#and i was vibing with it because understandably there wasn’t much time to flesh them out

[thesungod]

I don't know how to describe my feelings towards show!Hades other than I felt vaguely like I was watching Apollo pretend to be Hades for a day and the real Hades would be back tomorrow to scare him off

anon i love you for saying this because my first thought after the disappointment was “why did they use apollo’s personality for this” so lmao

[adriftinstars]

I’ve come to ask about your volt and operator!

Do they have any lore of any kind? Or like any headcanons? And your operator as well, would they have any lore and stuff like that? ✨ would both of them have their own story or lore?

Dude omg you asked this like legit a few days after I fleshed out my Operator more :O Apologies for any weird formatting lol, I'm basically ripping this directly from my google doc of headcanons and lore teehee :P also gonna put it all under a cut cuz it's,,,, long lmao

Operator doesn’t really use a name, Alyx is Alyx but he’s not them enough to use their name. 

He sees himself as a distinct person, despite them technically being the same in some way.

Maybe he’ll pick one himself one day, he’s too busy being mega traumatised for that rn

Wasn’t generally a good or bad student, but tried his damned best to keep everyone safe and alive when Shit Hit The Fan™

Had a couple of good friends on the Zariman Ten Zero, but he mostly kept to himself

Didn’t have a lot of respect for the Cephalon teachers, assumed it meant the adults were too lazy to teach them

Surely not everyone had to be piloting the ship << he has no idea how much work goes into flying a colony ship

Doesn’t really understand the whole Drifter situation, Eternalism never really made a whole lot of sense to him so it’s very confusing

Alyx tried to explain it a bunch of times but Operator just gets stuck on Alyx both being him and not being him at the same time

He does understand that they have had fundamentally different experiences past the Ten Zero though, and does see himself as distinctly not Alyx

He’s a bit jealous of Alyx’s escapades in 1999, but also has too much shit to do in the Origin System for it to bother him too much

Also he would never tell Alyx this

Hasn’t met any of the Hex, because he…. can’t, but he loves Quincy for the clothes and Aoi sounds like a riot. 

Alyx has been remarkably… quiet about Amir though.

Has so much sympathy for Rell. He deserved none of the treatment he got on the Zariman and all Operator wishes is that he could go back in time and stop Margulis and the other Tenno from ostracizing Rell as much as they did.

Barely remembers time before the Ten-Zero void jump incident, and wishes he could trade his memories of the attack with ones from before, especially of his parents.

He has the photo of them, but even with that he can barely remember what they looked like, let alone what they were like as people.

Tries to sit as Normal as possible because despite how comfy it can be, sitting weird reminds him of The Man In The Wall which is Fucked Up and Not Cool

my Volt has a lot less lore so far, I'm still kinda getting into Sentient Warframes as a whole concept so I'm still working out his personality and stuff :P mostly he's just there for the vibes though, he's taken a lot of Amir's traits and is super playful in general

[luxury-nightmare]

Alright, ask and ye shall recieve. Today’s ted talk is about The Stranger.

The stranger is the fear of the unknown in the form of people. It’s very looped up in the spiral and the dark because that in my opinion. It’s all about identities and how fragile they really are, peoples intentions and how they might mislead you, how what your seeing isn’t quite right no matter how you try to look at it.

It’s different from the spiral in that it isn’t focusing on how stuff like that can make you feel like your going insane, instead it focuses on the meat of the underlying wrongness. I think that’s where the distinction is.

The distortion wants to mislead you and leave you grasping at your remaining sanity, the Not-Them wants you to mislead you, and leave you desperately clawing to find what it is that feels so wrong.

I feel like a lot of analog horror fits the stranger very well. The Mandela Catelog for example. I don’t actually know much about this particular analog horror project, but from what I do know, it is well within the realm of the stranger. You have doppelgängers which just aren’t quite right, televisions which seem normal but aren’t, and a false god masquerading as the only true savior.

Something I know a lot more about is the analog horror series Vita Carnis. While I feel this project deals more with themes of the flesh, the dark, and the vast, it does have some elements of the stranger. The mimick for example. These absolute cretins will mimic voices, make you think you lost them, and hide in the gosh dang furniture in order to get you. And if they eat enough people they can become more human looking, heck, they’ll even wear clothes to blend in better. It’s either that or they become an elder mimic, which is a thoroughly terrifying sight. Their weird false meat teeth are weird and I hate it. I really enjoy how vita Carnis never really tells you why elder mimics are especially scary, instead, it shows you. A lot of vita Carnis seems to be tell don’t show, but that feels purposeful because when it shows it is so much more effective and absolutely terrifying. The fact they are all puppets and costumes only adds to the uncanny effect.

The Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde is a fantastic book, and something I find interesting is the fact he’s describing as giving the impression of deformity, without having any nameable abnormality in his appearance. I think this is fascinating, because someone pointed out once that this could very well be Victorian speak for the uncanny valley since they didn’t quite know or understand what that was at the time, or atleast, the terminology wasn’t widespread. I really like this interpretation because it makes Hyde feel more unsettling, especially from a more modern lense. Also, modern depictions seem to really want to make Hyde older and taller than Jekyll, when really the opposite it true. He’s describe as younger and smaller than Jekyll. Like, this doesn’t give the vibe of a purposely unattractive man, more just an individual with an uncanny vibe.

There’s this tidbit of info/phrasing which I quite enjoy when it comes to the stranger and the uncanny valley. “Scientists don’t know why we experience a fear response to the uncanny, but the fact we do implies that there must have been something close to human we had to fear at some point in our evolution.”

mmmmmmm delicious thank youuuu

[creatively-cosmic]

Heyyy, it’s me again :)

Wanted to say that the Fire lore is indeed Fire. And dark. Jesus Christ Almighty is it dark and I love everything about it. (I wanna give Fire a hug now but I don’t know if he likes hugs from strangers-)

ANYWAY! I got curious again and I have more questions: about Blue this time. I hope this isn’t too much.

Okay, first question: Where did Blue get the scar on his neck?

Second: Does Blue hate Fire? Or is he just so angry at his unfair existence that he takes it out on the thing closest to/most important to Arceus that he can get his hands on? (I might be reading things wrong, but that’s the vibes I get from it.)

And Third: Would Blue really be happy to see (His?) Red if he came back, even though he’s completely batshit insane?

That’s all though! I hope this wasn’t annoying. Have a good day/afternoon/night!

Trust me when I say that not only are you no trouble at all, but getting questions about Missing Numbers has been the highlights of our days! We love getting to talk about this, and it's wonderful that people have shown care and interest. Your questions make us really happy and we're always more than happy to answer.

For starters, Fire is a giant teddy bear of a man. He doesn't mind hugs. In fact, I think he needs one.

As for Blue!

The scar on Blue's neck is one of the clearest signs of his... Anomaly? Corruption?

It's a design troupe we like to use, of some kind of subtle physical sign of a more metaphysical issue. For this scar on Blue, it's the source of his Glitched state. It's an entire piece of the story, how he ended up partially corrupted and how it works, but to keep it... Simple? Without getting into the mechanics of how it worked or the in-depth story of what happened, lest we're here all day?

The scar is from his first death. The event it's from is, essentially, the first time he and Fire went through their little murder-suicide death loop, spurred on by Leaf's demise. It's a point of no return: opening up the flesh, giving up his life, and letting the corruption seep in.

Does Blue hate Fire? It feels like a cop-out answer to say it's complicated, but it REALLY is. Not even he really knows how he feels.

He hates him, yet he loves him so. He can't comprehend him, but he's the only one who understands. He's so much greater than him, so high above. He's so much less than him, like dirt beneath his feet. He is his greatest equal, the only one he could look in the eye.

It isn't his fault. It's ALL his fault. He wants him here. He wants him gone. He can't imagine losing him. He wants him dead. He NEEDS him dead. He is NOTHING to him. He's his friend rival enemy savior punishment god damnation lover

everything.

Is he haunting Blue? Is Blue haunting him? Isn't it a cruel existence to be taunted by? The man who stole the name, the place, the identity of the only one he cared for. Is it betrayal to love him too? Who else could he come to love, but him? But he's seen it- how empty he is. Like everything he does is done because it's predestined. Surely, you'd think, it's meaningless as "Red" tries to extend warmth. Tries to show kindness. Tries to be a friend. Acts like Blue means something to him.

The warmth in those brown eyes shouldn't mean anything. Not when he's seen them so cold, so empty, in everything else he's done. Not when those eyes should have been the intense red Blue KNOWS he remembers from his childhood. It's all wrong.

It's not fair. That's the main thing, and you understood that much in your question. Save one thing- Blue doesn't know about Arceus. He has no idea who is responsible. No clue why this has happened, or what's happening. He's in the dark.

All that he knows is one night as a child, at his lowest moment, his best friend left him with a tangible promise.

And the next day he was gone. He doesn't know what happened.

And the world moved on.

And then there was the brown eyed kid. Him in every sense but so, absolutely and completely, wrong. And there's no explanation. No reason. Nothing. So who else could he possibly blame? Who else could that anger possibly be directed towards?

He tried to find anyone, anything, any way to justify it. In his rational mind, this must be something beyond their control. And he's so sweet. So gentle. So quiet. So kind. But with no way to see or even comprehend the higher powers at play, every sign can only point to him.

That imposter. That replacement. That bastard.

... That boy, the only one who chose to be his friend in spite of everything.

Does he hate him? Does he not? What else can I say? It's just... Complicated.

As for the Third question.

It's funny you ask. I have a bigger piece for this planned.

