#also i feel like he’s gonna start saying too much because he can never let dust settle and frustrate me all over again so is it worth it?

[misplacedlizard]

I wouldn't normally consider the feeling of personal satisfaction from completing a crossword puzzle "praise," but lets accept that definition for the sake of argument.

Let's say someone invited me to their home for movie night, then paused in the middle of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and refused to let me watch the rest of the film unless I correctly completed a crossword puzzle first.

If I complete the puzzle, watch the rest of the film, and the host praises me for finding the ark of the covenant and stopping the nazis I'm gonna look at him weird, because I certainly didn't do that!

If I complete the puzzle, watch the rest of the film, and the host praises me for completing the puzzle... I'm still gonna think that's weird, because it's just a crossword puzzle, it's not a big deal, and also who stops a film in the middle to force someone to do a crossword puzzle, but it'll probably find it less weird than the above.

If the same thing happens with a film adaption of The Final Problem, and when I finish the puzzle, the host criticizes me for how long it took me to do so, I'm not gonna like it, but I'm not gonna argue that hard, because, as an action I actually took, I can't deny how long it took me.

If the above happens, and when I finish the puzzle and the film plays out, the host criticizes me for killing Sherlock Holmes, because I could have stopped writing on that crossword puzzle at any time, and then charges me for coming and watching the movie with him, I'm not going back to his house ever again, because he has no grip on reality.

In games with linear narratives, the player might control the character, but the player is not the character. The character can have their own arcs and choices separate from the actions of the player. (How many times have players easily beaten a boss without a scratch, only for the cutscene afterward to depict the player character struggling to so much as stand in the face of such a challenging opponent, or vice versa?) Like most fiction, some audience members might relate to a particular character's struggle more than others, but a video game character overcoming their depression has certainly never been the sole factor in a player overcoming theirs. In these works, the gameplay is less "controlling the narrative" and more "turning the page."

You can witness this disconnect between the actions of the players and the actions of the characters even further by listening to how people talk about their accomplishments in games. Very rarely do you hear "I finally rescued Peach and saved the Mushroom Kingdom." More often it'll be phrased as "I finally beat Bowser!" or "I got a no hit-run on stage 8!" The things they will receive "praise" for are their feats of skill, not their moral choices. This occurs less often in games with less linear stories, because the element of choice in the narrative means that a player is doing more than just turning the page, and is in some small ways, controlling the narrative. In these special cases, criticism of a player's moral actions can make slightly more sense.

Spec Ops The Line wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants to criticize players (directly, in fourth-wall breaking ways, not just the in-game character,) for making bad moral choices, while giving the player a movie that stops and starts based on their ability to solve the "use gun on other man" puzzle, rather than any meaningful choices bar the one "shoot into the air" example every video essay praising the game brings up, or "JuSt DoN't PlAy ThE gAmE! But no refunds!"

I see no reason to respect the game, or its ham-fisted message.

But lets apply your standard consistently: should anyone who started the original Mario or Legend of Zelda, and quit because it was too hard, or they didn't have time, be criticized for letting the princess die alone and forgotten in her arch-nemesis's dungeon? Should they hold the sole blame for the fall of Hyrule or the Mushroom Kingdom? Better yet, should every death even a successful player incurred be treated as a bad timeline, and the player criticized for? And what of those that never bought the game at all? They had a choice to help, or sit back and do nothing as Ganon and Bowser pillaged and burned, after all.

If I started talking like that to people, they'd rightfully look at me as crazy. So what's the difference here?

Spec ops the line be like

[ohhicas]

What are your favourite headcanons about Even and Ansem the Wise? (About themselves and about them as a pair)

Ohhh I know I'm gonna forget something, but I'll try to list a few (gonna start typing without thinking & see where that lands me ehehe) All these are gonna be Headcanon, but if I slip in something I know Is Canon I'll try to like, asterisk it to highlight (I may forget to do this. just know most of what I'm saying is from the brain and not canon)

(this got huge, I scrolled back up to slap a cut down LMAO)

AtW got his position through family/born into it; he didn't really want the Power behind it (and preferred science, not politics) but knew he needed to step up and be the King that Radiant Garden required, especially after the passing of the previous. I feel it happened fairly young (if AtW is high 50s, 60s, I'd imagine it happened low 30s), so he had to learn to balance hobby (science, exploration, etc) and work (politics) really quickly.

He was kind of a soft-handed king. Not known as being strict, and wanted to mingle with his people and be more hands-on. Before he had his crown, I like to imagine he was always down shoulder to shoulder with the people. He's an engineer at heart, always wanting to build and expand and see what limits man can breach. He'd absolutely want to be down with the masses with the blueprints and battle plans to expand the castle town!!

I like to imagine Even wasn't originally from the Castle town, but from a city just outside it beyond the woods and etc we see surrounding RG. When Ansem was first taking over and looking for a staff refresh, I imagine he scouted Even out who would've had a Reputation both for his attitude and his brain/studies. They didn't get along at first with Ansem's calm vs Even's tightly wired. Eventually, Ansem figured out how to really 'use' Even to his full potential and let him stretch his brain, and they got along Much better (to a degree. I imagine their first meeting happened in AtW's high 30s/40s, just to keep a 'timeline' going here).

While they were trying to figure out like... Ansem's Security System (guards), the idea that everyone Inside the castle should also have some kind of defensive ability to them, may that be Magic or Physical (in Ansem's early curiosities, I imagine he either directly encountered a keyblade wielder or at least learned of them. This of course being Before he gets the chance to meet Mickey.) So anyone in the labs were trained in very, very basic combat.

Even rocked shop at 'very basic combat' in a way that had the current captain of the guard go "oh damn, can we have him instead--". Ansem called dibs and pulled rank (absolutely childishly sticking his tongue out at Lyna) to keep Even on the lab team. <- (I'm kind of shaky on this part exactly; I just know I headcanon Even as 'was good enough for the guard, but he got YOINKED to the lab team)

Because of his performance during the combat drills, despite Even's own "I'm not a warrior," grumblings, he gets a guard military dress uniform when Big Events come around. Ansem thinks it's a little cute how much the (20s, bitey, tugging at his collar and grumbling) lead scientist hates it. (--wait did he just think 'cute'? oh that's going to be a problem for the future. oh well.)

A Decade and a handful of years pass, the others crop up along the way (Dilan first, and then Aeleus). AtW & Even are not "A thing", but have an obvious push and pull dynamic of an old married couple despite doing no more than Ansem having grabbed Even's wrist to inspect for burns when a machine sparked at his fingertips. There is. Something, there, but neither man will go for it. Even is too busy with his labs, Ansem too busy with everything.

He leaves and returns with a boy. Even nearly blows a gasket when Ansem smiles oh-so-charmingly at him in a way he cannot (has never been able to) deny and announces the lost child as his ward, for the time being. Even wants to claw at the walls because (not)respectively, my lord, what the Fuck. (he immediately finds himself caring for the boy, despite his fussing, just like Ansem knew he would. He trusts Even so much it worries him. Ienzo stares up at them with his blank, emotionless face. Pours through every book and manual and report well above his age bracket and barely part of Ansem's own, and something in Ansem's heart wrenches. His thirst for knowledge reminds him so much of Even's own and it scares him.)

They all die. when Ansem fully learns of what happens, while he no longer has regrets for what happened, he does wish he would've been there to die alongside of them, sometimes. But it's his fault that all this happened in the first place, isn't it? It's only suiting for a pitiful father King to suffer everything being ripped from him. If only he was stricter. (While he's a man with so many regrets, while he's learned to keep going to try to amend them, there are some things he can't stop thinking about. Ienzo is a grown man, now. When he watches as Even and Ienzo bicker over a monitor while Kairi sleeps off and on, there's an ache for all the things he missed. [But what to miss? It's not like they were truly a family; Ienzo is just his ward, and he and Even were never--])

OK other things that dont' fit in whatever that checklist of points became LMAO OOPS,,,

Ansem:

As much as I'd love if he himself was ever allowed to travel worlds while younger, I feel it'd be a disservice to how much he's done while grounded in RG if he ever did. Instead I like to imagine he has a well known 'open door' policy for travelers; anyone who CAN enter his world, he wants to meet them. He wants to learn from them. He's so hungry for knowledge that he'll grab any "trying to be secretive" world hopper and drag them down for tea to needle for information until he can try to worm SOMETHING out of it. Even if they never cave, he'll feel like he learned something just by how much spark was in the traveler's eyes.

Doesn't have the best diet in the world. He's got a severe sweet tooth, and tends to lose himself in the labs and his library for hours on end. If someone from the guardstaff didn't chase him down with a sandwich and tea, he'd probably go a full day without eating anything beyond ice cream. Before the Fall, it was bad. After the Fall, it's worse; he went so many years without needing to eat, or drink, and just existing in the world between that he forgets food is a thing that needs to be eaten. He's frighteningly thin from his time as DiZ. Aeleus has been trying to figure out how to slip more protein into his food since recompletion and reunion.

Mickey brings him little treats from the outside worlds any time he visits. Ansem loves that mouse so much, he'll clear his entire schedule when he arrives just to have the time to sit down with an old friend and chat.

While he's a Scientist, yes, he leans more heavily into Engineering. He's incredibly good with tech* and even reprogrammed Tron to work for him. He built/helped build/got the build going and I assume the planning for that entire basement lab hellscape For Ienzo. He and Cid will get along so, so well when they get to interact.

Even:

Has always run a little cold, even before any magic reached his body. Like the joke that all nurses have cold hands, he was ice.

He has the shoulders and biceps of a linebacker for a reason, even as a scientist. Ansem's machines are so heavy, they couldn't always call Aeleus or Dilan down from their post to come lift something to Even took it upon himself. He was already decent at combat, the muscle was there. He just built it a little better so he wouldn't have to rely on anyone for his work. (as he gets older, he calls for one of the larger men because he is Not throwing out his back for a single machine.)

He was not unaware of any lingering... Feelings between him and AtW before the fall. He's married to his work, but not stupid. You don't do all this work on Hearts without understanding the ins and outs of them and being able to clock the emotions in those around you. Especially His Own. There was just no time for it, so he shoved them down and to the side to deal with never. He was always so close to a breakthrough, he couldn't waste his precious time with fraternizing. No matter how much he wished to linger there, in the softer moments, when it was just him and Ansem in the labs surrounded by the soft hum of machines.

I like to imagine all the Org, reformed, maintained the whisper of their old magic. Even doesn't fully find reason for it, or the hollow ache and need for it like Some of them, but he can feel it in his fingertips sometimes. The shield and sword come to him like second nature thanks to his Guard training he took, once. The ice he once summoned so naturally for years sits like an itch under his skin, only crackling to the surface as frost at high emotion. He hopes the others dont catch him shaking his wrist out and hiding his hand behind his back until the frost melts. (They catch it. They have no room to speak as the walls shift, the wind picks up, and the ground quakes.)

Absolutely never considered himself a 'father'. He doesn't hate the term, but it sits uncomfortable in his heart. (Joke's on him, he has the most children out of all of them. Ansem would love to tease him on it, but he's still trying to judge the acceptance level of such a joke.)

Despite All That

i like to imagine everyone still assumes them a couple. If asked, Dilan will handwave it ('of course they are a thing, in their own way. He doesn't care about the fraternizing of his peers. Why are you asking him?'). Aeleus will clench his jaw like he knows it's not his place to gossip, and he cares too deeply for Ansem (like a mentor figure, like a teacher. The man saw him with all his bulk and muscle and still gently taught him the sciences and let him flex his brain to become a treasured pupil.) to disturb that trust with such a thing. Ienzo will wrinkle his nose and laugh it off. Do not make him even think about things like that. (Part of him knows. Understands. They are both categorized as his Fathers in his mind, even if he refuses to allow himself to call Ansem that out loud.) Braig (Luxu, taken over) saw the weak point and exploited it. Whispered to Xehanort where to hit and how to twist the dynamic to work best for their goals.

[ I also like to pretend they made out once in the younger years, tipsy from drinks at a party, not thinking straight. both men remember it, both are pretending it didn't happen. Life carried on like normal after it. Ansem brings it up like an execution shot after recompletion, when things finally resettle. "Have you ever wondered, dear--" speaking of things that could have been if they weren't so foolish. Even is so tired after everything, he doesn't even pretend to be angry about the topic. OLD MAN YAOI GENTLY STARTS UP, TENTATIVELY. ]

[hermits-crab]

FLUFF ALPHABET W/ SEBASTIAN — STARDEW VALLEY

SUMMARY: The Fluff Alphabet by @snk-warriors featuring Sebastian!

CONTAINS: sfw, gn! reader, fluff, established relationship

NOTES: Dedicating this to @badgerintraining who asked about this a while ago! I’m so sorry this took me so long to post. I was really enjoying my break before the semester started and now that it has, it’s kept me busy. I hope I did your boy justice!

A = Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Sebastian likes playing video games with you or to have you at his side while you watch him! He likes having your input and commentary as he plays. This includes you playing Solarian Chronicles with him and Sam too. He also likes showing and explaining his comic book collection to you!

B = Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves your touch and your skin! It’s always so warm and your scent relaxes him. He loves being enveloped by you. It’s not something he thought he liked before—in fact, he wasn’t receptive to it at all—but with you, it’s so different. Your presence and touch is calming because you’re not overbearing or expectant of him. When anyone else touches him, he visibly tenses.

C = Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Sebastian isn’t great at comforting people. He’s very awkward. For example, if he finds you crying, he’ll stand there for a moment before going to sit next to you. He hesitates to rub your back at first (he does awkwardly) but eventually pulls you into him. He doesn’t say anything, just letting you cry, all while he becomes increasingly more comfortable with petting your head and holding you tighter. He’ll ask you if you want to talk about and then offer to do something you enjoy, like watching your favorite show.

D = Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He pictures a quiet life with an occasional outing. He’s not concerned about marriage or children—he’s never pictured that life for himself personally. He might want to buy an apartment in the city where he (and you!) can go to every so often.

E = Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He tends to be more dominant but it’s not on purpose; he’s kinda stubborn. For example: if you come home later than you said you would, he’s waiting for you at the door or on the porch and telling you off. He does it out of love and worry but tries to come off as though he’s more mad than he actually is.

F = Fight - Is it easy for them to forgive their s/o? How are they when fighting?

Although he tries to act tough, he’s very sensitive! If you hurt him, he’s going to be quite passive until you approach him to apologize. He’s not gonna initiate anything. If holding grudges was a sport, he’d be the MVP. The same pretty much goes for when you fight. But if he was in the wrong, he’ll probably be mad for a little while but later he shamefully apologizes.

G = Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He’s very grateful for you as a person but doesn’t recognize his gratitude beyond that very often. Not because he isn’t! He most definitely is but it doesn’t cross his mind frequently. When it does, he becomes kinda mushy, giving you more physical affection than normal and doing you favors around the house or farm.

H = Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

I think Sebastian has a lot of secrets or things about himself that he’s not willing to share. It’s so hard for him to open up. The longer you’re together, the more he does and the easier it is for him.

I = Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Without a doubt! He’s very open-minded and is willing to do just about anything to ensure your happiness. He tends to like what you introduce to him to even if he thinks he won’t at first! It’s enough that you want to spend time with him.

J = Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He doesn’t get jealous very easily but when he sees someone blatantly flirting with you, he gets pissed. He’s not confrontational so he’ll aggressively remove you from the situation, pulling you close to his body. He’ll then either lecture you, asking you what the hell was going on, or he’ll give you the silent treatment with one word answers or grunts. Either way, he is not letting you leave his side nor is he removing his hand from you.

K = Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Inexperienced king. The first kiss was awkward and shy on his part. He was a little hesitant, cupping your cheek so gently and slowly pulling you in. His kiss is so soft and sweet, like you were going to crumble beneath him if it wasn’t.

L = Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

On a motorcycle ride to a cliff with a view of the city!

M = Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

I think the thought of marriage kind of freaks him out. Commitment freaks him out. If you’re down to never be married, he’d be very happy. But if that’s something you know you want, you’ll need to tell him that so he can ease himself in the idea. The closer and longer you’ve been together, the more receptive he is to the idea.

N = Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

Babe, Sweet Thing, Doll. He mainly calls you by your name and sometimes ‘babe’, reserving the other two mostly for the bedroom. He’s not much for nicknames otherwise.

O = On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they’re in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

To people who don’t know him well, no, it’s not obvious. To people who do know him well, it’s painfully obvious. He spends less time in his room, he’s happier, he’s friendlier, he’s more sociable. His loved ones catch on quickly that something’s up and he knows there’s no hiding it.

P = PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

I don’t think he talks a whole lot about you. That’s not to say he’s unhappy or ashamed because that is so far from the truth. Sebastian is a very private person, only willing to let the outside world in on a surface level. The closer he is to someone, the more he’s likely to mention you. He just wants to keep his private life private.

Q = Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

he’s good with his hands Sebastian is very good at setting boundaries, mainly that of alone time. His social battery drains very quickly—it always has—and he needs frequent time to himself to recharge. Please don’t take it personally! It has nothing to do with you. Even in your honeymoon phase, he’ll need this. It aligns with your schedules pretty well, though. While you’re busy going throughout your day on the farm, he’s at home using that time to spend alone, and in turn, time to miss you. He’s always so happy to see you return, hoping you’d like to spend time together for a little while.

R = Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

I think his first reflex is to do something cliche and romantic, like taking you out to a nice restaurant. His second would probably be a more adolescent approach, like a movie. And there’s nothing wrong with either of those date ideas! But as he grows more comfortable in your relationship, he starts taking you places he enjoys (and of course, thinks you’ll enjoy too), like going to a concert, going to an amphibian and reptile showing, or even getting a (small) couple tattoo.

S = Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He hates when people try to help him without him asking. He knows how that can make things worse so he doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Unless you ask him for his help and specify what it is you need his help with, he’s gonna back off. He’ll always give you emotional support though. He wants to see you succeed and help you in achieving your goals!

T = Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Sebastian is such a creature of habit and doesn’t feel a need for much adventure. He prefers to keep a lowkey routine and is very content with it. He needs to be able to rely on it to manage his anxiety and depression.

U = Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He’s a lot more empathetic than he might come across. Sebastian is very perceptive and he quickly picks up on what bothers you. Even if he might not exactly understand what you’re feeling, he does understand what it’s like to not be so he’ll always try his best to empathize with you.

V = Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Sebastian strikes me as the type to lead with his heart. He might not completely rationalize a situation or think logically at first. For example: if you’re in danger, he’ll run into it head on in an attempt to bring you to safety, not considering other possible factors or hurdles he might come across. So he’ll do and endure just about anything if it means you’re happy.

W = Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

On rainy days, Sebastian likes to either take you down to the docks or to catch frogs with you! At the docks, he brings a couple of towels for you both to sit on as you stare into the horizon, cuddling each other under your shared umbrella. Catching frogs brings out a child-like innocence in him that you rarely ever see. He’s completely himself too, telling you everything he knows about them or about that specific species you caught.

X = XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He’s actually more affectionate than you may think! He likes having you in his lap while he works at the computer. He’s especially cuddly in the morning and at night. If he’s not holding you, he’s wrapping himself around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. But he’d never admit to doing that to save his life.

Y = Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Sebastian will probably text you hourly to check on you, maybe even call you just to hear your voice. He greets you at the door when you come home, suggesting a movie or chill multiplayer game.

Z = Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind?

Absolutely! He’s a lot softer than he likes to come across. If you asked him to quit smoking, he might give you some gruff about it but eventually would. It wouldn’t leave his mind, in fact. He’d look at it as something he had to do, the only reason he’d hesitate at first is because of the addiction. Otherwise, if you asked, then sure!

— HAVE A REQUEST? SUBMIT IT HERE! • READ MORE

[masters-of-void]

woe, midnight anyu/aoi breakup & introspection upon u. i may add this to a drabble covering their whole one-month relationship but i just wanted to post some writing now cause i been so busy with it 🥲

xX GLIMMER Xx hey, can we talk? Driftin' Sure. Everything okay? xX GLIMMER Xx um. so listen, there isn't an easy way to say this, but I've been thinking. I hate to bring it up when things were going so well, but I think we'll do best as just friends Driftin' Oh. xX GLIMMER Xx I'm sorry Driftin' Was it something I did? xX GLIMMER Xx no not at all! it's me, I promise do u have that turn of phrase in the future? "it's not u, it's me"? Driftin' I... wouldn't know. xX GLIMMER Xx gosh okay look, ur AMAZING and I'm probably being REALLY stupid here. I'm just not ready like I thought I was. it's not fair to u to be expecting "Arthurisms" one way or another when ur just trying to be urself with me I don't want to string u along Driftin' Aoi, you don't owe me an explanation. xX GLIMMER Xx no, I do. u've been nothing but sweet and understanding. I can't tell u how much that means to me so again, I'm sorry. I truly did enjoy our time together Driftin' Yeah. Same here. Thank you for it. xX GLIMMER Xx ur gonna make someone really happy one day ^_^ friends? Driftin' Always. xX GLIMMER Xx ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ xX GLIMMER Xx went offline

Drifter stared at the screen, unsure of what he felt. His gut instinct was to default to 'nothing,' so he knew that had to be wrong. There was definitely something he needed to feel about this.

Glimmer went offline.

He read the tag over again once. Twice.

It was a firm rejection. A...new experience for him, at least in this context, and it stung. Bitterly.

She'd said offhand a few days before he asked her out to go talk to Lettie if he ever went through a breakup, when he'd been curious about their friendship. She'd regaled him with the tale of how Lettie had helped her settle her feelings about ending her last relationship. That there was no one better besides, well, Aoi herself, if he also...had the opportunity to want help with that.

Well, they hadn't told anyone they were seeing each other. It was too early and "complicated because of Arthur and this whole situation," so they just didn't bother. Not until they were sure. Hmm.

It seemed she'd decided what she was sure of.

Eleanor probably knew, but it was so casual and now short-lived that it hardly seemed appropriate to talk to her or anyone about how 'heartbroken' he must be. Nope, this was a little thing. He could handle it on his own.

But digging deeper, he found...relief? Like a weight lifting he didn't notice was there before.

Her cheerful personality was what drew him to her almost from the start. Everything about her was a bright spark of color in the ancient gray of his life, and he'd reasoned after Kalymos gave him a second chance on that first New Years night that maybe this was it.

Maybe this is what I've been waiting for.

She was brilliant. Beautiful. A glimmering star to marvel at, just like her KIM handle implied. She'd said yes. And he thought he'd never felt so happy in his life when she did.

But if he were honest with himself, sometimes it seemed like her happiness was a mask she put on, even after they'd talked about it. And that reminded him far too uncomfortably of Mathila.

He loved Aoi's joy, that she wanted to share it with the world, with him, but if she also used it to shut him out, what could he do?

She obviously had an inner world she'd decided she couldn't trust him with, at least for now, so cutting him loose was a favor in some way. If she were only happy all the time and never let him look under the surface, then he'd just fall into another spiral trying to draw her true self out of her.

He was very acquainted with how that always turned out, and he still didn't know what he was supposed to do about it -- to stop someone from turning into a great murderous Orowyrm when faced with the part of themselves they didn't want to change. It was something he'd need to learn before he tried again, and he simply counted himself lucky that she pulled the plug before it got that far. Maybe she'd seen it coming already.

And how exactly would he 'try again'? Would he reset the loop and go about their relationship differently?

No, he probably shouldn't. That was a power he reserved only for fixing the mistakes he'd made alone, and it sounded like part of Aoi's decision was because of things that had nothing to do with him. He wouldn't rob her of her free will like that. He'd have to find another way to fight the Indifference then.

He stopped short on that thought.

Ah, maybe that's what he did wrong. What she wasn't telling him.

If it wasn't about her, then it wasn't for her either. And maybe she'd picked up on that from him. So this did indeed circle back to being his fault, but that wasn't her problem.

As much as he wanted to indulge in these feelings normal people got to have for each other, maybe he wasn't ready either. If it was even in the cards for him at all, he knew that if he were to have a relationship with someone, it needed to be completely real. Both parties had to be, regardless of what the void planned for their world.

No masks, no tangential intentions, nothing that would put his mind and soul separate from the person he loved. He couldn't do it otherwise.

It was a strange sensation, to be ashamed, relieved, and hurting all at the same time.

He sat there, hands in his lap, meditating on it, adapting it to his psyche to hold onto when-- if, IF the loop here turned gray.

Eventually, he caught himself tracing his thumbnail over his lip absently. Enough time had passed that the screen went dark, snapping him out of the meditation. He shook the mouse to power down his computer properly and read the tag one last time.

Glimmer went offline.

Shit. He was going to miss her kisses.

[hollyhomburg]

@mocha000 I know I love Sope so much too!!! I’m so happy that their scene together hit the sweet spot- honestly doing research on the double penetration was one of the things that kind of held up this chapter- because it’s not actually something I’ve experienced lol and I wanted to see how other people usually write it before I wrote my own. I think I did a good job with it even though its overall a little short in the chapter

In my head, Namjoon has like really cute ways of referring to the pack in his head, just because he’s kind of hoping for the most sweet love for them, like Tae is taetae, Yoongi is yoonie, Jimin is always jiminie, namjoon is just! Cute you know? He might be big and buff and pack alpha but he’s also very very soft.  Like you said! He’s reliable!! Reliably soft for his pack <3

Ahhh yes jiminies giggle <3 I swear I watch too many of his giggle compilations! They’re a sweet spot for me whenever I’m feeling a little bit more sensitive than usual. Honestly I almost edited out the part where jimin is talking about the gun again- but I feel as though I may have forgotten the mafia aspects of this story a bit too quick???

Tbh I think the pack probably get Tae a water resistant notebook (they make them for geology things) just so that she can sort of leave it in the bathroom.

Honestly same, I need yoongi biblically. That little bit with noodle and him blinking slow was kind of a last minute add on. I like how he is just so down for whatever is gonna make the m/c happy, and then the double penetration starts to happen and he realizes he’s so aggressively into it that he almost comes too quick. (tbh I think it all takes them like- seconds to pop their knots because they’re just that in love.)

Tbh I wrote the m/c stimming with namjoon’s thighs because I think it would lowkey be the most comforting thing just to like? Stim with your partner?? Like appreciate the part of their body that’s like sensorily pleasing. With all of my partners in the past its been a different part of their body that has gotten the ‘yes good texture must touch for comfort’ treatment. I think that this stimming behavior in the m/c might have been something that she’s picked up a little from jungkook and jimin.

There is growth all around in this chapter- yoongi letting her be spanked without being triggered, the m/c learning to ask for what she wants, Tae showing the others her poem. I know that the bily pack sort of had this like- invincibility about them at the beginning of the story- but one of my favorite things is how flawed they actually where as a pack back then and how yoongi leaving and coming back brought all of those issues to the surface which where then sort of fixed by the m/c’s presence.  

Honestly, I almost made Hobi completely nude cooking in the kitchen but!! Decided that he should be wearing at least pants. But you’re right how you say that the beach holds a lot of meaning for them <3 I love it as a setting and as a metaphor for some of the conflict in the story.

Honestly I love that Hobi is just like- so into boobs like same bruh.

I love that yoongi’s always like- prepared to be dominant with her but it’s never his default, like- he’s such a good mate for her ugh, ready to take charge but also willing to indulge her every little whim. Need me a packmate like that tbh (I’m delusional)

Oooooh as for namjoon and yoongi next to each other, honestly I picture them sort of pushing each other for like purchase, like, namjoon definitely tries to palm between yoongi’s legs or make him pop a knot so that he moves, but then I also think that they probably get too preoccupied kissing each other and sort of kiss each other and her pussy at the same time. It probably finishes with namjoon licking into yoongi’s mouth because of the m/c’s slick.

Sometimes if you pay attention to it, Hoseok kinda talks in a lower register??? And it’s very like- asmr almost, that’s the kind of tone I picture him using when he says “oh you like it?” and teaseing like fuck you jus tknow that if he ever said that into your ear it would cause full body shivers.

I think namjoon calling Tae babygirl is lowkey so gender affirming for her like-every time he says it- when he’s giving her her injection, when he’s helping her get out of a car like a gentleman like- namjoon is very purposeful with it and probably knows, and it probably makes Tae fall a little more in love with him every time.

So happy that you loved this chapter even if it was a bit overwhelming! It the last bit of the heat though so hopefully the next chapter will all be fluff and happiness <3 we’re going to start touching on more of the part of the story that deals with their aftermath, specifically the m/c going back to school again and jimin and Tae's new jobs which I hope everyone will like/enjoy

Before I Leave You (Pt.81)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your heat is oh so close to breaking, but first, you need your whole pack even closer, but nothing seems close enough…

Tags: Heatsex, Dumbification kink, Dacryphilia, Crying during sex cuz its so good, overstimulation, fucking in omega space, mind break, Double penetration, Two Knots one hole, sope x reader, settling spanking, dumbification, lactation kink, omegan milk and talks of triggered ruts, breeding kink, implied/referenced somnophilia, rough sex, squirting, Subspace, dom! Namjoon, Dom! Seojin, jin refers to himself as daddy exactly one time, size kink, seokjin calls the m/c a slut but it's loving, overstimulation, voyeurism, Holecheck, fluff, Comfort no hurt,

W/c: 11.8k

A/n: wow last heat chapter!!! honestly i did not anticipate this taking so fucking long and for that i'm sorry (i'm not sorry at all).

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The truth is heats aren’t all just fucking and getting fucked. Slick and knots, Alpha’s and Omega’s. Hierarchy and settling. There are also some sweet moments that exist independent of its raging and hunger. Moments of domestic bliss that find you like a shot of sunlight during a rainstorm:

The thrum of instinct is heavy, like an anchor pulling Namjoon up from sleep. His consciousness bubbles up from somewhere in between a very very happy dream involving the pack and a can of whipped cream and a feeling like he vaguely should eat something.

The first thing he registers is that he can taste cream on the back of his throat. Probably Jin's slick. And the second thing is that there is someone- an omega moving around the nest.

A bad thing, a thing that his instincts, primed and ready to protect, are all loud over.

Jinnie is pillowed on his chest, hole slick and open around Namjoon's knot, resting just inside the comforting familiar warmth. Knot warming to soothe his pack omega who had been quite distressed when he woke last and was unfilled. But Namjoon has fixed that. Good, Namjoon is doing a good job, of keeping his mate and packmates happy.

