, yes? Hungry. No worries…you will be our завтрак.”

The rolling over of your body and the spreading of your legs is all but expected, and you lay there with a smirk rising to your sweaty face as the monstrous man slips downward and slots his face right back where it belongs: shoving itself up against your fucked-out cunt, Nikto’s cum slobbering out and mixed with your own.

The first swipe of his greedy, fat tongue has your shaking legs curling around his head as he shudders in arousal, grunting out muffled words as you whine and slam your head back to the pillow.

“Вкусный.”

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

A/N: Literally idk where this came from but, I guess, take some Nikto smut lmao - still writing my reverse Price AU, but this hit me like a truck out of nowhere. Forgive me if this is literally horrible - I wrote it at 10, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, lol

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just-aake · 8 months ago

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Detecting Love

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 6169

You have the power to detect lies.

Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life.

Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.

People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.

And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power.

Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.

Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.

There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.

There was no cheating.

There was no fighting.

It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.

That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.

It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.

These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.

Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you.

It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends.

And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place.

You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.

At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.

With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.

Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it.

Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.

She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.

“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.

She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.

She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”

Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.

The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.

“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar.

“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.

Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.

However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward.

A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.

There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.

Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.

“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”

You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.

Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull.

Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.

Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.

Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.

Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.

A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.

“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.

Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur.

You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.

Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.

Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…?

“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.

At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.

“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”

Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.

“You’re lying.”

Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions.

The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.

“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously.

At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.

However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support.

As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you.

When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.

The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building.

What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.

Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.

“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”

She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.

“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”

After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes.

Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.

You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.

“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.

She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”

“How did you…?”

She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering.

Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus.

After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.

“I told you yesterday,” she replies.

You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.

“Remind me again.”

Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat.

“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”

Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”

“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”

Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.

So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”

A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.

But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.

“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes.

“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.

Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her.

“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge.

“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”

Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.

If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.

Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“Fine, what do you know?”

Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression.

Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.

As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.

“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.

Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”

“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.

Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.

“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks.

The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence.

If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.

After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.

“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”

Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding.

“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”

“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.

“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”

From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.

However, thanks to your ability, you know better.

Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”

Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.

“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?”

You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”

“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”

“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”

Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight.

For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.

After a moment, you break the silence this time.

“So, what’s the job?”

Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.

“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”

“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings.

“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”

At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.

“That’s confidential.”

You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.

“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”

Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.

“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”

“People like you?”

“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”

You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.

“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”

A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.

Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.

Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.

“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”

At her words, you pause to consider your options.

A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life.

Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.

Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory.

You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.

At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement.

“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”

“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.

A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.

You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms.

Still, the impact has you stumbling back.

“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”

A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again.

You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.

Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors.

At least you used to.

This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.

With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.

You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.

You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.

“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.

Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.

“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.

“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”

Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.

“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.

“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.

It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.

Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.

Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.

Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.

You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.

Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger.

After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.

However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.

Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.

But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.

With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.

Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.

“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.

Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.

Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.

“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."

Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.

“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.

“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”

Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.

Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”

“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.

Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”

You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.

She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.

“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”

You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.

But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”

You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.

“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“What’s this?”

Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.

She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.

Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.

“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”

Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.

Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer.

As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.

You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.

Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship?

“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts.

Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.

After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.

Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.

“No, of course not,” you tell her.

As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.

After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.

“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.

Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.

“Of course, I will.”

Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.

After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.

A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.

A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.

To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself.

“I’m in love with her…”

Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.

“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.

Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.

She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”

You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.

“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”

Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.

Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.

“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”

You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.

“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.

You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”

“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”

She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”

Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side.

“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”

She swats your hand away.

“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”

A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.

“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.

Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.

“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.

Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.

Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze.

A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews.

With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.

"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"

The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.

Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.

However, now comes the final question of the interview.

“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”

Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?”

Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.

“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”

After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."

Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.

"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.

As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.

With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.

“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.

Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.

You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”

Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.

“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.

“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.

Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.

“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.

Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."

"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.

"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.

Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.

“Name?” you begin.

Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.

“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.

“Natalie,” you mock.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.

Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.

“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.

“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.

“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?”

This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."

As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.

By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.

Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.

“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.

After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.

“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.

“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.

“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.

Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.

Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.

“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.

You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.

“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.

“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.

Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.

Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.

Summoning your courage, you face her directly.

“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.