[queenharumiura]

[ i have been summoned. kiss & tell meme: finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for. ]

[ … honestly that's pretty much guaranteed eventually from how the thread is going lmao. at some point i can tell you He Is In Deep and would absolutely just. kiss her. if the time is right to make a point of some sort, using that, feelings and a confession as proof. maybe to her insecurities? or self-doubt? something like that. ]

Taken from meme: [x] ||Accepting|| @parallelroutes As discussed, since we haven't fleshed out too much just yet, I can't have this one be continued- so treat it as creative timeTM!

Readmore because length

-

From what Haru could tell, Byakuran had a pretty friendly disposition, and he’d been friendly towards her from the beginning. Used to meeting people from all stretches of the world, she’d gotten quite used to the fact that some cultures enjoyed skin ship and the like, and it wasn’t something to necessarily overthink.

It certainly took some getting used to, she’d admit.

A lot of his actions, she took with a grain of salt, as she simply understood it as him being generally friendly and maybe enjoying being close to others. It wasn’t like Haru couldn’t understand, considering she loved to give hugs to her friends, regardless of gender.

Bottom line being that if he had been pining for her, she probably didn’t notice because she was viewing his actions through the lens of, ‘He’s just like this, so don’t think much of it.’

If someone had to be blamed, send an invoice to Dino as that guy gave off Casanova-vibes who was just too friendly to anyone. You could say he was the pinnacle of: ‘aha- so some foreigners can be that forthcoming with others without a hint of awkwardness. It feels so natural for him… amazing.’

Haru and Byakuran had soon become a duo that were often seen together, hanging out- doing whatever. Even if there were some concerned people at first, Haru turned a deaf ear and a blind eye to them. She had confidence in her own judge of character, but she would appreciate their concern for her.

“Ah… I guess you could say it’s a common occurrence. You should see when Haru and Kyoko-chan are going shopping together. Sometimes, it feels like you can’t take two steps without someone hitting on us.”

It was like guys thought girls had signs above their heads asking for attention if two cute girls were walking around together. The nerve some guys had. She takes a bite out of her crepe, savoring the fresh fruit with eat bite. They added the perfect amount of cream, so it didn’t overpower the fruits. That shop really knows what they’re doing.

“Don’t worry though, I never take them seriously. I know that they aren’t serious,” another bite, ”at this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up a spinster.” She says this so nonchalantly like she has already accepted the fact that she may be single for the rest of her life. Haru Miura, who years prior was so avidly dreaming about being a mafia wife of Tsuna’s when she got older.

Ah, ignore the darkness of her past.

It could be a bit jarring to hear a young woman speaking so indifferently about being alone for the rest of her life and acting as if it wasn’t her problem. If not for the slight remorse in her tone, one would think that she’d completely given up on it and didn’t care.

Did she think herself as unlovable? Absolutely not. Objectively speaking, she had a good personality, she was great with kids, she would make a good homemaker, and she was both dedicated and loyal. She won’t speak on her looks as that’s subject to preference, but she could confidently say she wasn’t ugly.

If she wanted to, she surely could be in a relationship with someone, but she had such a passive attitude towards it. “It can sound kind of sad, but sometimes I think it’s better that way, for me to stay like this.” Her words could certainly be misconstrued that she didn’t have the confidence that she’d find someone in her life that would take her seriously (no thanks to the failed first love that people like to hold over her head), but it was really more of a sense of responsibility and consideration.

Haru Miura also had a thing called standards.

It wasn’t like she could start a relationship with some regular civilian when she had affiliations to the mafia. That was a lot to spring on someone and then expect them to be okay with their girlfriend being close to the mafia. Her only real choice was to find someone who had mafia ties… and finding someone who didn’t morally repulse her was a task, to put it bluntly.

That was why she never took a confession of any regular civilian seriously, as she had already omitted them from the running. She couldn’t bring herself to drag someone else into this world.

Did she secretly lament the fact that she’d lost her chance of living a regular life, forming a family of her own? Yes, yes she did. Did she want to escape from her current life? Absolutely not. She made a choice years ago and she was going to stick to it.

Of course, she didn’t have to say anything about this being a secret to be kept from the others. It wasn’t their business to know, and she didn’t want anyone feeling guilty about ‘robbing her of her dreams’. While Haru may have lost her dream of living an ordinary life with a loving husband, she had new dreams to pursue. That’s what truly mattered.

“Though, I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, I’m not anything that important.” Compared to the Vongola boss and his guardians? She didn’t have a title like sibling of a guardian, or the love interest of the Vongola boss. Just a friend, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to her if no one knew who she was (it would vex her though, don’t get it twisted). So, in that regard, maybe it wouldn’t be so dangerous to date someone—but she was trying to be more involved.

She wanted to be more than what she was. She wanted to feel useful and to be able to help alleviate some of the burdens of her friends.

All Haru was doing was speaking some of her innermost thoughts that she hadn’t told anyone else, but if anyone else were listening into their conversation, it sure would’ve sounded a bit depressing. Such a young girl, but she’s given up on love and she didn’t think herself worthy.

Not entirely right, but not entirely wrong either.

Just about to take a big bite of her crepe, she suddenly gets pulled in by the waist. A hand under the chin guides her movement. Quicker than she could react, a pair of lips met her own. If she didn’t know any better, she’s being silenced right now.

It wasn’t like she was going to say anything else that could come off as mildly depressing? She’s innocent, your honor.

As per her usual escapism tactics of trying to rationalize things in a platonic fashion, her mind was distracted with coming up with theories—that is, until she notices that someone capitalized on the fact she was mid-bite when this kiss started.

!!!

In her surprise, she squashed the crepe she was holding in her hand, and she could feel the cream gushing all over her hand, running down her arm. (RIP Crepe)

Her body moves backwards, trying to pull away to maybe ask what was going on, but he had a tight hold around her waist, and the hand that had guided her chin was holding her head in place. She could feel the way fingers wove through her hair gently.

He’s touched her hair before, but maybe it was because of this kiss that she was realizing just how meaningful his touch was. It certainly was hard to dismiss his touch as platonic anymore.

Guess who started going through her memories and try to see some of his actions through a different lens? Spoiler, her name is Haru [oblivious] Miura.

Hesitant at first, she returns the kiss, feeling herself go pliant in his hold. Albeit still confused by the situation, but otherwise feeling comfortable? She honestly expected this to feel foreign, but it somehow felt natural.

If kisses could taste like anything, she'd say this one tasted sweet. (No, she wasn't just thinking that because she could taste the crepe he was eating himself)

“Mn!” Wait- she needs air. SHE NEEDS AIR! She pats his chest with urgency with her clean hand.

Released from the kiss, Haru catches her breath, mind running a million kilometers per minute as she’s processing what just happened. That certainly wasn’t a kiss you share with a casual friend. Subconsiously, she touches her lips with her fingertips to taste sweetness.

She needs to distract her thoughts because she can only imagine how red her face is from how hot it feels. She didn't want to address the kiss they just shared, not just yet.

The vague stickiness of her right hand gave her just the distraction she needed.

Right, he made her ruin her crepe!

“You owe me.” She mumbles as she stares at the cream all over her arm. What a waste of a good crepe. Not caring to be ladylike, she licks the cream on her forearm, starting from the bottom and working her way up to her wrist. “What a waste…”

Something that not everyone knew about Haru was that she was every bit a vengeful person as she was a troll if she was comfortable around you. She moves her arm and dabs some of the cream onto his neck.

You’d be wrong to think that was the end of it. With her clean arm, she wraps it around his neck and pulls him in closer to her and she licks along his neck, where she dabbed cream. Disregarding the fact this was out in public, she made sure to remove all the cream by licking it off —THEN a chomp!

Pulling away to admire her handiwork, satisfied to have left a mark, “Consider us even with that.” A ruined crepe for a bite mark. Sounds fair to her.

[theharrowing]

NOT BIG, BIG MAD 💀💀💀 lololol.

CHELL, MY LOVE!!!! 😍🥰💜🌷✨

let's dive right in!

I feel torn about it because this to me counts as cheating. There were feelings involved, it wasn’t just two people fulfilling a business deal...they shared feelings and complicated things.

YUPPPPPPPP. which is exactly why Yoongi was mcfucking losing it the entire time. 😬😬😬

(you starting at night and finishing in the afternoon is the opposite of me reading Blackthorn lol. i started 6 at like 6PM, took a fat nap, and then continued around midnight or something lolol.)

The text messages are a shit attempt from Namjoon. If Yoongi is out of it, why would he ever be clear headed enough to read or respond to texts? I can understand a little as to why Namjoon might have decided to text Yoongi and not just show up. It was in cause Yoongi wanted space right? He still could have tried a little harder.

YES. EXACTLY. i also imagine Namjoon is grappling hard with his own feelings, and those are holding him back from trying harder, but god damn, dude, at least knock on the door once.

I get where Namjoon is coming from once again, however a divorce is much less a big deal than cheating with Yoongi. He getting defensive is stupid in my opinion ‘cause he has to try and see this from Yoongi’s pov.

you get me. 😉

originally, i thought about making it seem obvious that there was a relationship going on between Jungkook and Wheein. my canon, at this point, is that they are just close friends since JK works for them, but that there's an understanding that Wheein and Namjoon are only married because it looks good, and that there really is no love between them. which...........doesn't fully justify Namjoon's behavior, but i think it makes it somewhat understandable? especially because they are not mated. i considered Wheein choosing Yoongi because she knew that maybe he and Namjoon would make a good pair, but there just wasn't enough space to consider all of this, because of the word limit and my incessant need to make them fuck and talk about their feelings lolololol.