But that is Neither insistent nor very important at the moment as Namjoon subtly shifts the omega closer to him. Going into guarding mode, on alert the second he wakes. Eyes flicking from the window to the door, a growl already building to ward off potential predators.

But there are none here in the quiet room, nothing besides the cool blue light of the moon slipping through the window. Jin nuzzles into his neck, whining low at the sudden burst of angry alpha on the air.

Namjoon’s arms tighten at the sound of movement. Thumb rubbing at the dimple of Jin’s spine. But when he looks- eyes flinty in the darkness- it’s just you.

He watches as you move, instantly fully awake, waiting and seeing if you'll trudge too close to the edge of the nest and if you'll need him to manhandle you (albeit gently) back into your place among the other soft and sleeping pups here. Safe, where you belong, where you should be sprawled and ready to take any of the sensual delights that Namjoon's alphas have in store for you.

Namjoon is patient, like a cat watching a mouse, waiting to see if you like Jinnie earlier, need to be caught.

Namjoon hadn’t let the pack omega fuss over the food for too long without herding him back inside the nest. The distance between Jin and its safe walls is the mental equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Namjoon had all but nipped Jin at the scruff- something that the pack omega only sometimes allows. But if Namjoon feels the need to get all his omega’s safe and in one spot then Jin feels it tenfold.

It's a good thing that they both get each other like this. Namjoon will never take it for granted, and will never not marvel over his soulmate.

Namjoon scans the nest, counting bodies and measuring breaths. Every pup is where they should be, snug and sated. Well, almost every pup. But Namjoon is inclined to watch and wait and see if you come to him.

Your cheeks are round looking, eyes barely open, blinking blearily, wearing only a large dark t-shirt- because you complained that the nudity was bothering you earlier. It was an easily fulfilled request although the alpha’s might have bickered a little bit over whose shirt you wore. Jimin had won out and you smell like him, like vanilla and alpha musk.

Although that might be due to the state of the shirt. The black shirt you wear is crisscrossed a little grossly with near-translucent evidence of Jimin's cum and your and Jk’s rubbing. But messiness and a lack of hygiene kind of goes hand in hand with heat and maybe he'll remember to think it's gross tomorrow.

But now Namjoon breathes in deep a barely there warning growl on the exhale, luxuriating in the scent of all of you combined- in more ways than just the shirt indicates. Even from here, he can smell how bred you are. The underlying sated current to your scent tells him he's done his job and done it well.

For a moment Namjoon lets himself imagine that he's actually pupped you (all three of you at once, but who’s really measuring Namjoon’s fantasy here) and that soon you'll start to swell and sweeten. You'll be as adorably dependent on them as you are in omega space all the time. The fantasy is so heavenly that Namjoon’s eyelids begin to grow heavy.

Jin is going to absolutely go to town with you and Jungkook later. God, Namjoon would kill for a shower. Maybe in the morning when he's not so tired.

Namjoon watches, mouth dry and knot sore. Namjoon is just detangling his thoughts enough to try and ask you if you need another breeding or perhaps growl at you in warning, when you get to where Yoongi’s slumped. Knees to the side, body half propped up in a mess of pillows.

His pj’s are pulled low, the same flannel ones that Yoongi always likes but that Jungkook complains feels too scratchy. But you don’t seem to mind, immediately snuggling down into your mate. Your legs and Yoongi’s legs immediately tangling.

Namjoon has never asked what it feels like- your mating mark, beyond the barest scientific-driven questions. But sometimes he wonders- is Yoongi your north star? Is he the taste on the back of your throat? The face you see behind your eyelids as you dream.

Namjoon’s hands tighten around Jin’s body instinctively. He's been looking at the pack omega's throat a lot more this heat, appreciating the musculature, the vein that Namjoon can see pulsating. They've been together now for what- 6 years? Almost 7? How much longer should they wait?

Yoongi wakes when you fall into his arms. A little thump, A little oof. Namjoon hears it from across the nest. In the quiet soft hum of dreaming bodies, Jungkook’s soft snoring and puppy twitches make a blanket rustle.

Yoongi doesn’t look upset at being woken up so abruptly, blinking as you duck low and nuzzle into his jaw, whining softly. Needy. Lying your body weight over him and instantly limp.

Namjoon's instincts resettle themselves.

“Hey little honey,” he says softly followed immidatly by something barely intelligible. Brushing your tangled hair back from your face, ducking low to bump his nose against yours before he kisses you, soft and slow deep.

Namjoon hums, pleased.

You only squirm in reply, shuffling closer to Yoongi, like just getting your body next to his isn’t enough. Isn’t close enough for your mate. Namjoon feels his heart pang.

"Did you need it? Do you want it?” He trails off, and Yoongi’s flush is a little noticeable even if the half-darkness. You just shake your head. Namjoon can tell by the way your cheeks, look- flushed but not sweaty- that this isn’t another spike of heat.

This is just you; this is just you needing to be close to Yoongi. Namjoon’s mouth goes a little dry and he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a word for fear of interrupting you.

Words have been hard for you in heat, more often than not communicating with one-word answers or a shake of your head, but you scrape together your words for Yoongi now. “Just cuddle? Just wanted to cuddle with you.”

Yoongi hums deep and gravely. And opens his arms, pealing back his covers because with you there- he won’t need a blanket, burning hot as you are. You settle in around him. Hitching a leg over his hip that Yoongi adjusts pulling you closer.

You press your face to Yoongi’s throat and Namjoon sees him swallow. Sees your mate wrap his arms around you, hand skimming up and down your back, endless trails until you fall asleep. He thinks Yoongi might whisper something to you in the darkness.

After counting the bodies once again. Namjoon tucks Jin's head back under his chin and shuts his eyes. Listening for seven heartbeats beating in rhythm before his instincts let him rest.

The pack all need it after the heat, Namjoon thinks it must be close to ending now, but it’s hard to tell for sure.  

~-~

There are other soft moments too, as the spikes between your heat truly start to petter off later that evening. It's not over yet, but it's getting there. When you're lucid enough to speak, you and Jungkook complain that your bodies feel awful.

The stickiness between your legs, the dewy space under your breasts (that Hobi is kind of obsessed with nuzzling into but whatever, boobs are great, you're obsessed with tae's and he's obsessed with yours, you can both be casual about it), and the other countless little messes that you and the other omegas have made on them and the nest.

The last layer gets peeled back after the alphas detangle you from the nest one by one whisking you away upstairs to deal with some of that mess. Revealing a clean layer of nest below. The nest is not nearly as plush as it was at the start of the heat. Too many soiled blankets have been removed and too many rutted against pillows have been judged too dirty to sleep against.

Your heat fever quiets just before you get into the bath and Jimin turns you knotted and sleepy. Reclining against Tae's chest while Yoongi gets wet up to his upper arm. Teasing Jimin for turning lazy after a knot. But it’s all false and fondly put upon. Yoongi doesn’t mind washing your hair and Jimin’s. Both of you are sudsy, enjoying Jin’s nice-smelling shampoo that leaves both of you speckled with pink bubbles. Sighing and purring at every lingering rub.

You nuzzle into the crook of Jimin's elbow. Seeking out something intangible. Jimin smells so good. Musky alpha, happy alpha, your alpha. He laughs, a high-pitched sweet sound. It sounds so good against the tall ceilings. echoic, nearly melodic.

Yoongi is very very careful to rub behind your ears. Firm fingers massaging out the knots in your neck until you’re turning limp against Jimin’s front. In this position, Tae can poke and prod and count the freckles on your back.

“You know, if you connect all of these, they sort of look like a bunny,”

Yoongi peaks over your shoulder, “or a frowny face.” You whine, and your mate changes his tune, “Definitely a bunny.” He pecks your forehead and your eyelashes flutter.

"My perfect bunny, so good after your first heat with us. You just have to be like that- you just have to let us take care of you. Can you do that for me huh? Can you be good for us?" Yoongi says it as if he can hardly believe it. 'First heat' is said with such a reverence that it makes you just a little more lucid.

Tae goes quiet, in the way that she does when you know she’s thinking through something- some aspect of her story or a poem, a particular way to word things. And things are calm enough that Jimin can answer her sleepy request for a bit of paper and a pen.

"Minnie. If you’ve got a moment."

Jimin gets up and out of the tub. Disappearing from your front after he drapes you over the side of the deep tub. The porcelain is deliciously cool against your front compared to the hot water. Should you respond to Yoongi? Do you need to?

He prods at your mouth, and you open obediently, eyes closed. Happy to taste- water? Electrolyte? He guides you to sip and you do. Barely conscious as he rubs the water from your lips with a thumb, chiding you gently for being messy.

If Jin were awake, he’d be sudsing up your hair and using some of Tae's expensive leave-in conditioner, he’d section and detangle each strand with a gentle tug. He would use the sugar scrub and then the body wash and then lather you down with body oil leaving your skin shiny and hydrated.

If Jin were awake and it was time for a good grooming session the pack omega would catalog each of the bruises on your body and dispense a pea-sized amount of the soothing cream that he always uses. The bite marks on your neck might need something a little more heavy duty. Jimin has been a little more nibbly than usual.

Jimin pauses before getting back into the tub, staring down at you and Tae for a moment, taking a second to appreciate the vision you paint. Both of his girls in the bath together. Everything slow and comforting and normal.

It's so normal here. Between you four. Tae, Jimin, Yoongi, You.

There are no lurking thoughts or anxiety over hidden things. No secrets- delightful or scary, lingering on the edge of Jimin’s mind. When he looks down at his hands they are not blood-stained or holding a gun.

He just has the pen and paper for Tae, a sheet of paper ripped out of the notebook she keeps next to the nest upstairs. The journal exists only for scrawling and mumbling through Tae's jumbled thoughts, not sacred like the ones downstairs that only see a finished product. Jimin didn’t think Tae would want to risk dropping her whole notebook into the bathtub.

Yoongi takes a big dollop of suds and pops it onto the end of your nose, you go cross-eyed trying to look at it, pouting. Jimin can't help his smile.

Tae's chestnut hair is half a wreck but she’s still the most beautiful thing Jimin’s ever seen. (This is not to be confused with jimin putting you in some sort of hierarchy- you firmly hold the spot as the cutest thing that Jimin’s ever seen. He uses a different word to describe each of the pack this way. Jimin has no second favorites or best favorites).

Jimin’s cheeks look a little…moisturized probably from all the time that he’s spent buried between your thighs during this heat. His skin glows. Radiant. Although heats usually leave the alphas looking a little bit ragged and worn out that hasn’t been the case with this heat.

All of them prowl about like predators turned fat and lazy from domestication. Sleepy but not exhausted. Worn but not at the end of their ropes. Instincts a heavyweight that sings like a low drone. White noise. Like the mental equivalent of a weighted blanket.

Even for Jimin who usually gets out of heats so on edge from all the hormones, usually so worn down by the end that his skin turns hypersensitive and his words get chopped and simple. Overstimulated, that's the word for it.

But not now, there’s not an ounce of tension in Jimin’s body as he watches you and Tae in the bath. He watches Tae wipe a bit of soap from your cheek and Yoongi shields your eyes from the water as he rinses out your hair. Your purring ripples out into the open air, deep and luscious like velvet. When Jimin looks down at his arms- there are goosebumps there.

Yoongi looks up at Jimin, still bare, still dripping water onto the floor, and smiles. Jimin can’t fight his flush.

It's probably your slick and milk that has Jimin feeling so tamed. Probably.

Jimin always has time for you and Tae. That’s sort of one of his rules; that he will prioritize you no matter what he’s doing. That even when things are bad or scary or you’re in heat he will make time to indulge you both. Indulging you both is what Jimin lives for.

(How lovely it might be to be loved that way, a simple concession but not one that is given easily. I’ve been writing this story for so long that I’ve forgotten how people fall in love. Could it be like this? I want it to be like this).

Jimin returns to the tub and bundles you back against his chest, his feet nudging against Tae's knees as he gets comfy in the hot water. Tae stretches and turns her body to reach for a towel, wiping her hands to dry them so she can grab the paper. Yoongi continues to wash you smiling down at your fingers limply curled into a fist, taking a brush to them and the dirt under your nails. Jimin’s arms loosely wrap around your back to keep you in place.

You roll onto your tummy or try to. You're awfully wiggly and sleepy like this. it's almost like you're trying to nest in the water.

"No no no pup, you can't present here." You pout at that. The ball of Jimin's knee rests against your stomach. On your belly- you have to get onto your belly.

Water sloshes against your face, Yoongi's hand goes harder, more dominant, threading through your hair and holding your head up. "Pup, you cannot breathe underwater."

You grumble like you wish they'd let you try, but stay put when Yoongi picks you up and rests you across Jimin's lap. Half draped over Tae, half over Jimin. Utterly boneless.

It isn’t the first time Tae has used your bare back as a rest for her notebook. The feeling of the paper against your bare skin is comforting and familiar. Her non-dominant hand tickles over your shoulder as you doze, not fully asleep lazing in the water.

Yoongi leans his cheek against the ball of Tae's shoulder, nuzzling briefly. He peeks over her shoulder as she writes and scrawls and she tilts the paper so that he can see better.

Occasionally hands grip under your arms, readjusting so that you don’t actually drown as you sort of fall asleep. You’re so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that cannot be roused.

And it's so warm, the places where they touch you blend and move, sudsy and slippery.

Your face gets gently washed, gentle fingers in smooth circles and when Yoongi tilts your chin, you notice that his fingers have already gone pruny from how they’ve sudsed you up between your legs to your knees, every inch of you clean. Even the hem of his pushed-up sleeves are damp.

When she’s done with her little poem, Tae recites it for you three. The steam turns the air hazy. It sort of feels like a love letter that turns into a poem. You’re distantly aware of it as always, that this poem is about you.

But then again most of the time when Tae writes it’s about you. (Jimin too, but mostly- you).

You think when she finally lets you read her book you’re going to see little bits of your love story in between the pages. You’ll notice flashes of you and things that are references to the way that you love her. Sweet reminders that you are loved and treasured just as dearly as one of Tae's characters. That you live in her head just like they do.

8 months ago she would have never shared a poem with any of them so soon after it popped into her head. She’d at least have edited it a little and let the words linger for a day or two. Tae's words used to be kept under lock and key. But you have made Tae into someone brave now. She is not so scared of showing the delicate parts of her. You curl your hand around her thigh in response. Cheek resting on her knee as you listen to her voice. 

“I long to be careless with my heart, to not know what it feels like when it burns. To give it thoughtlessly again, so that I might prolong those firsts with you."

There is a lump in her throat, you can hear it as she says the words. it makes them come out hushed like she is close to crying. The ending of these firsts has never bothered you. First kiss, first date, first heat. All crossed off a list. Maybe when you're more lucid you'll tell her you can play pretend and go on as many first dates as you need to to get it right. Until she stops feeling this way.

"As the firsts become fewer and fewer, I find myself pausing, making it last, savoring it.” You rub your cheek into Tae's knee, and Yoongi’s hand runs through your hair, then Tae's.

“A bite, a blush, a secret shared.” Jimin’s hand lingers around the curve of your shoulder, holding you out of the water.