“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”

There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.

Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“No,” her voice responds to your question.

Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.

As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.

I’ll pick you up tonight.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 2

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 8 days ago

Text

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder.

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back.

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling.

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness.

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember?

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears.

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you.

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace.

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene.

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man.

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief.

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy.

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering.

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes.

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again.

You don’t.

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?”

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions.

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling.

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.”

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal.

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms.

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him.

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.”

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.”

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.”

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so.

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum.

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.”

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation.

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.”

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial.

He’s right. He always is.

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple.

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand.

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say.

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.”

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd a bid as that is.

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you.

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath.

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing.

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry.

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch.

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him.

“Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat.

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you.

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.”

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise.

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?”

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions.

—

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side.

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity.

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it?

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case.

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum.

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is.

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone.

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders.

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral.

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts.

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.”

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning.

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought.

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march.

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words.

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?”

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions.

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

#viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #arcane season 2 #viktor x reader #arcane season two spoilers #viktor angst #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x f!reader #viktor x m!reader #viktor x any reader really #not specified AT ALL #wrote this in severe writers block so please be nice to me #im serious ill cry #arcane fanfic #arcane angst #viktor arcane angst

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youryanderedaddy · 5 months ago

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tw: gn reader, non - con, kidnapping (hinted)

He's awfully gentle - and perhaps that's what you hate about him the most. The way your tears reduce him to a shell of a man, the way he holds you tenderly, like glass about to shatter from the wind. The way he looks at you - like you're the only person in his small grey world that's made of moving, breathing flesh and fragile breakable bones and splash of incoherent colour all over your cheeks. The way his irises move with feral speed when the ring on your sharp, barking laugh fills the stuffy mold - infested air with life, and his heart all but throbs out of his chest when you push him away.

He holds you at night through the nightmares and the screams, refusing to let go as you fight with all your might to break free, but it's pointless. He knows you - he's studied you, every creek and curve, every dream and fright, every single thing that makes your being tick and purr and surrender. He speaks your language, despite your best efforts to remain hidden, to remain a mystery, he's managed to slice through the protective shield of your psyche, of your most intimate fears, and he's made himself at home in your arms.

It's odd - perverse even, you realize in rare moments of rationale, how used you are now to waking up with his warmth inside of you, nested neatly between your folds; whispering soft little nothings in your flushed ear. Keeping you at the realm between sweet dreams and bitter reality, making you question every fluttering touch, every butterfly kiss against your throat. You're not sure what's real anymore, hot, throbbing pressure pulsating in the middle of your core, the honey nectar dripping down your thighs, back arching in a pleasure - fueled spasm so erratic you're left breathless. Overwhelmed by ecstasy, followed by guilt - ridden shame in a ruthless cycle you have no hope of escaping anymore.

To think it used to be different all those months ago when he first took you in. You would scratch and bite, kicking at will - acting as crazy as possible in hopes he'd find you too difficult to keep. But alas, his gaze never hardened, lips mouthing words of adoration in respond to your countless insults.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you, y-you - you maniac!" You'd hiss through clenched teeth, sweat forming under your brows as your whole body stiffened before his naked figure hovering over you, strong muscled arms keeping you close to his chest in an awkward mockery of a hug.

"Shh, I know you're scared, my love." He'd caress your hair softly, running his fingers through your wet messy locks, cooing as if you're a cornered animal. "I know you're frightened, but I am not going to hurt you, precious. I love you more than you could possibly imagine. You don't know how long I've dreamt of embracing you." He'd press hot, feverish kisses down your collarbone, stroking your numb fingers until you eventually unclenched your fists. "Just like that, you're doing so good for me, angel, so fucking beatiful for me, just lay back and let me show how much I adore you."

You'd relax your hips slowly, keeping your eyes fixed to the ceiling - yielding to the inevitable, yet making a last pitiful attempt to hide the growing heat between your legs.

"You're so perfect, angel." He'd say, slowly undressing you. "I need to feel you against me. I hope you can forgive me one day - but here, before you, I am just a man. Without you my life would lose all meaning, I can't let you go. Forgive me. Love me, please."