Okay, so I’m thinking that Wheein didn’t want to have a child herself because she didn’t want to be stuck with Namjoon more than she already is. Plus she doesn’t seem like the type to want to raise a child. So then maybe Namjoon is the one what wanted a child...and he was okay with sleeping with Yoongi because the baby would be by someone he cares for.

although this isn't perfectly sound canon, this is more or less how i imagined things. this, and Wheein and Namjoon are simply not interested in having sex in order to have their own child. maybe they have considered/discussed trying (and maybe they actually have tried once or twice) but there wasn't enough love there to make either of them want to share DNA and that responsibility. maybe Wheein thought she could handle raising a baby that wasn't hers (or push the tasks onto the hired help.) SO MUCH TO CONSIDER, SO LITTLE SPACE hahaha.

The conversation was great but why did it strike fear in my heart? Would Namjoon really kick Wheein to the curb for Yoongi? Would he give up his dream job? That’s a lot...

he's just being a stupid idiot, in the moment. i mean.............maybe he and Wheein have already been talking about a divorce and that's why Namjoon is so candidly talking about moving her out???

And now I understand what you meant by “happy ending”....well, okay. The word count limit robbed us of so much. There is so much that can be done with the story. A deep dive into Wheein and Namjoon’s relationship or lack there of. What’s up with Jungkook? The aftermath of the baby. Does Wheein confront them....so many unanswered questions 😔

100%. and i'll be honest (although it's probably clear from the answers above) i was writing this so much with Yoongi's perspective and experiences in mind, that Namjoon and Wheein's relationship is not even fully fleshed out in my mind. it's mostly feelings, vibes, loose ideas. i would have definitely wanted to show Wheein and Yoongi having a conversation.

i think i would have resolved everything as drama-free as possible, with Wheein sad but resolved with the fact that she deserves a relationship that makes her happy and fulfilled. no rush to move out, maybe she and Yoongi really do become friends. she acted shady in the beginning because she was already grappling with the idea that this could be the end. maybe she and Namjoon picked Yoongi together and she could sense his feelings???

Jungkook is just Jungkook. sometimes he's aloof, sometimes he's contemplative but afraid to say the wrong thing, always he's helpful. he cares about Namjoon and Wheein but everything is awkward because he doesn't want Wheein's feelings to be hurt. in the end, maybe the village raises that baby. maybe Wheein sticks around for a little while because, as long as the media is unaware, non-traditional relationships are fine? there are so many ways this could have gone!!!

AS ALWAYS, THANK YOU SO MUCH, AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

you are one of my favorite writer friends and readers, and it is always such a joy to hear your perspectives. and, as i said before, i am really proud of this one. 🥺🥺🥺 and it means a lot to me that you like it so much. thank youuuu!!!! i love youuuuu!!!!! 💜💐✨🌺🥰🍧🎈🌷😍

One Day at a Time 🌙 2: It feels right; I don't care if it's wrong

Yoongi loves to help others. As a professional surrogate, he takes pride in using his body to help families bring life into this world, and love into their homes. But when his high school crush Kim Namjoon hires Yoongi to help him and his wife conceive, things get…precarious.

Or, Omega Yoongi gets bred by Alpha Namjoon and holy shit, does he fall in love.

PREVIOUS | INDEX

🐺 Yoongi x Namjoon, established Namjoon x Wheein

🌙 word count: 19.3k

🌙 past acquaintances to lovers, a/b/o, mpreg, infidelity, angst, smut, eventual fluff, slash, nsfw, 21+

🌙 warnings: alpha/top namjoon, omega/bottom yoongi; namjoon is married, and he has a big dick; yoongi is a mess, and he cries a lot; a/b/o stuff (mating cycles, lots of scent stuff, wolf instincts, marking - there will be blood, omega slick), angst (hormones raging, pining, emotional infidelity, infidelity, hurt/comfort), smut (ritualistic sex, ass to mouth, anal sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, extremely painful knotting, pregnant sex, begging, praising, possessiveness), confessions, falling in love, “happy ending.”

🌙 note: you already know what is going on. warnings are serious hehehe. okay, have fun!!!

🌙 written for one shot two shot fest

🌙 thanks to @neoneunnajimin & @sailoryooons for beta reading and to @sweetestofchaos for helping me pick scents!

🌙 posted july 2023 | read on ao3

Yoongi is on the precipice of completely and total mental collapse.

Namjoon's words take a moment to sink, but Yoongi lies with his eyes wide, staring at the muscular shoulder of the alpha above him as he sniffs the air near Yoongi's head. 

I finally get to have you.

Yoongi's hands attempt to find purchase on the satin sheets, grabbing fistfuls while he squirms under the warm breath that wafts across his shoulder, neck, and throat, but the material slides and slips. 

"What did you say?" Yoongi mutters despite knowing he should probably leave it alone. But he is spiraling over the idea that Namjoon has wanted this as badly as he has, and he just…he needs to know. 

"You heard me, little omega," Namjoon grumbles as he sits up and shuffles around, walking on his knees down to Yoongi's legs, which are bent and half-spread and moving uselessly, uncontrollably. 

"Gods, look at you," Namjoon teases as he takes one of Yoongi's ankles and pulls it to the side, spreading his legs. Warmth radiates beneath his touch, and Yoongi lets out a shaky breath, doing his best to keep his cool. "When is the last time someone has touched you?"

With a huff of air, Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed and makes a futile attempt at centering himself. This whole situation was already a mind-fuck without Namjoon toying with him. He thinks he can hear Namjoon chuckling as he takes Yoongi's other ankle and spreads his legs further, but he does not open his eyes just yet. 

He knew they would have to have sex, but Namjoon is treating him like a conquest. Or is this how alphas always fuck? Rough and possessive, grabbing and spreading and teasing.

"Do I scare you, little omega?" Namjoon asks with a tone full of mirth as the mattress dips, and Yoongi feels Namjoon's arms beside his hips, beside his ribs, above his shoulders. 

Yoongi shakes his head as he opens his eyes, finding Namjoon hovering over him, inches from his face. He could tilt his head up and kiss him at this distance. 

"No," Yoongi says, voice shaking unconvincingly. "You don't scare me at all, I was just…not sure what to expect."

"Do you want me to be soft with you?" Namjoon asks, tilting his head to the side. "Make love to you?"

A laugh rocks through Yoongi, and he knits his brows. "What?"

"Because I don't think I can," Namjoon continues, warm, sticky-sweet breath ghosting over Yoongi's face. "Not while in my rut. Not when you smell the way you do. You have no idea how much I'm holding back right now."

Again, Namjoon sniffs at Yoongi's shoulder, keeping himself just far away that he does not make contact with his skin – not that he even has to; the feeling of his breath alone coming out in huffs and pants is enough to make Yoongi's head spin. Oh, but he wishes Namjoon would just brush his lips against his scent gland. 

Namjoon may have tauntingly asked when the last time he had been touched was, but Yoongi wonders the same. Rut or not, Namjoon seems desperate, like he is moments away from losing total control. Is this what rut is like, or is Namjoon just as touch-starved as he is?

"It's not that I expect you to be soft," Yoongi finally responds, finding his voice, and doing his best to at least return some of Namjoon's playful energy. "But you really do love to tease, don't you, alpha?"

Namjoon groans deep from his chest, and this time, when he takes in a deep breath, his lips skim over Yoongi's shoulder ever so slightly. The contact is barely there, but it is enough to send a shiver quaking from the base of Yoongi's spine to the tips of his toes. 

"I'll stop teasing you, then," Namjoon responds, voice breathy and deep, lust-laced the way it was in the woods. "I'll take what I came here for. Is that what you want, little omega? Want me to knot you nice and tight and fill you with my pups?"

Gods, the language is archaic and borderline humiliating, but it sends Yoongi reeling. He wants it so badly he worries he may lose his mind completely if Namjoon does not hurry and give it to him. 

"Please," Yoongi pants, letting his eyelids flutter closed. "Breed me, alpha."

Another groan comes from Namjoon, this one sounding even closer to a growl. "I want to touch you so badly," he mutters, possibly to himself.

"Just touch me," Yoongi responds, almost frantically. Perhaps it is against the rules; Namjoon is married, after all. But there was no clause in the contract – which they have neglected to sign – that prevents intimacy. They are having sex, for fuck's sake; and it is not as if Namjoon is going to kiss him. "We're already doing…this…so just touch me."

Namjoon begins to crawl down the length of Yoongi's body, slowly stalking backward while his lips ghost over his chest, his stomach, his hip. Every minute touch of skin against skin makes Yoongi jolt – sends an electric current through his bloodstream, white-hot and high frequency; buzzing, dizzying, and not quite enough. 

"Please don't rip those to shreds too," Yoongi teases as Namjoon's fingertips grab and lift the waistline of his briefs. He does not actually care if Namjoon destroys the garment, but suddenly his heart is pounding so hard and fast and loud, Yoongi worries he might throw up, and he is searching for some levity. 

Namjoon laughs, dragging his cheek along Yoongi's thigh and knee as he sits back, pulling Yoongi's briefs with the movement. Yoongi stares at the ceiling above. The thought of being nude makes him shy, even though he is in heat and is desperate to be fucked. Because it has been a while since Yoongi has let someone touch him like this, and he needs it. He craves it.

As his briefs are pulled away, Yoongi lifts his legs high. He feels impatient over the way Namjoon is undressing him so slowly, and by how the material drags and lifts higher and higher. Finally, when the garment passes his ankles and he is free, he begins to drop his legs, spreading his feet but holding his knees together.