“The love on the blankets, your kiss ruddy on my hands. The feeling of your knees between my knees, Your heart and other banquets. we feast upon the plenty. Pomegranates. Figs. Milk. Honey.”

Tae's hand thumbs over your lip, and when you look up at her you find her watching you. Reading off the words without looking at the paper, like she’s already committed it to memory.

“A first meal or last like any other. Regardless, I eat.”

~-~

With a little bit of prodding and a bit of encouragement, Hoseok gets quite confident towards the end of your heat.

It's either from your moans or the increasing vulnerability and laconicness of your body. Nothing makes an alpha doting and possessive like a vulnerable little omega. One fucked quiet and soft. Completely pliant and boneless in the nest, unable even to reach for them as your body gets softer and softer with heat.

The fever rages through your body, turning you docile and out of it. Even when your packmates try to prop you up for a bite to eat, a bit of water, or a wipe to your face- you cannot seem to hold yourself up. Body limp, bones like Jello. Eyelashes fluttering and whining. Fucked so good that you can hardly open your eyes.

You whine through the overstimulation of another orgasm. But your hands feel so heavy you can't even push their hands or faces away when it gets to be too much. You are truly fucked up. Truly gone from all their attention.

Like with most omega's, your heat gets very very bad before it breaks. An increasing spike that foretells the ending. Nothing is enough, not even overstimulation makes your heat fever quiet.

Both Yoongi and Namjoon bury their faces between your thighs. Cheek to cheek, finger fucking more slick out of you that they lap up eagerly. And you cum until your toes can't even curl. Until your clit twitches, sucked pink and puffy, and you can't even squirt anymore.

Sweat beads at your temple and your body begins to tremble. And Hoseok can tell from the pinch in Namjoon’s face and the slightly stressed sour note in his scent, that things are not good. That the pack alpha is worried- more worried than usual.

But Namjoon has a lot to balance, between Jin sleeping through the night on the other side of the nest and measuring his other half’s breaths. deep and gentle, counting the minutes until he wakes. And Jungkook who seems to have stolen your energy and all but needs to be dragged back from the edge of the nest at every available opportunity.

He squirms, making a game out of it. A game that Tae and Jimin do not enjoy in the slightest. “Kookie don’t-“ “I swear to god if you bite me again I’ll-“ “behave omega”

But their threats land on deaf ears. Jungkook just giggles and rolls away. Leaving their muscles straining, arms bulging as they hold him down by the wrists as the omega rolls, mouth open, teeth bared. But Jungkook always did like to be held down when fucked, restrained, and made to take it until that feisty edge in him is dulled into something docile.

But you? You continue to cry.  

You just can't recognize what it is you need, frustrated, endlessly frustrated. Maybe you got a taste of it when they realized you were leaking milk; all of them close, all of them around you. You want that back now. Your packmates under your teeth. You need all of them, right now.

Or at least more than one. Yoongi and Namjoon between your legs was half of it but they didn't touch the ache in you. The burning need to be full. To feel full.

One knot just won’t due.

Luckily, Namjoon has prepared you well for it.

Your tits are bitten and puffy looking. They'd spent several hours draining you dry. You barely have a few drops when Hobi leans down to check (to make sure really- he’s not behaving like a milk-drunk pup- he swears). You only sigh gently at the closeness, his hair brushing your skin, nuzzling into his hairline as his mouth goes where you’re tender, a few mouthfuls, the sound of gulping and Hobi.

Hobi. You cling to him and whine when he moves away. Distantly through the dripping and the trembling you’re aware that he’s trying to say something to you. He sighs when you stay silent, hand listlessly tangling in the nest. Needy for something you can’t say, words that just won’t come to your lips.

You want that closeness back, You want them near again- you just can't figure out how to say it.

The first thing that indicates you're nearing the end of your heat is the tears; constantly your eyes are glassy and your scent is sour no matter how many times you cum. You're sniffly pressed to Tae's shoulders while Jungkook latches. Little tears on your cheeks while Yoongi knots you.

Every single moment you're awake, you're weepy. No matter how many times the pack tries and soothe you; you are wet-eyed and sniffly. Broken somehow.

“You don’t want us to stop fucking you right?” Namjoon asks after you cry and whimper through another knotting. Relieved when you shake your head almost angrily, eyebrows pinching together like you're angry he even suggested it. Tears threaten to spill as you lock your ankles around Namjoon’s back, pushing all of you closer to him, Your stomach brushes his. The dewiness is faintly gross but faintly hot too.

"Alright pup, don't worry, no one is gonna take me from you." Namjoon means it. Even if you probably won't remember it later. His hand settles on the back of your neck and guides your face to his scent gland. He's not surprised that you bite down, the sigh slips from his lips and his thumbs rub and roll your scruff to soothe you. “Ah pup, alpha isn’t going anywhere.”

They try not to let it affect them, how you cry.

Crying can be hot sometimes, making a sub cry because they’re feeling too good well. Jimin might give you exactly that demonstration when he mounts Jungkook, finally turning the other omega docile under the weight of his knot. The dominance in the air like a fire threatening to spark.

But you remain bundled from Jinnie’s chest to Namjoon’s, to Yoongi’s, “I’ll take her.” he says. An edge to his voice that Namjoon might not have taken as a threat to his dominance before Yoongi had a knot.

Namjoon clenches his teeth. Everyone is a bit on edge with you crying.

“Can you tell us why you’re crying little pup? Does something hurt? Are you achy here?” Jin very very gently cups your chest. You're sat half sideways in Yoongi’s lap, peaking out at the pack omega from Yoongi’s neck, shaking your head slightly. Jin’s hands move south. thumb rubbing up and down the chub of your thigh.

During any other post-heat Jin would be sleeping soundly through most of the following day, but not now, not with you like this.

Jin's hair is so tangled it nearly stands up straight, his cheeks are so puffy and his lips are so swollen from kissing and biting that they look a bit like a beak. But besides the fact that his body just won't stop slicking up- Jin's fine. His skin is no longer flushed, he can blink back the last little bit of haze and consider himself ludic. His heat is over. fucking finally.

So when he wakes to find you crying, he doesn't hesitate to help, to slip his hands between your thighs. “How about here? Does this hurt? Is that why you're crying? Did we break your little hole?”

You tremble a little bit as he strokes, finger pads rubbing in what he hopes is soothing circles. But when he stills you shake your head and Jin sighs, removing his hand from you with a barely there cobweb of slick that Namjoon almost immediately eyes.

You tuck your face back into Yoongi’s throat, sniffling renewed as he moves away from you to say something quietly to Namjoon, your mate's throat vibrates against your cheek as he speaks but you can't make sense of the words.

"Joon, don't be gross."

"Sorry." Namjoon doesn't sound sorry at all.

Some of the alphas like it a little bit too much. The crying. Jimin laps at your cheeks and teases you for it, calling you a soggy little puppy. Everything, tears, milk, slick. All wet and messy for them. Stretched to your breaking point. All burned up.

But Yoongi is more gentle, more routine, slower and sweeter. It's late at night when they finally figure out what you need. The lamp in the corner is on and your body is shrouded in shadow. Sweaty and achy.

You’re no longer able to move so much, so exhausted that you need your packmates due to every little thing for you. You need Jimin to guide bites to your lips and need Namjoon to brush your teeth when it comes time for bed. Mouth open and eyes closed, so trusting as Namjoon tilts your head and praises you. 

You're wearing pj's, little pajama shorts pushed to the side, a button-down shirt in front that has most of the buttons undone. It makes you feel so much better, being taken care of like this. But still. You cry.

And you need Yoongi like you need blankets, warmth, he'd offered to fuck you to sleep and you'd nodded your scent. And now Yoongi is trying really- he's doing his best.

But still, you can't seem to stop crying. He presses his cheek along yours crouched low so that your bodies touch everywhere. Your heartbeat next to his heartbeat. Your cheek against his cheek as his hips move in small little circles. His knot is just barely starting to grow sensitive and taught. That new feeling that Yoongi is starting to recognize as a warning.

You’re warm all the way to your temple. Yoongi has realized that it’s more the emotion that’s making you cry and less his dick, but still-

He juts his hip forward, working his knot into you. And you sniffle against his throat.

Yoongi finds it hard to remain undistracted with you crying. Maybe that’s just because your crying is the exact opposite of a turn-on for him. Yoongi’s lips glide across your forehead, feeling something like an apology. He stops thrusting and instead rests inside of you, warm and wet and tight.

You tremble. Hands brought up to your chest like you need to hide your heart from him. Yoongi tries not to be hurt by that. Yoongi rests his forehead against yours and nearby Namjoon perks up a little, watching and waiting.

Yoongi wishes Namjoon would just rest.

“Little honey, will you tell me what’s wrong? What’s going on in that fuzzy head of yours huh? You can tell me.”

You tip your chin down, voice oh so quiet, oh so fragile when you finally speak. “Won’t be angry?”

“Not gonna be angry. Promise.”

You glance sidelong, not at Namjoon, but to where Hoseok is eating a late dinner, trying not to look like he’s watching (He was definitely watching.) But Jin has an arm wrapped loosely around his waist, a little possessive, a little protective. But Yoongi knows that like you Hobi likes a physical reminder to stay put and rest, a reminder that he’s exactly where he’s wanted at the pack omega’s side.

“Wan' Hobi alpha.”

Yoongi kisses your brow, never one to be hurt over you choosing someone else. Your tears are more important than his ego and what his mate wants in heat is infinitely more prescient than his newfound knot and the needs that come with it. But you whimper, clinging to him as he starts to pull out. Tears once again build at the edge of your eyes and threaten to spill.

“No! Don’t go!”

“Honey, I don’t understand, you can’t have both of us at once…” Yoongi trails off as you sniffle.

"Want both!" You cry, petulant. Yoongi looks up making eye contact with Hobi (flushing desperately) and then Jin (looking curious and sort of impressed at your level of bratting. Any other day talking like that would get you drawn over either Jin or Namjoon's lap for a spanking).

There is a single moment where everyone waits. Jin’s eyebrows go from raised into his hairline to down, staring at you like you’re going to send Jin into heat again. Can one omega even trigger another’s heat? If they could, you would certainly trigger Jin’s.

Jin has that dark look in his eye that Yoongi has learned to be a little bit afraid of. The same kind of look he gets when Jungkook asks to be have his hole slapped. When Jimin asks to be pushed around. When Namjoon asks for his collar. A dangerous look.

The pack omega is in post heat, he's not supposed to be doing any of the helping and yet- Jin shuffles over to where you and Yoongi recline in the nest.

You can't possibly be asking for that. For two knots at once. You’ve never broached that kind of play; anal, with Yoongi. and he thinks this is hardly the time to do it when you’re already not communicating well- when you’re in Omegaspace and even the slightest hurts and aches can feel mountains high. You are so sensitive when you are like this, in heat and in Omegaspace.

And yet you reach down, palming blindly where you and yoongi meet. "Want Hobi here, want both please? Good pup?"

You can't possibly understand what you're asking for. It's too dangerous. Stretching you out like that. You couldn’t possibly take two knots in one hole, right?

Only, could you?

You’d taken Namjoon barely an hour ago, and the pack alpha had slid in like it was nothing, fucking a fresh wave of slick and a few dribbles of squirt out of you. Knot tugging at your entrance until Yoongi could see where you went pink. You’re… stretched a little, dilated, fucked open enough to take Namjoon’s cock, usually a gargantuan task but-

You’d half slept through the last time he’d knotted you. namjoon is at least twice as thick as yoongi, and hobi is only a little bit girthier. yoongi's knot would be small if he was an alpha. hobi's always been average.

But togeather... could they fit?

It’s Jin who checks, shuffling up to get behind you. Sneaking his hand first under the hem of your shirt to stroke at your hip lovingly, and then down the edge. Lower. Yoongi doesn’t slip out, and you continue to nuzzle into the column of his throat, sniffling.

“Wan Hobi, want- hng.”

Jin’s fingers prod, and it’s almost exactly how Namjoon guided Hobi earlier only it’s Jin doing it this time, all snug up behind Yoongi. He smells like heat and like alpha cum, like he’s been bred himself. It’s doing things to Yoongi’s self-control, that new tight edge to fucking. Being surrounded by two omega’s in heat, sandwiched between them.

“Calm down babypup, you’ll have your Hobi, just give us a moment.”

Jin is tired but lucid. Pretty soon he’ll cajole one of the alphas into letting him sneak upstairs for another bath. Jin can only handle the tacky feeling of slickness between his legs for so long. But the prospect of re-grooming himself alone after a heat doesn’t appeal to him nearly as much as making sure you and Jungkook are tended to.

It can’t be much longer now, there can’t be too much more to your heats, maybe another 6 or so hours. You're both so tired, and the alphas are too. Jimin is sleeping barely a few feet away, heaping over a clean pink and purple checkered blanket. His generously sculpted ass shows two neat little rings, teeth marks.

He rubs slowly at where your entrance parts are around Yoongi’s cock and then more insistently until you let him in. He has to use a bit of force but it’s easy. His fingers slide in next to Yoongi’s cock.

You hiccup and cry, this time because it's good, it's exactly what you've needed and Jin doesn't stop.

Namjoon has done a good job of fucking you open and sloppy. You quiver but stretch easily. Jin’s second finger goes in with little more than a hiccup, his third too, almost holding around Yoongi’s cock, making the stretch tighter. Your trembling increases when Jin turns his wrist over to press up against your spongy g-spot. And Seokjin watches your clit twitch in response and you cry out.

One day, one day soon he’s going to test how much that little nub can take, it going to make you cum until you can’t even squirt anymore. You can hardly handle this with more than a dribble now. Just a drop or two that hits Jin's wrist in a slight brush of warmth.

You pull your knees up to your chest obediently, and Yoongi holds you under your knees. Jin grabs one of your ankles to keep you still, to keep you from squirming for more fingers.

There you go, stretched again, more. You want more. Two packmates close and your instincts tell you that's good. Your instincts start to recede just slightly. Not enough but getting there.

Jin’s cock twitches, still soft.

Hobi lounges not far away, his chest dotted with bite marks and pretty marks, bruised looking in the shadow, sharp eyes watching him. Hobi's eyes close slightly. But stay open. The eye contact he makes with Jin is tentative at first, but Hobi doesn’t blink or look away first, he doesn’t back down.  

Perfect.

Jin’s teeth ache, Hoseok shies away from Jin’s becoming hand but not for long. Namjoon has been watching the whole time while reclining, looking big and protective. Watching Jinnie do his work as pack omega with a domineering glint in his eyes that Jin almost wants to purr at.

He watches Jin with heavy-lidded eyes an apex predator full and happy letting his prey walk close without hunting. Jutting his chin as if to say “Go on, give me a show.” 

Jin fits three fingers into your hole next to Yoongi’s cock, each trust earning him a whimper before he pops them out and lands a spank over your clit, both you and Yoongi jump. Jin’s hand comes away wet.

Jin has Hobi by the back of his neck, quicker than he can think to reign in his instincts. There is no squirming or pleas for justification. Hoseok just tips his throat and lets Jin sniff at it, snuffling up and down his throat.

“She wants you Hobi puppy, don’t you want to feel Yoongi’s knot my sweet pup?” Hobi blushes but relents, letting Jin guide him closer.