And somehow deep within your heart, you wonder if you truly can.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut

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randomsuggesteduseername · 15 days ago

Text

—RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW

❝ MASTERLIST ❞

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

wc: 4.7k

best friends to lovers, making out, slight smut,

prompts: “Kiss me to prove we’re not in love”

Your mouth might’ve ran faster than your brain could process it. At least that’s how it feels when you watch the blush spread over Steve’s cheeks, paired with a frown meant to help keep his composure. “You want me to kiss you?” His voice wavers slightly, checking in to see that his own brain didn’t produce that thought out of thin air. It’s been long since Steve’s felt this nervous and unsure of himself around you, usually he’s all flirty smiles and cheeky words, yet now he’s been reduced to a deafening silence.

“Yes, kiss me so we can prove once and for all that nothing is going on between us.” Arms crossed over your chest after placing the bowl of caramel popcorn down. The most indignant look on your face as you stare at him expectantly from your side of the couch. The blue-ish hue the tv casts onto Steve’s side profile highlights the way his eyes stay wide when the words slip out of your mouth. “We are not Harry and Sally.” You argue with a crooked brow which seems to earn an amused huff from him.

This all started when he brought a new tape home, the hottest release of the year ‘When Harry met Sally…’ At first glance, nothing but a simple rom-com, little did you know it would put you and your best friend in a position you’ve never thought you’d ever end up.

Steve’s been adamant about the movie the whole night, calling it a heartwarming love story, while you, thinking clearly, stood your ground and told him that it ruined the vision of friendship between men and women. Of course he didn’t get it, his love-deprived brain worked in ways you’ll never understand.

“Admit it…” His eyes swiped over your face quickly as his head leaned back against the couch and to the side to face you. That grin of his couldn’t be more cocky. “You’ve thought about me like that at least once.” Almost stating it rather than asking, you shove a foot into his hip, thanks to your laying down position along the length of the couch which kept him in your reach as he occupied the place left on the couch next to your feet. The ‘humf’ sound he makes instinctively at your shove has you rolling your eyes and looking back at the TV screen.

“Kill me if I ever do.” You deadpan, the look on your face is nothing less than serious. His accusation is absurd, how can he think that you’ve ever viewed him as anything other than your best friend? His hands raise in faux defeat with a slightly amused look on his face, his gaze pulling away from you, at least momentarily until you open your mouth to speak again. “You don’t believe me, do you? Oh my god, Harrington, you’re so arrogant!” Huffing, you get up from the couch, padding over the soft, fluffy carpet the Harringtons recently bought for their living room.

Despite the coffee table topped to the brim with snacks and drinks you feel the need for a glass of water instead of a sugary and fizzy beverage. “It’s not a good look on you at all.” You let him know as you tuck some hair behind your ear, pouring yourself a glass of water, hearing his voice ring out from the living room. “So you think I have good looks, huh?”

You’d roll your eyes again at him if you could, but something tells you you’ll end up with a headache if you keep doing that. Taking the glass back with you, you claim your spot onto the couch, this time your legs curling up next to you. The movie long forgotten as it keeps playing on the TV, now only serving illumination purposes, you’re stuck on the disagreement tonight’s movie started.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You huff. He thinks it’s cute, he loves riling you up from time to time. “You’re crazy if you think I could ever be with you…” The words come out slightly harsher than intended, but he doesn’t seem to take it personal, only faking a gasp, his hand pressing over his heart to try to trick you into feeling guilty. You don’t, not even a little. “Oh honey, how can you be so mean to me?” He almost whines, pouty lips on display, his eyes almost glazing over with the puppy look he’s mastered at this point.

You know this is just ordinary messing around, he’s always poking and prodding you with his words, but something about his suggestion has shifted something inside you. Maybe it’s the thought that he thinks you’re in love with him which…quite frankly, is insane…right? Maybe it’s the way his rhetorics make you want to slap that grin off his face…or maybe, just maybe, instead of slapping you’d like to try a kiss first.

Instead of staring at his stupid brown eyes, you decide to busy yourself with the bowl of caramel popcorn, picking a handful. The taste melts on your tongue which brings you some sort of serenity for a few moments.

The idea which sparks into your head is not appropriate, far from it. What has got you thinking about kissing him again you think you’ll never know, but maybe that’s just the answer. A simple kiss to prove that whatever assumptions he has about your feelings are completely and utterly absurd.