Namjoon takes a loud, deep breath, and the sound makes Yoongi tear his gaze from the ceiling. When he looks at the alpha, he is sitting stiff with his nostrils flared and pupils blown, and he has that expression from before – the one that made Yoongi wonder if Namjoon would eat him. In his hand, beside his face, Namjoon grips tightly to Yoongi's briefs, breathing deeply through his nose. 

He looks crazed, almost otherworldly, like a demon has clawed into his skin and taken over. The air is pungent with tangerine laced with cinnamon and warm musk, and although the scent is familiar, it is also different. It is headier and tangier, and most of the sweetness is buried. It makes Yoongi sweat – makes him claw against the satin sheets feeling far needier than ever. He is certain that if Namjoon does not fuck him right now, he might actually die. 

Yoongi is acutely aware of the fact that his slick is dripping from him. Demureness slips away as he lifts his legs and gently uses his feet to tug at Namjoon, using his toes to dig gently into his ribs. Namjoon looks down at Yoongi, down between his legs, and his lips lift into a grin. 

"You're so—" Namjoon begins, shaking his head and cutting himself off. 

"Please," Yoongi whines, hole aching to be filled. Namjoon's scent is overwhelming, clawing at Yoongi's senses, ripping his sanity to shreds like the shirt that still uselessly clings to one of his shoulders. Never has he begged to be fucked before, but he cannot hold back. "Namjoon. Please."

Namjoon nods in dazed, slow movements. And then he flings Yoongi's briefs across the room and gets onto his hands and knees in a movement so quick, the mattress shakes, and Yoongi gasps. Namjoon leans close, rakes his teeth over Yoongi's thigh, eyelids fluttering closed, and he looks so feral and so fucking handsome, Yoongi cannot help but stare.

"Yoongi, you are so—" Again, Namjoon shakes his head and stops himself. He nips at Yoongi's thigh, sending a tickling mix of pleasure and a tiny hint of pain coursing through him, making Yoongi dig his heels into the mattress and whimper. "So fucking—"

"So, what?" Yoongi shouts, bowing his back, feeling the sheet stick to his skin, digging his head into the pillow. The desire that pours from him clings in the air and looms overhead like a cloud. Like a threat. Yoongi fears he will be suffocated at any moment if he is not sated. 

Rather than respond, Namjoon sinks lower, and, before Yoongi can make sense of his actions, Namjoon grabs and slightly lifts Yoongi's ass, spreading him with both hands as he licks over his hole, slow and firm and so good. 

Yoongi's hips buck upward as he moans, choking on the end of it and turning it into a sob as Namjoon licks again and again. Is this allowed? Should he be doing this? Yoongi is already soaking wet and does not need foreplay; why is Namjoon tasting him like this?

But Yoongi does not voice his questions; he would not dare. Namjoon swirls his tongue over Yoongi, groaning and growling, making every inch of his skin burn with arousal, and his cock aches to be touched, neglected, and leaking against his tummy. 

"Holy fuck," Yoongi finally whines when he cannot keep it in any longer, back arched with his toes digging into the mattress, attempting to keep himself lifted.

"I just knew you would taste this sweet," Namjoon grumbles, dragging his teeth once more over Yoongi's thigh while sitting up between his spread legs. 

Yoongi whimpers, fisting the sheet tightly, body heaving and trembling and desperate. "Please," he sobs, squeezing his eyes closed and opening them wide, staring at Namjoon's shoulders, at his pecs, at his tummy and his thighs, and his hard, leaking cock. 

Two fingers graze over Yoongi's hole, and he stutters a moan, keeping his jaw slack while Namjoon penetrates him so slowly it makes his eyes roll back. The stretch of his fingers floods Yoongi with arousal that burns hot in his tummy and spreads to his limbs. Yoongi opens his eyes to find Namjoon's mouth slowly falling open as he watches his own fingers get swallowed. Then he pulls out and looks Yoongi in the eye, mouth tugging to a droopy smile. 

"You are soaked for me, omega."

"All for you, alpha," Yoongi responds almost robotically. "Please."

Namjoon strokes his cock with the hand he used to finger Yoongi, spreading slick over his thick length. Admittedly, his size is intimidating, and Yoongi swallows thickly and wets his lips. He wants to taste Namjoon badly, but he needs to be fucked before he loses it.

"Namjoon," Yoongi pleads, dropping his ass back to the bed and digging his toes into Namjoon's hips, trying to pull him close. 

With a deep, sardonic chuckle, Namjoon grabs Yoongi's ankles, pulls his legs to one side, and yanks at his thighs and hips, forcing him to roll over. Yoongi flails and twists haphazardly, satin clinging to him and rustling with the movement. 

"On your knees, omega," Namjoon instructs. 

Yoongi manages to finally shed his tattered shirt, tossing it aside on the bed. And then he scrambles to get into position, crawling back to the center, where he was, knees digging into the damp sheet. He hardly has a chance to settle before Namjoon licks over his hole again, forcing him to tremble and moan, crashing forward. 

"F-fuck," Yoongi mutters as he wraps his arms around the pillow and holds it to his chest.

The touch leaves, and Yoongi clenches then tries to relax, feeling his slick build and secrete, smelling it thick in the air, mixing with the heady, sweaty blend of the two of them, along with the smoke from the incense. His own scent of chamomile is supposed to be soothing, but it is sweeter than usual and mocks him – a reminder of his place in life as an obedient little omega meant to be bred. And gods, does he need it so badly. 

The blunt tip of Namjoon's cock grazes over Yoongi's hole, and he arches his back in presentation. Namjoon uses a hand to grip and spread one of his cheeks, digging his fingers into the skin. It feels possessive and greedy, and Yoongi wonders if it will bruise – he hopes it will. 

"I don't know if you can take me, little omega," Namjoon says in a mocking tone, rubbing his cock over Yoongi's eager, slick hole. 

"Please," Yoongi responds. 

"You're so tight, even with how much slick you leak. Have you ever taken a knot before, hmm? I might just break you in fucking half."

Yoongi is dizzy and desperate; he thought Namjoon would want to tear into him and use him; fuck him hard and fast, and be done. What the fuck is with all this teasing?

"Namjoon, please!" Yoongi shouts, quaking and on the brink of madness. 

"So needy," Namjoon taunts as the mattress dips under his shifting weight.

Yoongi groans and begins to say, "Oh, I fucking hate y—" but he loses the rest of the sentence and chokes out a sob as the tip of Namjoon's cock breaches his hole.

Namjoon continues to push deeper, deeper, deeper, blinding Yoongi with intense pleasure-pain that he was not prepared for, squeezing the air from his lungs and making his legs tremble. 

"What was that, omega?" 

"Oh, gods," Yoongi gasps before biting down on the pillow and letting out a whimper that is pitchy and broken – pornographic. 

Namjoon carves Yoongi open, pushing him beyond what he thought his limits were. He feels so full, and his head aches from holding his breath. Finally, when Namjoon's hips still, Yoongi sucks a sharp intake of air and sinks his head down into the pillow, doing his best to relax. 

"I bet your pretty little cunt has never been stretched this wide before has it?"

The words pretty and cunt ricochet around Yoongi's already fucked out mind, and he manages to get some weight onto his elbows and lift his head, breathing in the air that reeks of burning incense and pheromones. 

"I am going to fucking ruin you, omega."

"I'm going insane," Yoongi mutters, panting with each breath that falls between his lips. "You're making me go insane."

Namjoon rubs his hands over Yoongi's back and shoulders. The sweaty slide of skin against skin is exquisite, and Yoongi tips his head back and arches his spine, desperate to be felt everywhere. Although he does his best to relax, he can feel the rings of muscle gripping Namjoon tight and fluttering with each sensation. 

"Can you sit high on your knees for me?" Namjoon coaxes as his hands wrap around Yoongi's ribs and gently begin to tug.

"M-maybe."

Yoongi shifts on his knees, pushing his arms as tall as they can manage, and then Namjoon takes over, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's chest, grazing palms over his nipples and clavicle, and pulling him until he is sitting high on his knees, speared open, making Yoongi shiver and moan from every tiny, delicious movement. 

A low, deep growl comes from Namjoon, who slides one hand up to Yoongi's throat, forcing his head to tilt back. 

"Somehow you feel even better like this," Namjoon murmurs softly, slowly pulling his hips back and kicking up a flurry of pleasure and arousal in Yoongi's tummy. 

Yoongi moans unabashed as his head attempts to roll, held in place by the fingers that gently squeeze at the sides of his throat. The slow drag of Namjoon's cock already has him threatening to unravel completely. 

Namjoon thrusts his hips forward just hard enough to punch the air from Yoongi's lungs, and he grips onto his own thighs as he attempts to breathe through the feeling, voice coming out as nothing but a wet sob. 

"Don't hold back, little omega," Namjoon groans as he pulls his hips back and drives them forward, making Yoongi bleat a jumble of vowels. "I want to hear you."

Everything about this feels wrong to Yoongi. He should lay pliant and let Namjoon do what he needs to without giving into his urges to touch and beg and make all the lewd sounds he usually does. But Namjoon feels and smells so inviting – so dizzyingly good.

"Please, alpha," Yoongi whimpers, legs quaking as Namjoon slowly pulls back. "Please breed me."

Namjoon grips Yoongi's tummy, fingertips digging into his skin. "Say my name," he commands.

Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "N-Namjoon…please."