Earlier, pillowed in the nest after knotting, you’d watched your mate and Hobi. Watched as Hobi got down to look, whispering quiet and fond words with his hands wrapped around yoongi's knot. You'd watched Hobi's long hand's birdlike drift down Yoongi's chest to go between his legs.

Yoongi had let the other alpha explore him until he'd gone taught and sagged. "Ah really- fuck"

"Like this, it feels good when it's like this. wrap your hand around your knot like this and tug-"

His touch is both experimental and familiar. You'd watched them press their knots together, glossy with omega slick, rutting and rubbing and laughing.

And now you’ll get to have both, both at the same time. You chirp, needy, bratty. You don't want to be denied it for another moment.

You squirm, Hands opening and closing in the nest. Looking up at them, Hobi's eyes are dark with such an unabashed show of wanting that behind you, Yoongi sort of laughs, a pitch too high. A little unhinged. A little pussy drunk.

Hoseok is beginning to get back his confidence, the frantic fear of the heat wearing away. It always goes this way; Hoseok is always just thinking he’s finally adjusted to all the scents when the heat ends.

Jin’s job is done now, and he shuffles across the nest until he’s near Namjoon, flopping onto his side so that he gets to be the little spoon. The pack alpha instantly ropes an arm around his waist and pulls him in, close. Nosing along the side of Jin's face.

Yoongi guides you to lie on your side so that he can spoon you and Hoseok can be at your front through this. It reminds you a bit of how you and Hoseok first fucked, blankets all around, warm through it, your leg hitches up around Hobi's waist. Urging him closer.

You're still wearing your shorts and your pajama top, and your top at least- gets easily unbuttoned. Yoongi gets frustrated with the bottoms and with a brief tear- Hobi grips one side and Yoongi the other. Your bottoms truly fall away in tatters.

You make eye contact with Hobi and for a second, he swears you get more lucid, reaching out your hand. His breathing calms. Had it been ragged? Hobi hadn’t noticed.

Yoongi slows his pace from behind you. Hobi’s voice sounds rough even to his own ears. “You really need it huh?”  

You whimper and nod, looking up at him still weepy. Yoongi coos and wipes your tears away. You hardly seem to notice. "Please only if-" you moan, and Yoongi shoots Hoseok a winning grin, still working behind you. Starting up his pace again. He doesn’t pull out all the way but pushes in a bit deeper. grinding against the spongey sofness, the place that namjoon reaches and fucks, turned sensitive from so many knottings.

"Only if you-" Yoongi doesn't let you continue, hitching up your hip showing Hobi where both of you meet. Showing Hobi how he’s fucking you.

Hoseok shuffles close as if it's even a question of whether he wants this still. You should be able to tell by his scent alone. His eyes stay locked to the space that Yoongi has made in you. You and Yoongi, his best friend and his sort of soulmate.

Hoseok’s knees brush Yoongi’s and your feet press to his stomach until he takes you by the ankles and puts your legs on either side of him. Fumbling to get his cock out, to kiss the inside of your knee as he looks down, muscles straining biting his lip. It's frantic but it's loving all of it.

Hoseok watches you as he guides his cock close.

Yoongi feels velvety and soaked against Hoseok’s head. Wet and slick and so fucking hot to press up into that seam where you close around him. The head of Hobi’s cock nudges against Yoongi’s knot before he starts to press inside.

Hoseok is dimly aware of Yoongi inhaling jagged, pressing you just a little closer against him. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, mouth open, hand suddenly fisting in Hobi's red t-shirt, not pushing him away, pulling him closer.

“Oh, do you like it?” He teases. The way that only Hobi can. Teasing you for how much you want it, how much you need both him and your mate in one hole. he's going to tease you so much for this later- you already know it.

It takes some pressing, some force behind it, and you stop squirming, going rigid. Mouth going wide in an overwhelmed 'oh' without a sound. and suddenly you're not having any thoughts about it at all. You couldn't, there is nothing in you but the feeling of the stretch.

Your scent goes so sweet on the air that across the nest, Namjoon's growl almost goes violent. He and Jin are rocking and rubbing but neither of them pay much attention to each other, too busy watching you.

hobi feels a hot flush of pride down his spine as namjoon gives him an encouraging smile.

Yoongi curses, hands hard around your waist keeping you in place. You're half lying on top of Yoongi half spooning. Hoseok’s hands fist the sheet by Yoongi’s head, and Hoseok puts just a bit more force into it.

You tilt your chin and bite the scent gland at his wrist.

Hobi feels the zing of pain the same moment that he feels a shot of ecstasy as you start to part enough to let the head of his cock in, the space instantly flooded with slick and cum.

He pops inside, warm and thick, sliding past the sensitive skin of Yoongi’s proto knot, sliding up and in alongside Yoongi’s cock. A broken sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan gets forced from your throat and your body goes truly limp, teeth popping as you let go of Hobi's skin. Eyes so wide and open as you stare blankly ahead of you. Breathing heavy.

Hobi knows he'll bruise and that he'll get turned on every time he looks down at it for the next week. knows that the others will tease him for it by pressing against it too.

This is so different from taking Namjoon's cock. You're stretched but almost more because they're both pulsing, both moving independently from you and each other. Stretched so wide, so full. You feel stretched to the breaking point. Fucked dumb already.

And Hobi hasn’t even moved yet.

Yoongi and Hobi are forced close next to each other by how hard you clench down. You hug both of them dribbling squirt out a little pathetically, it gathers around the base of their cocks. They pause a little, breathing heavy. Feeling it, making eye contact over your shoulder.

They’ve done this before- not exactly this but a rendezvous in the record shop years ago back when Hoseok first became a part of the pack. Hobi remembers Yoongi’s big hands, both of their cocks next to each other, the slide of precum slick tangled with one fist to fuck.

Hoseok’s the one who moves first, more used to the feeling of almost knotting than Yoongi. He takes a minute to settle down. His expression is a little stricken, a little panicked, but Hobi doesn’t mind. If Yoongi needs to pop a knot he can and Hobi will just keep fucking you. With his chest pressed to yours, he can feel your heartbeat rabbit fast.

“Fuck- fuck- please- fuck” Yoongi is nearly unintelligible, but Hobi just laughs and keeps going.

With Yoongi against your back, you are dizzy with sensation. Too much is happening. The feeling of your pussy stretched out, the feeling of them sliding across each other and the sound they make is so much. Both of them moving in tandem. Both of them fucking you at once. It burns but it feels so good that you never want it to stop.

This is different, now you clench down around both of them and hiccup, adjusting. Your head lolls to the side, eyes blinking once, twice, then again as you stop crying. Jin coos and moves closer. Namjoon sighs and lets him so that the pack omega can run his hands over your hot cheeks. His skin is cool. So cool against the fire raging inside of you.

“Oh, little pup can’t handle two cocks in her little hole? Too bad honey, you asked for it. Now take it.” Jin is mean when he’s lucid. pulling your head to the side to prod at Yoongi's mating mark.

You clench at that, Yoongi twitches too. Hobi gasps.

Fuck, every time Yoongi moves, Hoseok feels it, every time he twitches, he feels it too. You are so warm and wet inside. Slick flooding the space between them and turning the rub even more heavenly. It won’t be long for any of you.

Hoseok looks down at Yoongi, hair shading his eyes as he works diligently to fuck you. Yoongi grins up at him, looking victorious and his while you stay like that, pliant and spacey, blinking and whimpering, eyes unable to focus on anything. Hobi takes your hand and holds it, pressing you into the bed.

Jin shuffles forward until he's close enough to touch, to feel. Namjoon settles back behind him. His hand reaches over to feel your stomach. The place where both of them are. You don't have a belly bulge- they're not long enough for that. But it still makes you blink and shiver.

There's the tacky rub of one cock against another, the terrible all-consuming tightness of your pussy stretched to the breaking point. Your eyes pupils dilated, resting against Yoongi’s chest, fucked so good that you are boneless. Yeah lolling utterly limp as Jin moves your head from one shoulder to the other. Laughing as he goes. "So good you can't even hold your head up?”

“Good pup? Does that feel good?”

You can't respond, fucked dumb. You can’t clench, you can hardly even cum. Or maybe it’s that you can’t stop cumming. One spike of pleasure blends into the next. your body is so sensitive, everywhere they touch your feels like too much, feels too sensitive.

Yoongi's voice goes rough, "look at me Hobi, look at me, I wanna see it while you fuck her, I wanna see it when you-"

A bead of sweat drips from Hobi's nose onto your shoulder, Yoongi laughs and laps at it. Pausing to nibble at your mating mark. You mewl, and one of Yoongi's hands finds Hobi's. It goes like that both of them fucking you, Hobi holds one of your wrists to keep you steady in a sea of pleasure, Yoongi holding the other.

Hobi's not quite sure who cum's first. Whether it's the feeling of Yoongi's new knot expanding against his that has him coming undone or the way that you tighten around his that has them both spilling inside of you. You squirt again, this time more than you did earlier.

A hot gush against Hobi's stomach and drips down the line of his cock onto Yoongi’s happy trail. But the flood of sticky cum around both of their cocks is so good, so wet that neither of them stops fucking you for long.

You can take it. Their knots rub against each other as they pause, kiss each other, and then you, and then keep fucking you.

Besides you three in the nest, Jin and Namjoon giggle and cuddle close. Namjoon leans close and nibbles at Jin's jaw. Their whispers are not so secret. The pack omega giggles in response. Despite his earlier complaints of soreness, Namjoon is hard and achy against Jin's lower back. The pack alpha shouldn't need to mount Jin again in his heat, but they might just for fun.

Just for fun Jin teases, "Do you think she'll be able to take you and Tae next?"

Namjoon growls and grins, allowing Jin his fantasy. They tilt their heads, peering down at you to see how taught you are around both of them. The bulge faints. You look- you look-

Wrecked. Claimed.

Namjoon can hardly say that he doesn’t think about it. How good it must feel to have one knot pressed against the other. Yoongi and Hobi clearly look like they’re enjoying the feeling. and you're still dripping into the nest too so-

The sound of your purring lulls the whole pack to sleep. Across the nest, Tae, Jungkook, and Jimin all sleep through it. Namjoon knows they’re going to be upset that they missed it, that they’ll probably demand to see a reenactment.

"Would it really hurt to try?" 

~-~

When you wake up on the 4th morning after your heat begins, you are no longer sweating although you do feel disgustingly sticky.

There is laughter going on in the hallway, sweet, the sound of Jimin and Jungkook’s giggles as they roughhouse on the stairs and light streams through the cracked window. Letting in the sweet smell of spring.

Someone is trying to take the blanket that’s on top of you gently, but after a questioning hum on your pack alpha’s part, a hushed whisper comes.

“This one’s covered in slick Joonie. Come on.”

Namjoon is big behind you, pressed along your spine, when you open your mouth, you have that vaguely tacky feeling between your lips that says you've been asleep for many many hours. When he pushes his face into your throat, there’s stubble there.

Huh- icky.

You feel hazy and fucked good, content, no fire permeates your chest, only a little bit of wanting, the usual amount. Your fingers tangle loosely with the fabric in front of you, attached to a chest, and a familiar husky laugh.

When you open your eyes you blink. Yoongi’s looking at you with that same soft fond look in his eyes. Peacefully blinking at you slowly the same way Noodle does.

But you slam them shut. Blushing furiously.

Oh my god, you really let him and Hobi, they both really-

You can’t look at him, can’t open your eyes as you fight down the flush. But neither of them seems to mind your sudden shyness. You feel a hand combing through your hair as you piece through it. Both of them laugh at you.

"Don't get shy on us now."

You feel more lucid than you have in days, is your heat done? Yes, it must be, because Namjoon’s scent does not smell as alluring as it used to. You feel the soreness between your legs. The ache in your whole body. Bone tired. Really- you feel like you could sleep for the next week.

“Ready to join the land of the living pup?” He teases, pressing kisses to your eyelids when you don’t respond and instead shake your heat. the warmth gets guided off of you regardless of your whines. but it’s just Jinnie. Just Jinnie smiling down at you.

“Hobi’s making breakfast.”

You grumble and try to burrow back into the nest unsuccessfully. Jin huffs and gets out of the nest, satisfied that you’re awake and that your heat is finally finally over. They expected yours to last a little longer but still.

Jin holds a soiled blanket out at arm's length. Maybe it's glad that your heat didn't last longer. He's not sure the nest could have handled it and they're already going to have to replace a good number of blankets. Jin's heat has already been over for almost a whole day and he's no longer feeling the exhaustion. No- Jin is wide awake and cannot wait to clean and nest and clean you again until you're sparkly. He's already eyeing your greasy hair with a glint in his eyes. Yoongi holds you firm to his chest like that will keep Jin from removing you.

But Jin sighs, settling his instincts down. It's easy today without the heat clouding his judgment.

“Coffee?”

“Yes please,” Namjoon stresses.

The nest is a little bit less orderly than it was when you first made it, the walls look like they’re about ready to collapse, and it’s not nearly as soft- after having the blankets being torn away from it. You try to squirm away when Yoongi and Namjoon guide you gently into a sitting position but instantly Namjoon’s hands dig into your sides.

You try and roll away.

“No no no, up. You need food.” You roll over onto your tummy, giggling and trying to squirm away.

“No! wanna nest!” Namjoon grabs your ankles and pulls you back and you giggle as he tickles up your thigh. When you open your eyes, Namjoon is looking down at you so tenderly it takes your breath away.

“Missed that.” He whispers. “that sound.”

Your body feels tired but you feel happy. You can tell the shirt you wear has pulled up around your ribcage and Namjoon’s thumb rubs up against your side.

You’re sore and worn, you’ve slept for what must have been more than 10 hours and you have this terrible feeling in your chest achy and needy. Anxiety. Anxiety at leaving the nest.

Your heat is over but your instincts still need settling. Your hand fists around Namjoon’s thigh as you turn over onto your stomach, draped across his lap. Huh, his thighs are so muscly, you understand why Jungkook’s sort of obsessed with them.

Namjoon pets gently over your spine. Letting you knead and manipulate the muscle and fat there. When you peak up at him, he’s raising his eyebrow at you.

“What do you need?”

6 or even 2 months ago you might have struggled to say it. To confess your needs to Namjoon. But now you only ruminate on exactly what it is you need. What will make you feel better?

Yoongi is close folding up some of the bedding on the edge of the nest, sorting through what’s soiled and what isn’t. What needs immediate washing and what can wait until tomorrow.

As long as whatever he brings back still smells like them you think it will still be safe, still be fine. You blink and a second later you realize that of course Yoongi has to take it away. You can’t exactly leave it here all fucked through.

You’ve left more than a few blankets squirt-stained. And you know that if he doesn’t handle them now when Jungkook is out of the nest the other omega might grow a little too attached to them because of how much they smell like you. His…less hygienic nesting habits aside.

You nuzzle into Namjoon's thighs as you watch him. Namjoon waits patiently for you to think through your thoughts.

Namjoon is not hairy, not really, but his hair is just a bit courser on his legs. You feel it, teasing your fingers through it draped over his thighs, hands holding around the meat of them. It’s an oddly childish gesture, an omega stimming. When you turn, you can see his smile out of the corner of your eye.