So, you can blame him for pushing it, or you can blame yourself for being so stubborn about proving him wrong. Either way, it brings you back to his shocked face, the words already uttered and too late to be taken back without implying some sort of fear that his suggestion might be true after all. The long and awkward silence almost makes you jab him with a few teasing words, but the way he seems to be a bit shellshocked for the better part of a minute has you keeping it to yourself.

“Kiss you? As in, for real?” You smile, amused by his tone as you nod, the thought brings some butterflies into your stomach but you just assume it’s nerves from having to kiss your best friend. “I’m serious— right here, right now. To get that stupid idea out of your head.” You explain as if it’s the sanest and most logical explanation for this. “It’ll prove we’re not capable of being attracted to one another and that nothing will ever happen between us.”

Steve, after seemingly coming out of his momentarily catatonic state, has already masked his shocked expression and covered it up with that smile you know so well. Shifting to face you on the couch, one leg underneath himself, he seems to be contemplating this before he runs a hand through his hair. “Makes sense.” That’s the conclusion he seems to arrive at as he scoots closer to you on the couch.

The room is still mostly covered by darkness, which makes it harder to see his facial expressions and how his eyes dip to your lips briefly, as if already setting his target on them. His arm is laid over the back of the couch, coming to a stop in front of you once his knee bumps your ankles, making you change your position as you cross your legs and face him too. It doesn’t feel as intimate as the moments before a first kiss should feel, but once again, he’s your best friend…nothing more.

“Wait…” His voice comes out laced with concern, brows pulling together slightly. “Are you sure you won’t fall in love?” Steve asks and you can’t help but let out the breath you’ve been holding up until now, your hand smacking his bicep still settled on the back of the couch. “Oh I'll be fine, not so sure about you though.” Now it’s his time to roll his eyes though you notice the way his lips curl up and his bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a brief moment.

“Alright, Casanova, could you just get to it?” He nods and adjusts his position, not really sure how he needs to approach this. The hand settled in his lap skirts up over your arm, ultimately finding its place on your chin. The way he holds it so gingerly between his thumb and index makes you feel that there’s this sort of nervousness in him just the way it’s in you too. But this is just a kiss to prove him wrong, nothing else.

His eyes find yours and then he’s leaning in, waiting for your reaction, waiting to be shoved away or chided for actually trying to kiss you, but the closer he gets it dawns on him that you want— no, need this to prove him wrong. It bothers him slightly to know you’ll go as far as kissing him to prove that you’re not in love with him and never will be, but he can’t help the sudden thought which pops into his mind, uninvited.

Pulling back slightly to put some distance between your faces again, your eyes narrow curiously, a tinge of annoyance on your features too. “This won’t make it awkward between us, right?” His question makes you sigh, wondering if this whole thing is really a good idea or if it’s just going to make things worse. The last thing you need is to lose your best friend over some stupid rom-com.

“No, Steve, it won’t change anything between us because it doesn’t mean anything.” You assure him, finding it in you to be understanding of his worries. He nods, accepting that it’ll be done and you’ll never speak of it again.

He’s getting into position again, more shuffling and scruffing over the couch as you find a way to rest your legs against one another comfortably. Steve’s hand lifts to your chin again, keeping hold of it softly as he takes one last look at you, starting his approach again. You don’t feel the nerves anymore, truthfully you don’t feel anything, further proving your point that you don’t have any feelings towards him.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as you breach your hand on his knee, not feeling his breath hitch the slightest bit at your touch. It’s so brief that you almost miss it. A chaste peck which only meets your lips for a second. Your eyes open once his hand pulls away and clears his throat, not saying anything.

You should be happy that you felt absolutely nothing during the kiss, yet it still leaves you with a sort of empty, unsatisfied feeling in your chest. You dare to look at him again, a few beats passing before you notice the soft blush dusting his cheeks, though it might as well be the light from the TV.

“See? Nothing.” You press your hands to your thighs, subtly drying them against the material of your sweats as he seemingly agrees with you. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you gaze forwards before your mouth opens again. “You know, that wasn’t really a kiss. Like, a proper kiss.” You twitch your nose as you don’t dare look at him.