Namjoon snaps his hips forward, pushing a pitchy moan from Yoongi's throat, then he begins to fuck him, finally, setting a rough pace of skin slapping against skin. From this angle, it feels like Namjoon is all the way in Yoongi's guts, and his body is frozen in place, unable to do anything but sit tall and be used. 

The pleasure-pain of being fucked so hard makes Yoongi delirious. He babbles incoherently, eyes fluttering closed and then opening wide, watching as the knots and lines on the wooden wall blur and come into sharp focus, over and over. 

"S-so…b-big…" he manages to stammer between thrusts. 

Namjoon's fingers tighten and loosen over Yoongi's throat and stomach, then yank him back a little further, causing his arms to hang suspended in the air, fingertips no longer able to reach his thighs. Lips pass over Yoongi's neck, over the scent gland in the crook of his shoulder, and he shivers from the touch, feeling euphoria burst and bloom on the spot. 

"You take me so well, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon moans before dragging his tongue over Yoongi's gland and the overgrown hair that sticks to his sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi whispers, "Pretty," unsure if he is imagining the word. 

"So perfect for me."

Pleasure claws at Yoongi, dragging him down, down, down, threatening to drown him. He wants to cum so badly, but it feels too soon. Should he be getting so much pleasure from this? The lines have long since blurred, and Namjoon praising Yoongi and calling him pretty only amplifies the tumultuous nature of this situation. 

With another lick over Yoongi's scent gland, he begins to crumble. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that," he manages to whimper, squeezing his eyes closed. 

"That so?" Namjoon asks, lips grazing over the gland with a snarl.

"Yes," he gasps. 

Namjoon's voice is low and taunting as he asks, "Can you cum untouched?" 

With a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, Yoongi asks, "You're evil aren't you?" earning him a chuckle in response. 

Namjoon picks up the pace fucking Yoongi harder, spearing him deeper. Yoongi is in agony over how good it feels; he is so close but not close enough. 

Teeth drag over his scent gland and, as if every one of his feral instincts is awakened and on high alert, rippling through him, the dam breaks, and he cums untouched, making a fucking mess. The pace of Namjoon's hips has Yoongi's cock slapping against his tummy, and he sprays his release against himself and the sheet below as he growls and whimpers and claws at the air, frantic and out of his mind.

"Fucking squeezing me," Namjoon moans against his neck, hips stuttering before they find their rhythm again. 

Overstimulation has Yoongi's body tensing and relaxing, and he sobs, unsure whether he needs Namjoon to stop or to keep going. It feels incredible in the worst way; horrifyingly too much and too little. His body quakes as each muscle fights to relax. 

Namjoon slows his hips and pulls out, then gradually lowers Yoongi to the bed, onto his side pulling the sheet while muttering, "Don't lay in your own mess, pretty omega."

"S-shut up," Yoongi grumbles as he sinks onto his elbows, then rolls onto his back with his legs bent and sliding spread. 

Namjoon crawls on his knees to Yoongi's feet and yanks one leg to the side as he takes his place, towering above him. His hair sticks to his forehead, sweat drips down his neck and chest, and he is dangerously beautiful with cheeks flushed and eyes wide – exactly as Yoongi imagined he would look, but so much more.

Without a word, Namjoon lines his cock up and slides back in. No sound passes through Yoongi's mouth as his back bows, and he grabs for the sheet frozen in an arch of pleasure. When he finally finds his voice, it is raspy and broken. 

"How do you stay so fucking tight?" Namjoon groans, head tipped as he pulls his hips back and slams them forward. 

Yoongi claws at the sheets, hand falling into a sticky, cold spattering of cum, which he tries to rub away but just finds more of his own mess, coating his hand. Namjoon sets a pace somehow faster than before, holding Yoongi's thighs in both hands, spreading him wide. 

Still somewhat overstimulated but already chasing his next high, Yoongi feels delirious. As he adjusts to the feeling of Namjoon's unrelenting thrusts, he reaches his hands over his head, draping them over the pillow while his eyes flutter. 

Then his fingers brush over something firm and possibly leather, and he becomes curious, grabbing for the item and pulling it out. Namjoon's hips slow even more as Yoongi inspects it. It is brown, definitely leather, and less than a foot long, Yoongi estimates, and it looks like a strap or a handle. Squeezing it, it feels somewhat soft, but also firm.

"What is this?" Yoongi asks, voice rough and fucked out.

When he looks at Namjoon, whose hips continue to roll into him, he finds the alpha regarding him with a worried expression – brows knit and gaze somewhat piercing. He lowers Yoongi's legs, takes the leather item, and places it on the bed. Then he leans forward, caging Yoongi in with his hands, and hovering way too close to his face.

"It's for biting onto," Namjoon says, voice breathy and deep.

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. "For biting onto?"

"So I was right?" Namjoon asks, brow knitting with concern.

Yoongi turns his face away, staring at the wooden wall to the right of him. "About what?"

Soothing, sweet tangerine overwhelms the space, blending with the incense and all the musky, heady aromas, and Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that falls between his lips in a broken sigh. The fluid motion of Namjoon's hips and slow drag of his cock have Yoongi sinking into a trance. 

Like this, it is easy for Yoongi to imagine the alpha caring for him – being soft and gentle with him. Like this, Yoongi can forget all about how Namjoon has a wife waiting for him; how he is nothing more than a means to an end. He wishes Namjoon would hurry up and finish fucking him; he hates how treacherous his heart is suddenly, now that the pace is languid and gentle.

When Namjoon does not answer him, Yoongi opens his eyes. The alpha is watching him with a gently furrowed brow, making his tummy do a backflip, and he looks away as quickly as he can.

"What?" he asks, feeling awkward.

Namjoon's hips slow to a stop, and he sits up, still buried so deep inside Yoongi that every movement is overwhelming, making him wince and gasp. With his teeth grit and nostrils flared, Namjoon lifts Yoongi's legs again, looking above him at the wall rather than directly at him. 

"You haven't taken a knot before," Namjoon says. "You should have told me."

"It's fine," Yoongi mutters, feeling ashamed although unsure why. "Don't worry about it."

Namjoon grunts and then begins to fuck into Yoongi once more, holding his thighs spread and lifted, spearing him open. All thought dissipates as pleasure ensnares him, and when Namjoon presses forward against his thigh to spread and lift him even more, Yoongi relaxes into the stretch, malleable and pliant and so, so good for his alpha. 

Not your alpha, his brain reminds him, but he shuts it out and allows the euphoria of Namjoon's thick cock to trick him into thinking he could be.

Yoongi's moans are softer – stuck in his throat and punctuated by the loud slap of skin against skin. His muscles burn where Namjoon bends him and presses down, and his tummy feels tight and heavy, like a taut wire ready to snap. 

"Getting close," Namjoon mutters, picking up his pace and lifting Yoongi's right leg over his shoulder, sinking impossibly deeper. 

Yoongi's ass is lifted, and he digs his head back against the pillow, feeling as though his soul may be escaping from his body. He feels used in the best possible way; nothing more than a breedable little fuck-doll who has no control. 

As Namjoon reaches his high, his hips become erratic, and he growls and moans, uttering sounds that may be curse words, but could also be nothing. Yoongi wants to cum again, and the slap of his cock against his tummy is just enough to bring him close but not push him over the edge. He thinks maybe he should not chase another orgasm; continually playing tug-of-war over whether he should be feeling so much pleasure from what is meant only to be a business agreement. 

Namjoon's grip is painfully strong, fingernails digging into Yoongi's thigh and hip as he drives himself so fast and deep into Yoongi that pain is at the forefront of every sense. His cock aches against his tummy, and as Namjoon leans forward and bends Yoongi further in half, he is overcome with a feeling of fear. What if Namjoon really could break him in half?

"Fuck, Namjoon," Yoongi mutters, once again clawing at the sheets. Yoongi is sore where Namjoon's thighs slap into him, sore where he is gripped and bent, and sore from Namjoon's cock punishing his tight, greedy hole. He tries to plead but only mutters a weak, "H-hurts."

Namjoon wraps his arm around Yoongi's thigh to keep his leg draped over his shoulder and reaches for his cock, engulfing it in blinding warmth that kicks up so much pleasure, Yoongi fears he might fucking die – like his heart could give out and stop. He only manages to scream, "Oh, f-fuck, I'm—" before spraying his release on his tummy. 

The pleasure is so searing and intense, Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed tight, and he screams incoherent half-profanities while his body quakes.

"That's it, omega," Namjoon growls. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, don't stop squeezing me."

Yoongi couldn't stop if he tried. His body is suspended in a grip of euphoria laced with pain so unlike anything he has felt before – body twisted and lifted and used. He babbles through the dizzying high that threatens to light him aflame and turn him into nothing more than a pile of ash, squeezing around Namjoon uncontrollably.

"Brace yourself, omega," Namjoon grunts between thrusts. "I'm gonna cum."

Namjoon's hips still as he moans deep and loud, head thrown back and body practically convulsing. Yoongi feels him twitching inside him, then feels him release, filling him with hot spurts of cum. And then, finally, he feels Namjoon begin to expand. 

With his leg slung over Namjoon's shoulder, the discomfort of the growing knot makes his muscles tremble and cramp. Namjoon's head is still thrown back, and he is groaning and whimpering as if locked into a state of bliss. Yoongi, on the other hand, is slowly being stretched enough that the pain feels similar to giving birth, and before he can stop himself, a scream rips from his lungs. 