From the doorway Tae hums, toothbrush in her mouth, pink and sparkly. She’s just passing through to check on you. You flush and look away from her too. Remembering all the times she teased you, her reaction to your chest.

Speaking of that, what the fuck?

Your chest feels heavy just thinking about it. Your nipples feel sensitive just from rubbing against your shirt. You're not exactly surprised because you had heard that could happen but-

You cover your face. Namjoon lets you, recognizing that you're still processing everything that's happened.

Did someone…feed from you while you slept? You think they must have because your chest doesn't feel swollen and achy yet.

She grins when you peek at her like she knows what you’re thinking about.

“You should let us shave your legs Joonie.”

Your pack alpha huffs, and still smiling, says, “You can shave any bit of me you want if it makes you happy baby girl.”

She comes closer and Namjoon sets a hand on her thigh treading dangerously close to the hem of her pink silk robe (the one with the little gold butterflies) feeling her own freshly shaved legs. Her hair does look a little wet. Tae must have just taken a shower.

“You’re always so soft” Tae makes a noise in her throat and you tip your chin, looking up at her. Blinking slow.

Namjoon continues to pet down your spine with one hand on you and the other on her thighs.

Tae leaves to spit and there’s a lump in your throat that maybe has nothing to do with the heat- pre or post and everything to do with this being the first time you’re coming out of it with them. The last few days were- this was- so much. But they handled it so well and really you don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so overwhelmed now when everything is over.

“I need,” you lick your lips. Thinking through your words before you say them. Namjoon waits, a patient pack alpha. He is endlessly patient especially when his pups are trying to be brave.

“A settling.”

When you tentatively glance back at Namjoon he’s smiling like it's nothing serious. Even though you can feel the hot flush of embarrassment on your cheeks. To ask for more sexual attention after all of that feels like maybe you could be asking for too much but-

It's not really sexual, is it? Intimate sure. But a spanking doesn't need to be sexual to give you what you need.

Namjoon tugs at your shorts- a pair of Hobi's? Jin’s? Boxers that they’d dressed you in. You blush when you think of that- of them guiding pants up your legs when you were prone. Although you’re sure they must have dressed you and undressed you multiple times through your heat.

Namjoon strokes up and down the skin of your behind, your thighs can't separate with your shorts still half on and you rest your face on a pillow, Yoongi tilts your chin up to his, checking, but you just smile at him.

“Gentle,” he asks.

Namjoon raises his eyebrow like he’d never be anything but (maybe he’s rough with you if you asked for it, but gentleness will always be his default). He looks down and laughs when his fingers press into you again. There is a deeper ache under his finger. A bruise?

“A bitemark.” He says when you ask, “probably one of the other pups.”

“Probably Jungkook” Yoongi says. He laughs and you do too.

On the stairs in the hall jungkook calls out. “Hey! I heard that! That one's from Yoongi!” and youdevolve into giggles again. When you peek up at him again Yoongi’s red all the way to his ears.

“Really hyung?” Namjoon teases, but Yoongi throws a pillow at him, it sort of lands on you- but you don’t mind at all as the feathers flutter down around you. Gentle.

The first spank Namjoon lands is that. Gentle.

His big hands hit with more of a thud feeling than a sharp sting. The sound is louder than the actual sensation. It forces a quiet hiccup from your throat. And your hand grips his thigh under your chest, eyes wide. Legs splaying as far as they can,

“There you go pup, let alpha give you what you need.”

Namjoon doesn’t make you count through it, petting over your skin for several seconds after every gentle spank. You’re sighing and going boneless by the last one, and Namjoon pulls up your waistband and lands one final one over the fabric. “There, better?” you nod and let him slip from underneath you and begin to untangle you from the nest.

But still, you’re no less boneless. No less able to stay awake, the spanking might have settled your nesting instincts, but you’re still too tired and too well fucked to move around on your own.  

But that too can be fixed- You demand to be carried to the kitchen and Namjoon happily obliges. There Tae has already picked out your favorite coffee cup, the pink one with the pearlescent flowers even though you’re a little too wobbly to hold onto it properly. It sloshes with decaf coffee as she hands it to you or tries to before she obediently feeds you a sip. The last thing that the pack needs is you getting dehydrated.

She looks gorgeous in another one of her flimsy night dresses, everyone is lounging in their pajamas, you might not even change into normal clothing today because you might not need to.  

Hoseok is there, with his sunny smile and hair- less greasy, drying curly. Wearing your frilly pink apron flipping pancakes and starting on the scrambled eggs, cracking the eggs in one hand, bacon frying, hair half awry.

You don’t say that it’s already noon, that it’s already time for lunch. It’s heat rules. The time doesn’t matter.

He spots you and tosses a grin over his shoulder. You tuck your face into Namjoon’s throat and whine. Namjoon (rather obediently for the pack alpha). Walks you over to him so that you can kiss his cheek. 

“Morning,” Hobi says all husky and rough but smiling. You can feel it pressed to your cheek. Namjoon hums in front of you, the purr-like growl vibrating.

“Wanna shower now or later pup?” You don’t like the idea of being separated from them, and you can tell from the vaguely clean feeling between your legs that you’ve at least been whipped down recently. Your tummy still feels…strange but good. You shake your head petulantly. Arms wrapped loosely around Namjoon’s neck. 

Hoseok turns back to the burner and you realize that he's not wearing anything under your apron besides a tiny tiny pair of boxers.

His body is… a little distracting. You don’t know who it was- you, Jin, or Jungkook who mauled him but Hoseok is bitten up. long scratches line his back all the way down to the little dimples at the base of his spine.

Every available inch of his body from his hips to his throat covered with rings of purple bruises, claiming marks, there’s even one on his knee, one closer to his feet. You sit across Namjoon’s thigh. Watching Hobi over the edge of your cup. Looking away whenever he turns around.

Upstairs, the sound of the shower gurgles and Jin’s shouting makes for some pleasant white noise. Jungkook’s hassling giggle as both of them get in. And your mates brief “yah don’t splash me-”

Who knows what they’re doing, wrestling or fucking or just being them. The omegas left to groom themselves before breakfast. You’ll join them after you’ve gotten a bit of food in your tummy. Tae disappears upstairs when Jin shouts at her for her blow drier.  

Hoseok's whole body is covered with bitemarks and you can sense from the vague soreness in your skin that you- like Hobi- bear the visible burden of their loving. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. You know you smell like them and you like that. 

after your breakfast, they're probably going to make you shower.

You’re so sleepy that you can’t even think about standing for a shower let alone walking. You still can’t really feel your legs beyond a vague hum that says your body has enough energy to move.  You just shift your legs up back and forth, swinging them sideways in Namjoon’s lap, fidgeting.

“You sure you don’t want to drink your coffee? Your water?” Namjoon prods.

“Wanna watch Hobi cook,” you say in answer. 

Yoongi hums, coming down the stairs wearing a dark splatter across his grey shirt as both of them laugh at you. Your blushing face gets tucked along Namjoon’s throat to hide again. Seriously- you're having a hard time looking any of them in the eyes.

Noodle makes an appearance, yowling loudly at you like he’s missed you and is letting you know. He circles your feet and presses up into the arch of your foot. You giggle, ticklish and Namjoon leans, extending a hand to scratch between Noodle's ears in hello. His hiss is only half hearted. Namjoon’s big hands on your waist remain firm so that you don’t slide right out of his lap.

“Didn’t starve with us neglecting you eh Nu?” He says, your feet continue to move fidgety. The backside of your omega zoomies who knows. All of the omegas are bound to get zoomies after so many days cooped up inside.

Who knows, maybe the whole pack will take a walk later, maybe to the beach. All of you will pile into two cars and drive out to the edge of the world and linger there. And you’ll sit in the sand and Hobi will search for more sea treasures. And Jimin will pick dandelions from the seashore, the only flowers really growing this early in spring. And you’ll tie one string around Tae's ring finger and one around yours.

You’ll walk with a happy few feet between all of you, the wide-open space calling to your instincts and settling them under the oncoming weight of spring. The sunshine streaming through the open window leads you to think that it’s warm outside, you’d like to be out there too.

Namjoon and Jin will spend half of the time bickering and kissing but after, there could be pizza or sandwiches or takeout, and maybe once you get home, you’ll eat it all on the floor of the living room after you admit that really- the nest room needs to be entirely disassembled. You’ll go to sleep smelling like sea salt and love. Bodies aching in that good way that lets you know you’ve been loved that day. And you’ll wake to another morning just like this one, where the light is in your eyes but at least it’s yellow and golden.

A fleck of sunlight lingers on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you nuzzle into it.

Behind you, Hobi starts humming a song, it’s not your favorite- but it’s Yoongi’s. His voice is so pretty, deep rough in the morning.

You’ll offer it up as an idea later when your mouth decides it wants to cooperate, pressed against the skin of Namjoon’s neck and shoulder, that space where his collar bones sit.  

Hobi flips the bacon and asks if Yoongi will turn on some music, your mate obliges. From upstairs Tae calls, “Tell the pup she needs to do a facemask with me and Minnie later! And a hair mask! And a-” A loud thud sounds, some grumbling then. “Ew slick does not count as a facemask Jungkook- ew-”

Namjoon’s arms are the safest place in the universe. You can’t help but think that you’d be happy in them forever as you cuddle up on his chest.

“Pup, no sleeping, you have to eat something-” his chides break off as you hum.

“Just a minute Joonie.”

You rest there, listening to the sound of Hobi's humming and Noodle meowing for bits of scrambled eggs as Tae and Jungkook bicker upstairs. Jimin says something to Jin on the stairs and you can hear the sound of them kissing. You can hear it all the way from here.

Yoongi comes close to you and says something soft to Namjoon that you can’t hear as Hobi begins to sing and the oil starts to pop.

You listen to them all and close your eyes against Namjoon’s throat.

~-~

Notes:

I needed to take a bit of a break from writing because i felt like my words were getting a little too repeditive- this probably has alot to do with writing 4 back to back smutt chapters but! in that way i think this chapter feels alot more organic and sweet. and feels a little new to me in terms of wording and writing in a good way, i hope you won't begrudge me when i need to take periodic breaks if i'm capable of giving you something you'll enjoy.

i'm going to ignore the fact that during the bath scene that water is probably SO FILTHY i did not say it in the chapter but they lowkey probably had to drain the water a few times and finger fuck the cum out of the m/c before she got clean. wow it's hot when i say it like that why didn't i write that???

it's a small change but- tae tilting the paper so that yoongi can see better?? when before she would have never let him see??? thats growth baybeee

listen i know the words "little hole" can be a squick for some people but tbh, when it's jinnie saying it and like- another omega my brain kind of malfunctions like a boy alpha saying that? ew ew ew, an omega or a female alpha saying it thought????? 🫦 gonna admit that i love it a bit too much.

ugh i love omega on omega stuff, litterally...if i talked in any more detail over how much i love it i'd have to put it over on my smutt blog.

in my mind when hobi says 'his best friend and his sort of soulmate' he's talking about both of them in each roll like- they're both is best friend and his soulmate. they're the golden trio

honestly i love fucking with clothes on like to me it feels much more intimate than having sex completely nude because it's like "i want you enough even with your clothes on

the end of this chapter was very inspired by that one tweet that goes "oomf fucked me so good i can't even look at him.

the reference to hobi's feet is specifically for one person out there.

so did you guys like it??? the heat chapters??? did it live up to the hype of the whole series? did any parts of it make you cum? let me know in my askbox!!!

[okcoolthanks]

I’m afraid I drifted too far

[megumismyhusband]

“how long was the bet supposed to last?”

rin freezes.

your voice is calm. too calm. the kind of calm that feels unnatural, like the quiet before a storm. but there’s no storm in your face—no anger, no hurt, nothing at all. just an empty, unreadable expression that makes his stomach churn.

“who told you?” his voice comes out rough, forced.

you shrug, like it doesn’t even matter. like he doesn’t even matter. “does it make a difference?”

it doesn’t. he knows that. he also knows that this is bad. really bad.

“was it a week? a month?” you tilt your head slightly, staring him down. “or were you just gonna keep going until you got bored?”

his jaw tightens. “it wasn’t like that.”

“really?” you let out a breathy laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “because from where i’m standing, it kinda seems like it was.”

rin clenches his fists, frustration curling in his chest. frustration at himself, at shidou, at the whole stupid situation that never should’ve happened in the first place.

“you weren’t a joke to me,” he says, voice low.

“that’s funny,” you murmur. “because i kinda feel like one.”

he wants to fix this. to reach out, to grab your wrist, to tell you the truth—how the bet stopped meaning anything the second he got to know you, how he tried to find the right moment to come clean but was too much of a coward to risk losing you.

but he waits too long.

“say something, rin,” you say quietly. “anything.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. because nothing he says right now will be enough.

so you nod, like you expected this, like you already knew how this would end.

“got it.”

and then you walk away.

rin lets you. because what else can he do?

—

the next day, your favorite drink is waiting on your desk.

you don’t touch it.

the day after, rin is standing by your locker, holding out your books.

“you don’t have to do this,” you mutter, not even looking at him.

“i know.” but he still shoves them into your arms before walking away.

the day after that, he shows up at practice late because he spent an hour in line getting that stupid pastry you like.

“you think buying me stuff is gonna fix this?” you ask, raising a brow.

“no.” he stares at the bag in your hands. “but i know you like them, so just take it.”

you sigh, but you don’t give it back.

on friday, he carries your bag before you can complain, waits for you after school even though you ignore him the whole walk home, and when you finally snap and ask what the hell he’s doing, he just says, “making it up to you.”

saturday morning, you open your door to find him standing there, hair messy, dark circles under his eyes, holding a stupidly large bag of snacks.

“seriously?” you cross your arms. “you’re still on this?”

“yeah.”

“why?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “because i’m not giving up on you.”

you blink, caught off guard by how sure he sounds. how raw he looks.

he looks tired. frustrated. desperate.

like this actually means something to him. like you actually mean something to him.

you chew on your lip, eyes flicking between him and the bag in his hands.

“…you got my favorites?”

“obviously.”

“did you get the right drink this time?”

he exhales, shoving it into your hands. “yes.”

you stare at it for a moment. then sigh, stepping aside.

“fine. come in before you start looking even more pathetic.”

rin doesn’t need to be told twice. he steps inside, and for the first time all week, his chest feels a little lighter.

he still has a long way to go, he knows that. but if you’re letting him in, even just a little, then maybe, just maybe, he still has a chance to prove that this was never just a bet to him.

[unriding]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

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and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[suiana]

yandere! childhood friend who still reminisces about your childhood together. yeah, the two of you may be grown now but he's been your day 1 and he just can't help but think about how you used to cling to him and adore him so much! he wishes you'd still do that but it is what it is. no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

yandere! childhood friend who did everything with you. yeah, that also includes practicing kisses. he's your first kiss, and he's never gonna let you forget that. you said you wanted to get better and who is he to refuse? he can't pass up such a prime opportunity! and it's not like he wants anyone else to take it. god no. that would be a tragedy.