“Mhm, yeah…” His bottom lip is stuck between his teeth, the plush flesh catching your interest as it falls freely back into its place. “You’re totally right, we should probably try again.” The thinking process seems to be logical, as if the possibility of looking for another excuse to kiss each other is not even on the table right now. Just two friends making sure they’re not in love, right?

“Okay then, kiss me like you’d kiss Becky, Tina or Amy. Just pretend I’m one of them.” The words make him dizzy. How can he pretend to kiss you like you’re just some girl he wants to spend his night with? You’re so much more than that, though at the same time less. Your connection is too strong to one another, and as if reading his mind, you speak again. “Maybe not like that. But just kiss me like a girl you’re in love with.” His huff comes out with just the right amount of humour.

“I can do that…I think.” His tongue comes out to wet his lips, the way he’s looking at you feels a bit more intimate now. “Get to it then.” You try to joke as you take a deeper breath, his body already close to yours, making it easier for him to reach out.

The way his skin feels on yours when he cups the side of your face should be the first indicator that this kiss is going to be much different from the first. As if reading your thoughts, his thumb swipes over your cheekbone almost tenderly, eyes falling shut in time with one another, you’re left with the darkness of your eyelids, focusing solely on your other senses.

The musky smell of Steve’s slept in clothes and lingering wafts of toothpaste on his breath, the warm encompassing feeling of his palm on your cheek and the low hum of unintelligible voices since the movie is still playing. The tip of his sharp nose is now tracing over the contour of yours, whereas the first time it was merely just a clumsy bump. You refrain a shudder successfully and you let him go on, carrying a sort of curiosity about what King Steve does to these girls to have them in a chokehold.

And then it happens again, that chaste press of lips on lips, though you keep still and lightly press yourself closer. Just as fast as it comes it goes again, making you furrow your brows. “I th—“ The words get swallowed by him as Steve leans in again, more purposeful, carrying more intent.

Something trashes wildly in your stomach, dare you say butterflies as he parts his lips slightly, coaxing you into a slower open mouthed kiss. You don’t mind, letting him take the lead, following his pace, you’re pleasantly surprised when his tongue tries to enter the mix. You welcome it with your own, brushing wetly over one another while his lips seal over yours.

Without realising, you let your hands come up, one hooking against the back of his neck while the other pushes greedily into his hair. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, though you surely get lost in the way he’s treating you like you mean something more to him. The way his hands touch you, stroking your cheek and holding your hip, the position is still somewhat awkward and stiff, having to meet in the middle, but you don’t mind it that much.

Clearly he does, having to pull you closer, making you slip into his lap to get more comfortable. Settling on his thighs, your knees dig into the leather of his couch while his head tilts back to reach you better. You’re sure your lips will soon turn numb from his ministrations in which you both seem to get lost, clearly forgetting the whole reason you got into the argument in the first place.

Feeling him up, your hands drift over his shoulders and down to his chest, giving the briefest squeeze on it which has him taking a deeper breath in, making you smile against his lips. You’ve fallen into a rhythm, getting accustomed to one another, but everything freezes in place when you hear him.

Confusion etched into your features, your brows twitch together momentarily. “Did you…moan?” The question seems absurd since you’ve heard it clear as day, you couldn’t have missed the way it made your insides clench, your eyes searching his face as you watch the tips of his ears and his cheeks flush a deep red. “Well we’ve been shoving our tongues down each other’s throats, sorry for getting distracted.” He defends, trying to sound as if it’s your fault, looking away to hide the embarrassed look on his face.

Gazing down at him, you take a breath and shift, unintentionally brushing over his lap, his hands tighten on your hips if it’s any indicator to the torment he’s going through. Your lips out of reach, unsure if you’ll even kiss him again after his slip up, your body nothing but a teasing, heating pressure which would be embarrassing to let affect him. But oh how can he keep it together when you’re set on ruining him?

He thinks you know what you’re doing, not when you stare down at him for a brief moment, giving him the idea that you do want him, not when you shift over his lap, and not even when you breach your hands on his shoulders and push him to lay back again, but when your lips press against his for a third time which has his mind rebooting, trying to keep up with the pace you’re setting.