Frantically, he reaches for a pillow – anything to bite onto – and he winds up taking the one out from under his head and pulling it over his face. Condensation builds instantly against the soft material as Yoongi screams bloody murder while hugging the pillow tight against him, still hanging suspended by threads of pleasure despite experiencing physical anguish so visceral it feels nearly incomprehensible. 

Sharp, piercing pain in his thigh makes Yoongi's entire body seize, and he pulls the pillow away, attempting to kick from the source of the feeling, only to find that the source is the alpha's mouth. Namjoon's eyes are wide and crazed, and his teeth are sunken into Yoongi's flesh as he growls with a mouthful of skin. Yoongi is absolutely terrified, chest feeling too tight to intake more air. 

"Namjoon!" Yoongi screams, lifting his other foot and kicking at the alpha's shoulder. "Stop!"

Namjoon releases Yoongi and stares at his leg as if in a trance. And then his gaze snaps to Yoongi, and he looks afraid, ashamed, and possibly sad. Yoongi sobs as Namjoon continues to grow inside him, and when Namjoon allows Yoongi to drop his foot to the bed, he begins to kick and drag his feet uselessly, thrashing in pain and horror. 

"Fuck," Namjoon mutters, leaning forward and grabbing the leather strap that Yoongi found earlier. He uses his hands to attempt to hold Yoongi's head steady, but although his eyes are soft and present once more, Yoongi is scared shitless and in immense pain, and he tries pushing Namjoon away. 

"Shhh, wait, Yoongi," Namjoon utters sweetly, filling the room with tangerine so thick Yoongi can taste it on his tongue. He holds the leather device in front of Yoongi's mouth and says, "Yoongi, here, bite onto this."

Reluctantly, Yoongi opens his mouth and lets Namjoon slide the strap inside, nestled between his teeth. It feels cool and soft on his lips, and as soon as he bites down, he feels somewhat calm. He also thinks Namjoon's knot may have finally reached its fullness. 

"Yoongi, I'm so sorry," Namjoon mutters, petting over his sweaty face and hair with both hands and leaning way too fucking close. "I lost control; I shouldn't have bitten you."

The pain is present but dissipating to a dull ache, and Yoongi huffs each breath through his nose, drooling around the leather strap. Namjoon's pheromones truly do work wonders, bringing his anxiety down enough that he can emit chamomile and ease himself further into nirvana. 

"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks, brows pinched, hands still gently raking over Yoongi's sweat-matted hair. 

Yoongi mutters uselessly and nods, eyelids feeling heavy; body completely wrecked. Now that the intensity is gone, Yoongi just feels full, sticky, and sated. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he sinks deeper into the bedding, shivering as his sweat-slicked skin cools. 

Gently, Namjoon begins to maneuver Yoongi onto his side, and Yoongi does his best to comply, aided by the lubrication of his slick and Namjoon's leaking cum to allow the alpha to wiggle around until he is lying behind Yoongi, pulling him close, knot nestled deep.

"We're gonna be here a while," Namjoon mutters close to Yoongi's ear, ghosting warm breath over his neck. "Relax, alright?"

Yoongi yawns, dropping the leather strap from his mouth. He curls slightly in on himself and shivers while Namjoon grabs the fur blanket and wraps it over them. Drool coats his chin, but he does not have the energy to wipe it away.

Had he known all of this would have been so painful and so intimate, Yoongi may have backed out. But he is here now, connected to the alpha in a way he has never felt before, and he allows himself to imagine a life like this – wrapped in Namjoon's warm embrace and loved by the man in a way he could never hope for. 

As Yoongi drifts to sleep, he feels Namjoon's large, warm hands rubbing over his hip and arm. He even imagines the alpha leaving soft kisses along his shoulder, neck, and spine. 

Oh, the imagination can be so cruel, he thinks, just as he drifts off.

Yoongi wakes up naked and alone. 

Although he should not be surprised to find himself in the dark, quiet bungalow all by himself, disappointment hits him in a wave, dragging him into its undertow.

Of course, Namjoon would leave, Yoongi tells himself. Why wouldn't he?

The incense have all burnt out, and the candles seem to have been snuffed. Although the other ritualistic items remain scattered around, there is also a tray of fruit and snacks, and a large glass of water. It seems Jeongguk has stopped by to at least bring him refreshments, but he did not bother to take anything away. Perhaps the items need to stay throughout the pregnancy, Yoongi wonders. In order to appease the gods, or…whatever. Yoongi is unsure.

Yoongi rolls into a seated position, feeling an ache in his limbs and deep in his ass, and he winces and groans as he gets onto his knees on the floor and hobbles over to the low table. He picks up a slice of watermelon and holds it suspended in air as his mind flashes back to earlier, replaying segments over and over like a broken record. 

Namjoon calling Yoongi pretty, telling him how good he feels. Namjoon losing control and biting him. A shiver runs up Yoongi's spine, and he blinks away the thoughts as best as he can. He tells himself that it was just alpha rut madness that drove Namjoon to say and do things he otherwise would not. The last thing Yoongi needs is to imagine Namjoon really does have feelings for him. 

Yoongi feels exhausted, and lonelier than usual. In the past, whenever he would return from the doctor with the in vitro process complete, he would be medicated and sleepy, but blissful in his loneliness, happy to allow his body to rest and grow a tiny human. But this time, the whole situation feels so personal that Yoongi wants comfort. He wants it so badly, sadness wells in his chest, forcing his exhale to come out shattered. 

Yoongi attempts to swallow back the urge to cry, but all at once, the emotions hit like a tsunami, and tears well up and break over in an instant. He sets the piece of watermelon down and hangs his head, anchoring his elbows into the hard wooden table and sobbing with his palms pressed against his eyelids. 

All he wants is for Namjoon to return. He wants to be wrapped in the fur blanket and cuddled back to sleep, feeling the soft traces of fingertips and lips against his skin. But Namjoon will not come back, because Namjoon is not his. 

The hot flashes and bouts of dizziness that come and go for the next several days keep Yoongi bedridden and frantic. Each time Jeongguk comes with food, Yoongi practically begs him to climb into bed and hold him. He can tell Jeongguk is concerned for his health, but he does not ask if there is more that Yoongi might need. And, truth be told, Yoongi would likely catch a whiff of Jeongguk's non-tangerine, non-cinnamon scent and turn the man away. 

Instead, Yoongi buries himself in the satin sheet that reeks of days-old body fluids and hugs the fur close, desperately sniffing for traces of the alpha. He avoids his phone, he does not go for any swims – teetering between madness and sanity while waking up to find the sun has risen or fallen again, unsure how much time has passed.

And then, one day, Yoongi wakes up feeling fine. Not great, but fine. He feels sticky from sweat but is not running hot, and the dizziness seems to have subsided enough that when he gets out of bed, he is able to stand. He feels wobbly from lack of proper eating, but he manages to go to the bathroom and return on steady enough feet. 

Candles, incense, stones, wreaths, and statues litter the space, and Yoongi finds that he likes them. He rubs his fingers over pink and dark green crystals, scraping his nails along sharper edges. And he picks up each candle to smell them, finding some of the gentle floral aromas familiar from that night.

That night.

Yoongi takes a fortifying breath and grabs his phone from the table, which has a nearly dead battery. As soon as he turns on the screen, he finds a message from Jeongguk sent a day ago—

Jeongguk The worst of the heat should be over soon. I have been bringing water and checking on you, but you have been sleeping a lot. Let me know when you would like me to bring you a meal, or if you need anything else. 

—and several messages from Namjoon. 

To Yoongi's surprise, only three days have passed since he and Namjoon performed their tempestuous little ritual. He has no idea how long they were fucking for, nor how long he was asleep after, but it seems Namjoon sent the first message late that evening. 

Namjoon Please let Jeongguk or me know if you need anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, muttering, "Asshole," under his breath. What he needs is for Namjoon to comfort him. But, of course, that is out of the question. 

The rest of his messages had come in the following day, and Yoongi really does not know what to make of them. The first one was sent in the early evening—

Namjoon How are you feeling? Let me know when you wake up. 

—followed by a second, sent ten minutes later—

Namjoon I would also like to apologize again, for what happened. 

—followed by one sent about twenty minutes later—

Namjoon In fact, maybe we should sit down and have a conversation once you're feeling better. 

The last one was sent several hours later, in the middle of the night. 

Namjoon Jeongguk says you've been awake, but pretty out of it from the heat. I could visit if you think it could help. Let me know. 

Namjoon offering to help Yoongi in the middle of the night makes him feel both excited and annoyed. Does Namjoon think that just because the two of them fucked, Yoongi needs him? He does – of course, he does – but Namjoon does not have to know that. And frankly, if he really wanted to be useful, he could have just shown up. It is not like the bungalow has been locked, and even if Jeongguk had been locking it while Yoongi has been in and out of consciousness, he has a key. 

It feels like an empty gesture more than anything. Or a weak man trying to sneak around in the middle of the night because feels indebted to the surrogate who he enjoyed fucking just a little too much. 

Yoongi huffs out a scoff and ignores the messages from Namjoon, and instead texts Jeongguk to let him know that he is awake and would like a proper meal and a change of sheets; that he'll be in the shower and Jeongguk should feel free to come right in. It is just after 6 PM, which means he has already cooked dinner and likely served the couple, so bringing him a plate should not take too long. 

With that settled, Yoongi tosses his phone to the bed. He eats several pieces of pear, drinks some water, then he peels himself up onto his feet to go into the bathroom.

This shower is just like the one inside the hanok, but it takes some adjusting to find a temperature he agrees with. Despite feeling like the worst of his heat is over, everything is simultaneously too hot and too cold on his skin, and he settles on something ever so slightly too cold and gets in. The water is instantly soothing, and Yoongi groans as it gently beats down on his shoulders and back. 