"yeah, remember our kissing practices? hah, we were such kids back then!" he watches as you snicker, feeling a warm flush creep up his spine. god, of course he remembers. young and immature as you both were, you both learned together. that's all that really matters to him. "thanks to you, i can now makeout with my partners with ease. you're the best man." and has he told you how muchit infuriates him that you're using your experience to get with others? to please them with the mouth that once touched his? nah, he really can't stand for it. but he isn't allowed to say anything. he's just a childhood friend after all. not for long though.

yandere! childhood friend who wishes he would've accepted your offer to learn how to fuck as well. but no, he just had to be way too delusional back then and tell you to wait for the right one. he must've thought that you'd feel the same and confess then he'd court you slowly before getting to that stage... that never happened unfortunately. not yet at least. he'll make it happen.

yandere! childhood friend who's still a hopeless romantic at heart. a delusional one but a romantic nonetheless. he brings you out on "platonic dates" or whatever the fuck you like to call it, comfort you after your shitty excuse of a partner dumps you, and treats you like the deity that you are. you only deserve the best and he'll be there to provide. none of these losers can't treat you well. he can. he really hopes it'll help you see him as a potential boyfriend!

"i just," you blow your nose, tears streaming down your cheeks as your childhood friend rubs at your back tenderly. "don't know why he'd want to dumo me! we've been going strong for a year already! it's so out of the blue!" yeah, out of the blue huh... not really out of the blue for someone who's been actively theeatening that poor excuse of a man. that menas him, obviously. why he's been threatening him, you ask? because he's not treating you the way you should be treated, duh! sure you look happy but are you really? probably not, he's sure of it. "hey hey, don't worry... I'm here now, aren't i?" he always is, and he always will. you just need to understand that fact and you'll start seeing him in a different light too. don't worry, he has lots of patience. just... don't go sleeping with other people again.

yandere! childhood friend who may or may not be totally super duper mega in love with you. yeah, definitely not in love with you. that would be weird, right? come on, he's your childhood friend! sure you two might've kissed when you were kids and promised to marry one another but those were kiddy promises! that's all they are! he... totally doesn't believe you actually wanna marry him and be his forever and ever.

"so have you started thinking about your future?" he pauses at your question, rubbing at his empty ring finger. future, huh? funny how you ask that when you two are destined to be together at the end of it all. i mean, the two of your promised it as kids, didn't you? sure you're exploring now but at the end if the day, it's him that you come back to, don't you? even if just as a friend. but that's the present, not the future. "nah, not really. just wanna focus on the current moment, y'know?" bullshit, and he knows it. but he doesn't wanna scare you away. not yet at least. you're still out lookign for others which means you haven't come round to the idea of you two together. not to worry, he'll give you a little more time to see how good he is. how good things could be between you two if you just gave him the chance. "i mean, you're here with me." he chuckles, taking your hand in his before placing it on his cheek. you're warm. he likes your warmth, it's so soothing. "that's more than enough for me." half lidded eyes gaze at you, full of emotion and hidden longing before he hums softly. the teo fo you sit in the park in silence, enjoying each other's presence. in the moonlight, everything seems to slow and engulf the two of you in a quiet embrace. he only wishes you would just love him back already. "yeah, I'm glad to be by your side too, best friend." ...he really hates those words. don't worry, good things come to those who wait. and you will be his in due time. you've already had his heart, now all he needs is yours.

[arminsumi]

THE HORNIEST

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Summary : Horny!Gojo needs you so bad, he's insatiable. A menace.

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content, it's very horny lol, not proofread, c*mshots and creampies, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, implied drunk sex

Note : lmk if you want more horny gojo lol 👍 reqs open!! anyways lol the title cracks me up. he ain't the strongest he's the horniest :(

Horny!Gojo introduces himself to you in the flirtiest way possible, cooing a sweet and drunk "Who invited the goddess?" into your ear. He's sat on the couch with you, one night at a stupid frat party. Starstruck by you. And your reciprocation made his chest feel fluttery for the first time in years. It also made his dick stand up in his pants.

Horny!Gojo leans into you for the whole night, whispering flirty things and dirty jokes into your ear like his mind is a factory pumping them out. You match his playful energy so well, he says "I think we're made for each other."

Horny!Gojo has his sharp eyes wandering to your thighs, then your shoulders, then your lips as you speak — and he licks his lips to wet them.

Horny!Gojo showers you in compliment after compliment, relishing in your reactions and getting greedier; he needs to get you alone. "Wanna go someplace quieter?" he has to shout over the music to ask you.

Horny!Gojo assures you with cocky confidence, "Yeah, I could make you cum. Aw, don't give me that eyeroll, it's turning me on. I know for a fucking fact I could make you cum. I could make those eyes roll back. I could make your legs shake."

Horny!Gojo squeezes your hand tightly when he leads you upstairs, and giggles with you as the two of you escape into a quiet, empty bedroom. His heart is panging so hard in his chest. His body feels electric. He's so horny it's the only thing he can focus on.

Horny!Gojo whimpers when you crash your lips into his. He starts making out wildly with you like he's a sex-deprived loser. Because he is. A sex-deprived, touch-starved college boy.

Horny!Gojo hits those deep, hard strokes with no breaks just to destroy you. He never lets up. Never stops to have a breather or lets you catch your own breath. "Working up a sweat b—abyyy? Too much dick stuffing your little cunt? Yeah? Is it too much? Too big? Too deep? Fuck, you're gonna squeeze my dick off, haha, calm down. It's just a little dirty talk."

Horny!Gojo murmurs into your ear, "All I wanna do is make you finish over and over again." desperation and conviction in his voice. He really just wanted to fuck you into bliss, have you dumb on his fat cock, have you squirming and whimpering and going feral for him.

Horny!Gojo pins you down like a beast but also pounds into you like he's the bitch in heat. "Oh my god oh my god yes yes yes fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckkkk that pussy's so fuckin' gooooodddd" he's a mess, just swearing and moaning like a broken record.

Horny!Gojo almost sobs your name into your mouth when he cums, draining every drop of cum that he's worked up for you in the past hour.

Horny!Gojo turns his creampies into whipped cream with his thrusts, smacking his hips so hard into you that you feel his balls slap against your ass. They're so heavy and full, makes you think that if you weren't on birth control you'd definitely get knocked up with just one of his fat nuts.

Horny!Gojo goes round after round, becoming a melting sweaty mess of a man and feeling his muscles tire out. He pins you to the bed with his whole weight, and gives you his all just to show off a little.

Horny!Gojo has such a strained but enthusiastic voice after fucking you into next year with his dick. "Wow... that pussy's so fucking creamy." he grins toothily. A sweat drop beads off his cheek. His bangs are stuck messily to his forehead, some brushed to the side.

Horny!Gojo is insatiable, he calls you long after the party, over and over, shows up at your door and relishes in how his horniness rubs off on you. He's always a giggly mess in bed with you.

Horny!Gojo needs you so bad some days that he comes to you straight after his workout at the gym, no shower just sweaty gym boy abs, and fucks you as a way to "push his limits" for like three hours.

Horny!Gojo needs to cum everywhere he can. It's like he has a cumshot checklist. Thighs? Yes. Tummy? Yes. Ass? Yes. Chest? Yes. Face? Yes. Pussylips? Yes. Hands? Yes. In your panties? Yes.

Horny!Gojo is so fucking cute when he kisses you after sex, nuzzling your neck like a cat and telling you how good you treat him with that five star pussy.

Horny!Gojo jerks himself alone when you can't come over :( always to you, of course. Sexts like a menace. He's a bit too good at it.

Horny!Gojo gets so pussy drunk sometimes that he begs you to become his wife. His dick feels so raw and sensitive but he keeps squeezing it into that tight hole of yours.

Horny!Gojo is obsessed with you, mind body and soul. Just the sight of you and sound of you makes his dick stand up. And then he's whisking you off your feet and frantically throwing you onto the bed, and you're giggling at your horny boyfriend— oh... when did that happen? Hm. Well now he's your boyfriend.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[bsturnzmtts]

Hard - Matt Sturniolo

Re uploaded because my account bsturnzmtt got deactivated :( Please follow and let me know if you want to be in my tag list !

Paring: switch! Matt x gf! Reader

Contains/warnings: alcohol, drunk kissing, making out, masturbation, hand job, edging, teasing.

Summary: You and your boyfriend get drunk at a party and he gets needy when you guys get home…

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Matt was always the dominant one in the relationship, especially in bed. He was always the one to manhandle you, to edge you, to overstimulate you, all sorts of things. It has never been the other way around. Until tonight...

You and Matt had gone to one of his friends' parties. You guys danced and drank all night. Since Matt knew he was going to drink he decided for you guys to take an Uber instead of driving. Which is responsible and also good because it means he can leave without his brothers and go to your place afterwards.

You guys are currently in the back of an Uber on your way home, making out very sloppily tasting the alcohol in each other's mouths.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Matt's hand cups your cheek, his thumb wiping away a trace of lipstick on your lips. His voice slurred but filled with lust “God, you're so fucking sexy, baby.”

The car comes to a stop. “We’re here.” The Uber driver says side eyeing you guys as you make out.

Matt takes out his wallet and pays the driver.

You guys quickly get out of the car and walk towards the door of your house, stumbling a bit because of how drunk you are.

With a smirk, Matt helps you steady yourself as you stumble towards the door. Slurring his words as he fumbles for the keys to your house “Shit, I think we had a little too much to drink.” He says letting out a low chuckle as you stumble against him. “God, I love when you're drunk.” He manages to open the door, and pulls you inside, pressing his lips against yours once more. “You taste like fucking tequila.”

You laugh softly. “I think that’s you.” You slur out as you lean in and kiss him again. After a few seconds you pull out and start going to your room.

As you both stumble towards your room, Matt's hands are all over you, groping your ass, squeezing your sides, anything he can reach. And of course he couldn’t help sneaking in a few kisses along the way. He kicks open the door to your room and pulls you inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

You pull Matt into a kiss while walking to your bed. You both lay down and continue to make out.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you lay on the bed. His kisses are sloppy and drunken, but filled with so much love and need.

You guys keep making out for a few minutes. Getting sloppier and needier. But Matt definitely got a lot more needier, you were so lost in the kiss you didn’t notice when he pulled out his dick and started stroking it.

With a mischievous grin, Matt pulls away from your lips and looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Shit, I’m so hard for you right now.” He says as he strokes himself. “I couldn’t help it.” He says as he moans and whimpers. His strokes are going faster.

You look at him stroking himself, he looks so hot. “Fuck Matt.” You whisper and lean in to kiss his neck. You keep kissing and leaving hickeys on his neck. Your hand moves to Matt’s hand and slowly takes it off his dick and replaces it with yours.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” He groans as you wrap your hand around his hard cock, letting you take control. He leans back on the bed with a pleased sigh. "Don't stop."

You keep stroking, each stroke going faster. Your other hand moves and starts playing his balls.

"Shit, your hands feel so good." He moans, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow. "Don't stop, please don't stop." He begs, his hips moving up to meet your strokes. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum so hard."

“Yeah? You’re close?” You ask with a smirk.

"Oh yeah, I'm so fucking close." He pants heavily, his hips thrusting faster. "Please don't stop, please make me cum." He begs you.

But as soon as he’s about to cum you pull your hands away.

"What the fuck?! Why did you stop?" He says in a needy, almost whiny voice. He raises his hips, looking for your hand again. "Please, don't stop, please make me cum."

“Shhh you gotta be patient.” You say with teasing and lean to kiss him.

He lets out a frustrated whimper as you kiss him, his hands gripping the sheets tightly. He tries to pull your hands back to his dick, but you hold them firm. "Fuck, please," he begs between kisses. "I need to cum so bad."

Your kisses move down to his neck as your fingers tease his tip.

He lets out a loud groan as your lips move down to his neck, sucking and biting gently. "Yes, just like that." he whispers as your fingers tease his sensitive tip.

“You like that?” Your fingers move down to play with his balls.

"Oh fuck yes!" He moans as your fingers play with his balls. His hips buck up and down, trying to get some sort of friction on his dick. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat and his breaths come in ragged gasps.

Your hand finally moves to stroke his dick but they are really slow strokes.

His eyes roll back in his head as your hand finally starts stroking his dick, but the slow pace is torture. He whines and complains, trying to speed up your hand, but you just keep the slow, teasing strokes going. "Please, faster," he begs, his voice strained with need.

You chuckle slightly at his whine and move your hand faster. With your free hand you start rubbing his tip. "Fuck, yes!" Matt moans as your hand speeds up and you start to rub his tip. His body tenses up, muscles clenching as he gets closer and closer to climax.

“Are you close?” You ask speeding up.

"Y-yes, I'm so close! Fuck, I'm gonna cum!" He cries out, his voice loud and desperate. His dick pulses in your hand as he’s about to cum. But you pull away.

He groans in frustration as you pull away, his orgasm just out of reach. "What the fuck?! Why did you stop?!" He pants, looking at you with a mix of frustration and need. "Please, let me cum! I can't take it anymore!"

You chuckle at his reaction and lean in to kiss him. Leaving his dick now turning red with a bit of purple with need.

"Oh fuck, don't tease me like this," He moans against your lips, his hips thrusting up and down in a hopeless attempt to find some relief. “please! Just let me cum!” He begs, his voice cracking with desperation. His dick is now a deep shade of purple and throbbing with need, precum dripping steadily from the tip.

You stop kissing him and your hand wraps around his dick tightly but not moving.

He gasps as you tighten your grip around his dick, the pressure almost too much to bear. "Oh fuck, that's... that's so tight," he groans. His body is flushed and his breath comes in short, desperate pants. He's never been so horny, never so desperate. He bites his lip and whines softly, squirming under your hand.

Your other hand starts rubbing his tip really fast, while your other hand stays still around his length.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck! Fuck!" He cries out, his hips bucking up and down at a frantic pace as he tries to rub his tip against your hand the way he wants to. He's so horny, so desperate for release, and your teasing is driving him wild.

“You like that?” You ask.

"Yes, fuck yes, I love it!" He gasps, his voice filled with pure need and pleasure. "Please, don't stop! I'm so close!" He begs, his body trembling as he tries to find that elusive release.

Your hand around his dick finally starts moving. It stokes him up and down very fast.

"Oh fuck! Fuck! I'm cumming!" He screams, his hips bucking furiously up and down as he unloads with an intense orgasm, pumping his load all over your hand as he trembles with pleasure. His body twitches as he's cums, his cock erupting in a massive, uncontrollable orgasm. Thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip, coating your hand and arm in his release He moans as he finishes cumming, his body still shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. He's completely spent and flushed with a deep sensation of satisfaction. He look up at you with a lazy but satisfied grin, his eyes shining with happiness. "That was amazing..."

With a smirk you lean in and kiss him.

He melts into the kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. He's still catching his breath from his orgasm, but he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he kisses you deeply, his heart still racing from the intensity of his release. He pulls back. “We should get drunk more often,” he says and laughs softly.

“Yeah, we should.” You giggle and then bring your hand to your mouth to lick all his cum.

He watches with wide eyes, his gaze glued to your hand as you lick and suck his cum off of it, his breath catching as he sees the pleasure on your face. “Fuck...” he utters softly.

He reaches out and gently pushes your head back down, encouraging you to continue cleaning his cum off your hand. He can't believe how fucking hot this is, and he loves seeing you enjoy it just as much as he is. "Keep going, baby...lick it all off..."