The idea that this was supposed to be just a kiss is now forgotten, the only thing that seems to matter now is kissing his best friend like she’s a girl he’s in love with. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even find it that hard to do, though he doesn’t have the faintest idea as to why.

You can’t help but grab hold of his locks again, so silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. This time when Steve feels it, he doesn’t moan, not even grunt, what he does though is shamelessly grind up against you. You’d stop the kiss to ask him if he’s hard, but it all feels so good, the way he’s encompassing you in his arms, how he shifts the slightest bit down towards your jaw, in search of sensitive skin. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down again which is enough to make Steve lose his mind.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin, your whole body warming up at the idea that your best friend can’t contain himself after a simple kiss. Your thighs try to squeeze together at the sound of his voice, instead, squeezing his hips.

Heart drumming, you feel his lips finish up the work on your skin and it doesn’t hit you that it’ll leave a mark, you’re too preoccupied with the way his hands help you grind over his lap to notice. There’s a fire growing between both of you, low and slow, simmering dangerously close.

There’s sudden silence, the tape has no doubt ended, leaving you in a way too intimate silence, only filled by the grunts and gasps shared between you. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be letting a simple kiss get the better of you but Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, letting his needs guide him into stealing another greedy kiss.

Getting light headed, unsure if from his passionate kiss or the lack of oxygen, you’re forced to part, a thin string of spit splitting between the two of you as you look at one another, realising just how wrecked and ravished you both look.

His strands are sticking up at odd angles, his lips flushed a deeper red from all the kissing, just enough to match his cheeks. The collar of his shirt is stretched out a bit, showing a part of his collarbone from where you’d fisted his shirt. The way he’s looking up at you makes it seem like he’s begging for more, his body certainly is with the way he’s still pressing between your thighs, feeling that he’s fighting to contain himself for the sake of the dignity he has left.

Forcing down the lump in your throat with a harsh swallow, you force yourself to move off of him, sliding next to him onto the couch. Settling your hands in your lap, you toy with your fingers, gazing up at the ceiling as he does the same, waiting in silence until your breathing slows down and your mind is a bit more clear.

“You’re a nice kisser,” You mumble the compliment. Calling it nice would be a gross understatement but that’s all you can manage at the moment. Two, Three beats pass before he conjures up a response. “Thanks, you too…nice,”

“Great, um…I guess we proved my point.” Only now remembering what got you in this mess in the first place, you blink and look for your glass of water before you take a sip, the room temperature liquid feeling cold as you drink.

Stubborn.

That’s exactly what you are. It’s been three days since you and Steve broke the dam and started a metaphorical flood of thoughts and feelings. You haven’t seen him since, not that you’re looking forward to the awkward silence and new weird dynamic. Some part of you wishes you’d just accepted the defeat without having to prove anything, while the other can’t help but think back to that kiss, maybe the best one of your life.

It’s on Saturday night that Robin calls and invites you over for a movie night. Just the mere thought of it has your blood warming up, but you can’t let him keep you away from your shared friend group. You’ll just have to…ignore him.

Easier said than done.

You rode with Eddie, he never has a problem with picking you up, but he does give you a strange look when you hop in his van as if to say ‘Where’s Harrington?’ Since the two of you always come together, wherever you go, he’s there and vice versa.

With a hammering heart, you let yourself in as you always do and greet Robin with a smile, subtly looking over her shoulder as she speaks, trying to see if he’s already here. Snapping back to the conversation, you follow her to the couch as she rambles off about whatever tape she ‘borrowed’ from Family Video, though it always ends up thrown somewhere in her room, gathering dust.

Settling in the middle of the couch, You watch as Robin takes a seat next to you, telling Eddie to prepare the tape and bring the bowls of snacks over. Finally settling into the familiar energy, you laugh, entertaining Robin’s absurd thoughts and jokes, but soon enough it’s interrupted as the door opens and closes again, Eddie’s still occupying his usual armchair so it can’t by anyone else than him…

Clammy hands drying on your thighs, you look back as his voice comes out, greeting the three of you as he apologises for being late. You know him, and you’d be inclined to say that you do it best, but looking at him right now, you can’t seem to be able to read him anymore. All you can see is those big hands that grabbed and squeezed at you, those walnut strands which you tugged at, pulling the prettiest of sounds from him, and those eyes…oh how you’re lost in them until Robin boops the tip of your nose, flushing in embarrassment as you pretend they didn’t catch you staring with heart eyes at your best friend.