He stands still a little while, just letting the water pour down on him with his eyes closed. Although his treacherous little mind conjures image after image of Namjoon from that night, he somehow manages to feel a little relaxed. He even holds back a snarl when he pumps tangerine-scented shampoo onto his hand and lathers his hair with it. 

The mood swings are still rampant, and Yoongi at least has the wherewithal to recognize it. He knows that hating Namjoon and wanting Namjoon are both equally irrational and that there is likely a third other option right in the center of the two that he will settle on as soon as his hormones have evened out just a little. That is, unless the pregnancy hormones make him just as unreasonable. 

He rinses, conditions, and rinses again, telling himself that eventually he and Namjoon will need to have a conversation, and that perhaps he should be upfront about possibly needing him around. The least he can do is advocate for himself. 

As Yoongi slathers chamomile body wash on his skin, he hears movement out in the bungalow. He had left the bathroom door open a crack so that he would hear Jeongguk's arrival, and thinks he can make out the sounds of a tray being set down on the table and the bedding being changed. Then he hears the door open and close again, and before he can question whether Jeongguk has left, warm musk and tangy tangerine seep in through the air, greeting all of his senses and making his body run hot.

"Is he in here?" Yoongi hears Namjoon ask, and he snickers to himself; how could the alpha be so unobservant?

"In the shower," Jeongguk responds. 

"You should let me change those sheets," Namjoon says, and his voice sounds closer to the bathroom.

Yoongi thinks he hears Jeongguk mutter, "I got it," but he is not too sure. 

Seconds pass with Yoongi just standing under the warm stream of water, holding his soap-sudded rag in his hand while listening. When Namjoon knocks on the bathroom door, it startles him, making him tense up and gasp.

"Yoongi?" Namjoon calls softly.

Yoongi responds with a, "Hmm?"

More seconds pass, and the scent of musk is much stronger, accented faintly with cinnamon. Then, Namjoon asks, "Do you mind if we talk once you're done?"

Yoongi is not sure he wants to talk to Namjoon at the moment, but if the man is here, he may as well at least hear him out while he eats. It is not as if Namjoon doesn't know he needs to eat; he is certain that Jeongguk brought him a tray of food, and Namjoon has to have seen it. 

"Sure," Yoongi responds, finally moving his limbs to finish washing up. 

"Alright," Namjoon says. "I'll close the door to give you privacy."

Yoongi scoffs and mutters, "Okay," to himself while the door is gently closed. Sure, it is kind of Namjoon to give him privacy, but it is not like there is any part of him the man has not seen. And Yoongi had not brought a change of clothing into the bathroom with him, so he is going to wind up returning to the room in a towel, anyway. 

Voices chatter on the other side of the wall, and although Yoongi is curious, he takes his time rinsing. Then he shuts off the water, reaches past the curtain for a towel, and begins to dry. The door of the bungalow closes, and Yoongi squeezes his hair with the towel, then he wraps it around his hips. He brushes his teeth despite planning to eat right away, because he has no idea when he did so last, and applies some moisturizer to his face. 

He is not sure what he expects to see when he exits the bathroom, but he is somewhat surprised to find Namjoon wearing a black tee and black joggers rather than his standard white and grey office attire. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at his phone, and when Yoongi steps out of the fog-filled bathroom, he glances up, eyes widening and cheeks blushing before he averts his gaze. 

Yoongi cannot quite identify his myriad feelings, but pride definitely floats around in his tummy, and he bites back a smile while approaching the wooden dresser, eyes ahead as he passes Namjoon. 

"Sorry for intruding," Namjoon somewhat mutters, and Yoongi glances over his shoulder to find the alpha's shoulders curled slightly forward while he looks down at his empty hands. "You weren't responding to my messages, and I wanted to check on you."

"It's fine," Yoongi says, pulling out a pair of black briefs and soft light blue pajama pants. He has half a mind to stay shirtless just to see if he can get a rise from the alpha, but grabs a plain white tee and begins sliding his arms into it, instead. 

He steps into the black briefs while keeping the towel around his waist, but when the action of pulling the garment to his hips causes the towel to come loose, he allows it to drop to the floor. The heady musk that fills the room is almost instantaneous, and Yoongi bites his bottom lip in an attempt to keep from grinning. As he bends to slowly put on his pajama pants, he glances over his shoulders to find Namjoon still staring down at his hands, which are balled into tight fists. 

"Still in your rut?" Yoongi asks while pulling the pants to his hips. 

He picks up the towel and walks past Namjoon without looking at him, over to the bathroom to hang the towel on a hook. When he returns, Namjoon is watching him with a stare that is somewhat difficult to read. His brows are pinched, mouth in a slight frown, but there is a softness to his eyes. It almost reminds him of that night, after Namjoon had knotted him, and was rubbing his hair and trying to make him relax. 

Yoongi walks to the low table and finds a large salad with chicken, croutons, and a lot of vegetables, as well as a small assortment of pickled vegetables and a bowl of glass noodles on the side. He rounds the table and sits on his knees on the far side, with Namjoon and the bed to his right, and begins to rearrange the items on the table, pulling the tray close.

Namjoon clears his throat quietly and mutters, "I am."

Yoongi snickers, raising his gaze while saying, "I can smell it."

The way Namjoon blinks at him, brow further knitting, nearly makes Yoongi laugh, and he swallows down the urge while picking up his glass of water to have a drink. Cinnamon permeates the air, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, not in the mood to baby a grumpy alpha, if that is what the man is here for. 

"I'm glad to see you seem to be feeling better," Namjoon says while Yoongi spears a piece of chicken on his chopstick and chuckles to himself as he lifts it to his mouth. He hums in agreement then fits the entire long strip of chicken sideways between his cheeks, and closes his eyes as he savors the perfect blend of dressing on the delicately seasoned meat. 

"Jeongguk mentioned you were pretty out of it for a while," Namjoon continues, and Yoongi uses the metal chopsticks to gather a large bite of lettuce, pepper, and onion. 

"Typical heat," Yoongi grumbles before taking a bite. He fights the urge to ask Namjoon if he has ever actually witnessed Wheein experiencing a heat in all their years of being married, deciding it is best not to push him. 

Namjoon sighs, and Yoongi turns his gaze to the man, eyebrows raised while he chews. 

"Have I done or said something to piss you off?" Namjoon asks, taking Yoongi by surprise. 

Cinnamon scent spikes again, spicy with very little sweetness, and Yoongi scrunches up his nose in annoyance, shaking his head. 

"No," he responds, swallowing down his bite of food. "Why would you think that?"

Namjoon only stares at him, and Yoongi can see he is torn. He must have something on his mind; something that he wants to say to him, and Yoongi wishes he would just come out and say it. 

But Yoongi would rather eat, so eat, he does. If Namjoon wants to speak his mind, the floor is his, but Yoongi is not going to sit around and wait for him. The salad and banchan are delicious and savory, and hit all the spots. Yoongi is grateful for a lighter meal; his stomach is somewhat sensitive, and he already feels pretty full.

Minutes pass while Yoongi finishes his food, and although it is a little weird just having Namjoon sit in the periphery, he finds some comfort in the blend of their scents in the air. It is nice to have another warm body in the room, even if the body belongs to an annoying, impossible-to-read alpha with the best dick game he has ever experienced. 

A shiver runs through Yoongi at the thought of Namjoon fucking him, and he does his best to ignore the rush of arousal, but it hangs in the air between them, and there is no doubt Namjoon will be able to smell it, as well. 

Yoongi finishes his food and sits back with his palms anchored against the floor, closing his eyes while taking a deep, satisfied breath, feeling happier than he has in a while. Then he opens his eyes and turns to Namjoon. The alpha watches Yoongi with a wide, hungry gaze and an otherwise blank expression. 

"What?" Yoongi tries, attempting to sound playful, but Namjoon's stare becomes pointed. 

Yoongi attempts a different approach, sitting up and rubbing his palms over his pajama pant legs, suddenly feeling antsy. "You said you wanted to talk to me…what's up?"

Namjoon pats the space beside him, and Yoongi tenses at the thought of joining him on the bed, staring at him while his brain uselessly fails to come up with what he should do.

"Come here," Namjoon says softly, adding in a, "Please," that is more of a command than a question. 

With a fortifying breath, Yoongi gets onto his feet and shuffles over. He attempts to put space between them, and is surprised when Namjoon reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him over to sit close. Immediately, Yoongi's palms prickle with sweat, and he has a seat, removing himself from Namjoon's loose hold and clasping his hands over his lap. 

Warmth radiates from Namjoon, and his musk is so strong this close, that Yoongi finds himself sinking into a state of comfort and teetering on the edge of arousal. He attempts to breathe through it and get his bearings back, but Namjoon's presence covers him like a warm blanket, causing Yoongi to scramble to the side, scooting away from him.

"Namjoon, I can't—" Yoongi begins, and Namjoon turns to him, gets onto the bed on his hands and knees, and leans in close, sniffing the air loudly. Yoongi's pulse picks up, heavy and fast and suffocating, and he mutters, "What are you doing?"

"I can't stop thinking about you," Namjoon admits so softly, Yoongi wonders if he imagines it. 

Desire, guilt, and worry all build in his tummy, and he turns to Namjoon, places both hands on his shoulders, and attempts to push him away. "Well, you need to stop thinking about me," he says through grit teeth, frustrated when Namjoon is not moved even a little. "You have a wife."