You lick and suck your fingers clean as you maintain eye contact with him.

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[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[shrimpybbq]

high school gf! icing rafe out

anon: wait, after rafes lil bender and he’s upset to his baby mama being mad at him, until he realizes that she’s even slowly moving things out of the guest room and moving into her own little apartment. and he realizes that he fucked up. and everyone around him is also telling him 

Ok but bold of you to assume she even gets to leave, bc no way are Rafe and Ward letting her go too far. I picture that the Cameron’s have a separate guesthouse at Tannyhill and Ward convinces her to stay there for a while.

“It’s close enough that you can still spend time with Sarah and Wheezie,” Ward says. It’s unspoken that it will give her space from Rafe, but not ~too~ much. Ward doesn’t think his son could handle that.

Rafe watching his girlfriend (he doesn’t even know if they are still together at this point because she won’t even speak to him) wander around the guesthouse, growing even more grouchy when she closes the curtains once she spots him watching.

He knows he’s truly fucked up when Topper and Kelce talk to him as they drink.

“Come on man, you just need to apologise to her. Lay off the coke for a bit until she trusts you again,” Topper tries.

“Don’t you fucking think I’ve tried that Top? She won’t even look in my direction.”

“Maybe you need to do some sort of grand gesture or some shit,” Kelce suggests, “chicks love that.”

Rafe would start to grow annoyed at the suggestions and as he began to feel the effects of the alcohol more, his mood worsened. Topper and Kelce share worried glances as he stands, mumbling to himself.

"Hey man, where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go talk to her, and she's gonna fucking listen to me - you hear me? I'm not gonna let her ice me out like I'm some fucking nobody." The boys stare at Rafe as he spits out his words, never having heard him direct his anger at her that way.

"Come on man, at least wait until the morning," Kelce tries.

"Nah, no way man. I'm done with this bullshit and it stops right now."

Topper and Kelce can only sit back and watch as Rafe mounts his bike, the engine roaring to life as he heads towards Tannyhill. They both know that this night isn't going to end well for the couple, tossing back their beers as they follow their friend home. Someone will have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

[thinkinonsense]

ON YOUR COLLAR

old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: smut, logan has a bit of a pain kink, slightly jealous/possesive reader

masterlist

every time –without fail– you manage to leave a lipstick print on the collar of logan's white button down as he heads out the door for work. painted in all shades of pinks, reds, and brown; logan couldn't escape your lips even if he tried.

"can't have any of those customers thinking that a handsome man like you is single." you tell him, before pressing the white material to your lips.

logan never would've picture you being the more possessive one in the relationship but he sure enjoyed it. he can't stare at the lipstick stain for too long while working or else he will get unbearably hard and have to relieve himself in the back of the limo once everyone's gone.

"they don't want an old man like me." logan jokes as you place an extra kiss mark on his pulse point.

"good." you whisper into his ear, pushing him down on the bed. "because you're my old man. not theirs."

logan had to go soon but he couldn't resist your touch. fingers popping open buttons and snaking their way down his toned stomach. your eyes were darker than usual; clouded with lust. logan wasn't one to be take orders in bed but there was something about your dominating attitude that made his pants tighter.

"you're mine. isn't that right, baby?" you smile up at him.

"y-you already know that answer." logan huffs, not wanting to cave.

"c'mon, lo..." the sound of your giggles also cause a moan to slip from his lips. "entertain me."

your hand slips under his black trousers. logan sucks in sharp breath, letting his head fall back against the silk sheets. you free him from the tight restraints of his pants, slowly stroking him. in a rush of need, he chases after your lips.

"i'm waiting..."

logan always gave into your antics. sometimes it took him longer to come around but he would never leave you hanging.

your lips press kisses to his throat and down his chest. the lower your head went, the closer logan was to telling you exactly what you wanted to hear.

"i-i'm yours, honey." he stutters, hips thrusting softly for your touch.

you smile up at him, placing a kiss on the head before sitting up to straddle him and lifting up your dress. carefully, sliding him through your slit a couple time and letting the tip bump your clit.

"c'mon, sweets." logan whines, thrusting his hips up until he's able to slip inside. "gotta leave soon."

"s-shit, can feel you everywhere, lo." you purr, grabbing his left hand and placing it on your lower tummy. "especially, right here."

logan could cum from just feeling the bulge of himself inside of you. the urge became even harder when you started swirling your hips, bouncing lightly at first. not nearly going fast enough for his liking. too busy leaving a trail of red kisses behind; marking your territory.

answering his prayers, you finally pick up the pace.

"fuck," he curses under his breath as your teeth sink into his shoulder. you can feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"when were you gonna tell me that you gotta thing for pain, baby?" you ask, pulling back to tease him.

not even hesitating, logan wraps a fist in your hair, pulling it just the way you liked. you gasp at the action and he can feel you clench down on him, sucking him in deliciously. your nails dig into his bicep, leaving behind small crescent-moon shapes.

"hush," logan hisses, gaining back control.

the closer you teetered towards the edge, the more willingly you complied with him. you didn't have much of a choice as he repeatedly hit the sweet spot inside of you.

"c-close." you whimper.

logan nods, bringing his thumb up to your lips for you to suck on before lowering it to rub your button. it didn't take long for your orgasm to wash over your body, trigger logan's release as well.

within seconds, you collapse onto his chest, panting and sore. logan holds you closer as he checks the time.

"i gotta go, sweetheart." he says, carefully slipping out of you and rolling you over.

"wish you could stay." you pout as he covers you.

"i do too, but ill be back tonight."

you watch him get redressed, happy with your lips on his collar still. always with him.

"get some rest, you'll need it later." he smirks, walking out the door and listening to your heartbeat increase with excitement.

[satoruan]

FAMILY AFFAIRS w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) stepcest, dark content, (step)daddy Nanami + Toji, (step)brothers Geto + Gojo, unprotected sex, riding, semi-public sex, cheating, Daddy kink, masturbation, breeding kink, baby trapping (Gojo’s), Gojo’s obsessed and kind of insane.  

Featuring: Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru 

☾ GOJO SATORU 

“'Toru!” You scream as your stepbrother pounds into you from behind. You're holding into the edge of the hot tub as Satoru fucks you dumb. 

“Love this fuckin’ ass angel.” Satoru groans as he watches your ass recoil. He slaps your right cheek a few times before doing the same to the left. He looks back at your parents' house. It’s the middle of the night but he can’t help but wish that they’d wake up to your loud moans, that they’d come out screaming about how you too shouldn't be doing this.  

They knew better than to send Satoru away again. He would never leave you and if he had to sneak into his childhood home to fuck his girl--he would.  

“Louder Angel,” Satoru grips your hips and pounds into you harder. “Want everyone to hear you screaming and cumming onto my cock.” 

“Satoru! Love you s’much.” You slur, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your arms give out as he continues to pound it you like there's no tomorrow, you fall on the edge of the hot tub, half of your body hangs out. Satoru doesn’t stop, too far gone. 

“M’gonna cum, gonna give you a baby, gonna make sure you’re never apart from me again!” Satoru pushes on your back. You grunt at the pain of being pushed into the hard, cold edge. 

“Gonna cum, gonna cum ‘Ro!” You scream into the night.  

“Come then baby, cum on your big brother’s cock while he fucks a baby into this sweet cunt.”  

☾ NANAMI KENTO 

“Quite sweetheart, mommy’s sleeping right behind me. Don’t wanna wake her up do you?” Your stepfather whispers in your ear as he pushes his thick cock into you. 

You have to hold a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. You shouldn't be doing this; all your mother has to do is wake up and look over her husband's shoulder to see her daughter being held down on his cock.  

“D-daddy.” You whisper, turning your head to look at him. He pushes the rest of his cock inside, stuffing you to the brim. You bite down on your bottom lip. 

“S’too much Daddy.” You cry out, Nanami covers your mouth with his in an attempt to get you to stop talking. It hardly works, you cry louder into his mouth as starts to move his cock in and out of you. 

“Feels s’good Daddy,” You moan into his mouth. “I love you.” 

“I love you too baby, but you gotta be quiet or else Daddy’s not gonna be able to fuck you anymore. He’s gonna be sent away and you’ll never see me again.” 

“No!” You choke. You didn't want your Daddy to be sent away. You wanted to stay with him forever. 

“Then be quite baby.” He grunts when you clench down hard around him.  He fucks you faster, stopping every few minutes when the bed starts to stake. You whine softly, closer and closer to cumming the more you think about your mother catching you. She’ll finally let Daddy be yours if she saw how much better you please him, all you would have to do is wake her up. 

But you don’t scream as Daddy fucks you to orgasm. You don’t moan when you feel him cumming deep inside you of and you don’t say a word when he tells you to go back to your own bed. Because you’re a good girl, and if Daddy said to be quiet, you’d be quiet. 

☾ GETO SUGURU 

“Sit up.” Your stepbrother whispers. You grab onto the driver's seat and stand best you can while also trying not to draw attention to your parents upfront.  

You were driving Suguru back to college, all his luggage and extra shit he was bringing were sitting in the other two seats, so you had no choice but to sit on your stepbrother's lap. You didn’t mind though. 

“Alright--sit back down.” Suguru grabs your hips and brings your down on his cock.  Your eyes widen and you gasp. Your thankful your parents like listening to the radio on full blast, you be mortified if they looked back to see you fucking the boy your supposed to call brother. 

“Fuck, you feel so fucking tight,” Suguru groans, grinding his hips into your ass. “Ride me baby, ride my fucking cock.” 

Still holding onto the driver's seat, you look down to make sure your skirt is covering you two before you arch up. Once you get to the tip of his cock you slide back down. “Sugu...” You moan at the feeling of being stretched.  

“Shush y/n, don’t want mommy and daddy to turn around and see you bouncing on your big brother's cock, do you?” Suguru whispers in your ear as he brings you back down on his cock. Your legs start to shake. 

You gasp and grind harder onto is cock before repeating the same movement. After a minute, your legs start to cramp from position you’re in. You fall back onto Suguru chest.  

“C’mon be a good girl and bounce on my cock—what you’re already tired after a few thrust—do I have to do everything?” Suguru grabs your hips and slams you up and down the entire length of his cock. You bite the inside of your cheeks, trying your hardest to keep the moans in. 

“Since you’re making big brother do everything, m’gonna cum in your cunt—no I don’t care about that—than take plan B when you get home!” 

☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO 

"How bad do you want it baby?” Toji watches from his place on the toilet as you trail your fingers down you to your pretty pussy 

“S’bad daddy, want you s’bad!” You whimper, bringing your other hand up to your slippery tits. You squeeze your nipples as you watch you stepdad fists his cock. You slip a finger into your pussy. It’s nothing compared to his bigger ones. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me what you’ve done to deserve it.” He grunts, spreading his thick, hairy thighs further apart. He reaches down with his free hand to play with his balls. 

“I’m a good girl, I always do what you say—please Daddy, I need you,” You whine, tearing up when he just leans back to stare at you with a bored expression. “Please, Daddy.” You whimper, staring at him with big doe eye. You sniffle. 

“Don’t fuckin’ cry, baby,” Toji sighs, he hates seeing his little girl cry. Toji stands and walks into the shower. He picks you just and you throw your arms around his neck “Hate makin’ my baby cry.” He grabs his cock and pushes the tip in. You whimper in her neck as he pushes you down. 

“Daddy.” You whimper in his neck.  

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel better baby.” He kisses your cheek. 

“Yea?” You whisper grabbing his jaw and kissing him on the stubble. 

“Yea, Daddy's gonna make you feel better—just want my baby to stop cryin'.” 

[gojosprettyprincess]

SATORU SHARING YOU WITH HIS BEST FRIEND

"Such a nasty fucking slut aren't you baby? Enjoying my best friend eating my load out of this greedy cunt while I watch, what a dirty girl" his infamous smirk plastered on his features, looking down at your fuck out expression on his lap as Suguru's slurps on your dripping cunt while he's on his knees, two fingers stuffing your hole while he's lapping your wet folds. It was absolutely filthy, Gojo decided to let Suguru witness him fuck you silly so he can visually see how to properly fuck a girl since he recently got in a newly established relationship and well, he doesn't have that much experience on how to pleasure his girlfriend but honestly, there was no fucking way you could even tell anyways cause God he sure knew how to work his tongue.

Geto pulls away with a grin while he drills his fingers in and out of you, "Damn you weren't wrong Satoru, her cunt is so fucking good, so sweet and tasty" he smirks looking up at his best friend while dragging his tongue over his lips to lick up your juices. You cunt clenching around his fingers due to the lewd praise from your boyfriend’s beat friend.

"See I fucking told you sugu", Gojo gives him a cocky grin while bringing his thumb down to rub sloppy circles on your puffy clit while Geto continues fingerfucking you, he watches how your legs start shaking as your moans gets louder and louder.

"She's also so fucking sensitive, aren't you princess?", he obviously knew there was no way your gonna respond or say anything, it was just too much, earlier Gojo fucked you so fucking hard and good it didn't even feel like reality anymore, then not long after he stuffed your cunt full with his cream, Gojo made a brave suggestion that Geto should clean it up as a joke well look what that resulted to, tears stepping out of your eyes, it was so much, Geto was eating your cunt like a homeless man that just gotten his favorite meal that he haven't ate in a long time, ravishing and exploring your wet pussy with his tongue, hell he was even kissing and making out with it and you couldn't do anything about it because of the strong grip Satoru has on your thighs to keep you firmed, you’re on the verge of cumming, but the thing is, this time it felt so weird and different.

"Ohmygodohmygod fuckk!" you cried out as if you were panicking, "what is it pretty girl, are you gonna cum or does it feel that good?" Suguru asked, eyes fixated on your lewd expressions as he increased his pace, curling and scissoring his fingers against your tight velvet walls. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He looked up to Gojo and it was like they can read each other's minds or something, Gojo started thumbing your clit faster, the loud squeak of your wet cunny along with your uncontrollable moans filling the room as they continued overstimulating you. Suguru brings his hand up to pinch your nipples while Gojo goes closer to you to suck on the other.

"Uughh fuckkk" you hiccupped as your eyes roll back, body arch against Gojo's chest, a cold shiver hits your spine as you felt something wet circling your puckered hole, Suguru's tongue swirling around your tight sensitive hole while it winks and flutters against the pad of his tongue, fuck you never felt so intense before, it was just crazy.

"I'm cumming! Im cumminggg!" you screamed, eyes rolling back as you felt some type of liquid gushing out of you, spraying onto Geto's face and all over his hair but that obviously he didn't stop him one bit, matter a fact it motivated him, both of them smiling at each other as Suguru pounds his fingers into you at an impossible pace, your clit practically numb from Gojo playing with it. After they were both satisfied with ruining you, Suguru sucked up your juices and cleaned your dirty cunt with his tongue.

"Didn't think the first time you'd squirt would be with me and my best friend?, What a little dirty slut you are, sweetheart" Gojo whispers in your ears before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"So, ya think you know how to please a woman now?" your boyfriend questions Suguru, looking at him with a sly smirk.

"I don't know man I thinkkk I need more visuals and experiments if that's alright with you" Suguru grins teasingly at his friend, hoping he understands what he meant.

"Of course bro, that's fine by me, thats what best friends are for". Gojo winks at him playfully.