“Okay, come on, let's watch this already.” You huff, as if you’re impatient to see the movie, but in reality, you’re only thinking about the lights being dimmed so the blush on your cheeks won’t be on full display anymore. You’re cursed with having to squeeze into Robin’s two person couch with her and Steve, each of them pressing closely into your sides, Steve’s arm laying over the back of the couch.

The movie isn’t great, not even close to what Robin’s promised it to be. Proof of that is Eddie drooling on himself as he sleeps peacefully in the armchair, and Robin’s head pressing against your shoulder as she rests with soft snores coming out of her. You wonder how you’re still awake yourself, but the heat radiating off Steve’s body is enough to keep you alert for almost an hour.

“Should we turn this off?” He asks as he gazes at the screen with a sort of bored confusion on his face. You nod and watch him as he gets up, using the opportunity to let Robin lay comfortably on the couch as you slip away from the living room and find yourself walking away, moving towards the bathroom but before you can lock yourself there, you hear his voice.

“Can we talk?” His question seems to slip out like he doesn’t want to go through the conversation either, but it’s eating him up, having to keep his distance from you. Telling yourself it’ll be okay, you turn on your heel and nod, heading to Robin’s room as he follows closely.

Once the door is closed, leaving the two of you alone, you dare to lift your gaze, swallowing thickly while he seems to be looking for the right words. “Did I make things awkward between us? You know, like after we uh— made out?”

“No…no, it’s just, It’s fine…really.” You rush to assure him, he doesn’t believe it one bit, your voice wavers as he steps closer and tilts his head with a concerned furrow in his brows. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem like that, you can barely look at me and you haven’t called to spend the night in like………forever.” He argues, knowing you always have sleepovers, especially now in the summer.

“Steve, it’s been four days…” You smile lightly as you correct him, seemingly overestimating for how long you’ve been apart, though for him it surely feels like a drawn out eternity meant to make him suffer in your absence. “Exactly!” He huffs as if you can’t seem to understand just how much he’s missed you.

He’s got you, it’s a curse that he knows you this well. Maybe you can’t lie your way out of this, not when he’s watching you like a hawk, trying to find the source of the problem as always. He hates to see you upset, even more so when he knows it might be his fault.

“C’mon, when did you stop telling me what’s bothering you?” The way his tone seems to be a bit hurt makes you look at him, now he’s much closer, his hand reaching for yours as he tugs you gently towards him. You’re not sure you can say anything that will justify your actions, so you don’t. Gazing down at the way his hand swallows yours up completely, your chest swarms with butterflies as he toys with your fingers gently. Want takes over your mind, clouding your judgement as you gaze up at him, opening your mouth to speak.

Knowing no words will ever compare to what you want to do, you push yourself up on your tiptoes and grab hold of his shoulder, leaning in to connect your lips again just like you did three nights ago. Despite the sudden movement, he doesn’t seem to be too shocked, quick with returning the kiss as his hands settle instinctively on your waist to make sure you stay close.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, you cup the side of his face with your free hand and lean more into him. Letting him walk you back until you bump into the wall, you sigh into the kiss and pull his head down to reach him better. A fuzzy feeling takes over your brain as you let yourself enjoy the moment, feeling Steve’s wandering hands advance, you cling to him for support and arch, saying his name in a soft whisper.

Letting your hands slide up under his shirt, fingers tracing soft skin, gripping at his strong back as Steve occupies himself with pawing at your thighs and waist.

Your bodies pressing and tangling warmly, finally feeling the freedom to touch him like you’ve always known you wanted deep in your heart, humming softly as he lets a relaxed sigh slip from his lips. Minutes pass before a sudden thump, followed by a grumpy Robin cursing, travels through her small apartment.

You break apart with a groan and bite your lip, gazing at him as he seems to resent the interruption too. “We should get back out there before they realise we’re missing.” He knows you’re right, but the way you look like you hate the idea, carrying that soft pout on your lips which has his heart melting makes him dip his head to catch your lips in another kiss, this time softer. “Mhm, in a minute.”

And how can you turn him down when he’s so adamant about kissing you?

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