"Yoongi," Namjoon huffs, emitting cinnamon and sounding exasperated, "please can we not—"

"What?" Yoongi asks, clipped and angry. "Can we not what?"

With a sigh, Namjoon sits up, then crashes to his hip with his legs bent, feet hanging over the edge of the bed. His gaze is unwavering, and Yoongi squirms in place, turning to bend his legs against the bed and face Namjoon; they definitely need to have a conversation. 

"The other night, with you…" Namjoon trails off, gazing flitting back and forth over Yoongi's face. He swallows hard and looks away, playing with the fur blanket that covers the bed with his fingertips. His voice is soft and low as he continues. 

"I know I shouldn't be telling you this. I know that I should just swallow everything down and try to ignore it, but…" Namjoon lifts his eyes, and they appear sad. "Yoongi, I…I think I am developing feelings for you."

A deep, angry scoff works its way from Yoongi's chest and stomach, and it huffs between his lips with the force of a tiny storm. He knows it has to be Namjoon's rut clouding his lust-addled brain, and the fact that he could so flippantly toy with Yoongi's emotions after what he has been through living in this weird fucking homestead, has sadness boiling in his guts.

"How dare you," he mutters before he can stop himself. 

Namjoon's eyebrows fly to his forehead, and he appears sympathetic albeit confused. "Yoongi, wait, what do you—"

"I need you to get out," Yoongi says, gripping onto the material of his pajama pants while his gaze falters and he looks instead to the fur covering the bed. "We can discuss things more when your rut is over, but right now, you are clearly not in your right mind, and you are talking nonsense. You shouldn't have come here."

Yoongi expects the room to be drenched in cinnamon and is surprised by the calming wave of heady, lust-laced musk and tangerine that fills his senses. His own arousal blends in, punctuated by pomegranate. 

"Yoongi, please—"

"Namjoon," Yoongi attempts to sound firm, but his voice trembles, "You can't think about me. You can't have feelings for me." Tears well in his eyes, which he closes as he whimpers, "It's not fair."

Before he can stop himself, tears break over his eye line, and he pulls his hands to his face to cover himself, embarrassed and confused and so fucking tired. Namjoon shifts on the bed, and as Yoongi can sense him getting closer, he attempts to twist away, but he is wrapped in a tight embrace that only serves to make him cry harder. 

"Yoongi," Namjoon coos softly, rubbing a hand over Yoongi's damp hair while the other is wrapped tightly around his back, pinning his arms in place. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry."

"It's not fair," Yoongi mutters again. He does not want to explain himself – does not want to admit to the alpha that he has feelings for him – but he cannot hold back. "You can't just say things like that to me. This isn't a game, Namjoon."

"Hey," Namjoon says, leaning back and sliding his hands until both grip his biceps. "Yoongi, look at me."

Yoongi shakes his head, digging his palms into his cheeks in a refusal to let Namjoon see him cry. But then Namjoon asks a soft, "Please," that cuts to his core, and Yoongi spreads his fingers to peer through, regarding Namjoon as little as possible.

"I'm not messing with you," Namjoon says sternly, intently. "I know that it might come as a surprise to you that I have feelings, but…I can't help it."

Yoongi opens his mouth, ready to remind Namjoon that being married to someone means he cannot go around having feelings for every omega he has ritualistic sex with, but Namjoon gives his arms a soft squeeze with brows pinched and mouth falling open, and Yoongi waits for him to speak again. He looks like he knows he should not say whatever he plans to tell Yoongi next, which only raises his anxiety more. 

"Wheein and I…fuck, this is going to make me sound like a fucking asshole."

Yoongi cannot help it, he chuckles – humorless but amused all the same – as he rubs his hands over his cheeks and lets them fall to his lap, saying, "Spit it out."

"Marrying Wheein was a political move," Namjoon says quickly, eyes on the wall behind Yoongi. "And, I don't know…maybe we used to enjoy each other's company, but…"

Yoongi's jaw sets, and he tongues the inside of his mouth. A dizzying mix of mirth and vitriol stir in the air, spicy with no sweetness to be found. "So you think having a baby will patch things up? Wouldn't a divorce be more effective?"

He can tell by the way Namjoon's eyes widen and pierce that he has struck a nerve, and is surprised to find only calming scents coming from the alpha. "It's not that easy, Yoongi," he mutters softly, almost as if he is ashamed. Or, perhaps, resolved. 

"Because you're a political figure," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes. "Gods forbid the public witnesses their leader create healthy boundaries by filing a divorce. Oh, what will the citizens do if something such as divorce becomes more normalized?"

"I don't want to make a public spectacle of myself, Yoongi," Namjoon says with a hint of a snarl, tainting the air with sharp spice.

"No," Yoongi responds, eyes heavy from crying, shoulders raising defensively as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You would rather invite me here instead and make a quieter spectacle of me. Do you even want a child? Or were you just looking for someone to fuck?"

Namjoon heaves his next exhale and sits up straight, eyes trailing around the room almost as if he does not recognize his surroundings. Then he stands and scoffs, face morphing from incredulous anger to a dull amusement. 

"Yeah," Namjoon says suddenly, getting to his feet and sliding his hands into his pockets. "You're right, I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have…told you…" With an exhale and a shake of his head, Namjoon crosses the room and walks out, closing the door softly behind him. 

Yoongi feels sad, overwhelmed, and so terribly amused; all he can do is squeeze a pillow tight to his chest and laugh. 

For two days, Yoongi stays holed up in the bungalow. He finally takes out his laptop to catch up on a drama he had been watching before, and starts feeling much better, fully coming out of the haze of his heat and physically feeling like he has more energy. 

Today, he decides to go for a swim. The sun is shining bright, and when Jeongguk arrived to drop off lunch forty-ish minutes ago, a hot gust of air came in through the door, inviting Yoongi to dip into the warm pool. 

Yoongi changes into black swim shorts and a black tee, tying his overgrown dark hair into a bun atop his head. He walks to the bathroom to grab a fresh towel, and goes to the door, opening it wide with a smile on his face. To his surprise and chagrin, Wheein is in the pool while Namjoon is laid out on a pool bed, under a wide umbrella, reading a book. 

Hesitance stops Yoongi in his tracks, and he nearly changes his mind and returns to the bungalow when Wheein shouts, "Oh my god, Yoongi! Are you joining us?"

Although Yoongi keeps his gaze on Wheein, he can see Namjoon moving in the peripheral, and he nods, takes a fortifying breath, and closes the bungalow door tight behind him. He walks past Namjoon through a cloud of cinnamon and musk, over to the pool chairs near the far corner, and tosses his towel aside. 

Then he pulls his shirt over his head, wrapping his arms around his torso the moment the garment is flung to the chair, and quickly pads over to the steps, wasting no time getting into the water and squatting low so that it reaches his neck, careful not to let the bite mark on his inner thigh show. 

Wheein bounces over wearing a flashy red bathing suit and large black sunglasses. She has a wide smile plastered to her face, and she opens her arms wide, flinging droplets of water while pulling Yoongi into a tight hug, forcing him to stand up straight. 

"Oh my god, it's so nice to see you again," Wheein says as she pins Yoongi's arms to his sides in a warm embrace. "How was the…you know…ritual?"

"Uh," Yoongi mutters, laughing uncomfortably. 

Wheein releases the hug and takes a step back, lifting her sunglasses to her head. 

"Was it so awkward?" she asks with a curious smile. "Joonie said it was pretty awkward."

Yoongi does his best to school his thoughts and keep his scent as neutral as possible while he chuckles, shrugs, and says, "I guess so, yeah. It was pretty awkward." 

He laughs a little, feeling his cheeks blaze as he adds, "Namjoon was polite and professional," wincing inwardly and wishing he had kept that part off. 

For just a split, fleeting moment, Yoongi thinks Wheein's smile falters. Her gaze flits to Namjoon, and Yoongi wonders what she may be thinking about. But then she turns back to Yoongi looking happy as ever, and says, "I'm so glad to hear that. I really am so happy that you're the one helping us."

Yoongi nods, feeling a swelling of emotions. He does his best to only emit calm and hopes she does not notice the slightly sour hints of pomegranate. Luckily, her lavender is nice and strong, with only faintly-detected hints of bitter patchouli. 

A loud ringing echoes through the space, coming from Namjoon's direction, and Yoongi turns instinctively, watching as he stands – wearing only black swim shorts – cradling his book with a finger holding his place. 

"Break time's over," Namjoon calls before walking off toward the house in all his muscular, tanned glory, and Yoongi swallows a lump as he pulls his gaze away. 

Wheein sighs and wraps her arm over Yoongi's shoulders, pout audible as she says, "I was just about to offer you a glass of wine, but you might be pregnant."

And although Yoongi chuckles and says, "Darn," the fact sinks into his guts like heavy bricks. 

He might be pregnant. 

For several more days, Yoongi spends his time between watching dramas and swimming. He has learned that Namjoon has begun to transition most of his work duties to be done remotely, from home – presumably to be present during the pregnancy – and that he takes an hour-long lunch break that includes swimming and reading by the pool between 1:30 PM and 2:30 PM. 

Yoongi makes sure to swim no sooner than 3 PM, but no later than 5 PM, just to be safe. That way, if the alpha takes one of his evening runs, it is usually long after Yoongi has returned inside. Most days, he is alone, but Wheein seems to be taking an interest in at least coming outside to say hi and chit-chat. 

On the tenth day after the ritual, Yoongi and Jeongguk drive into the city for a doctor's appointment. And although Jeongguk is kind, funny, and a decent conversationalist, there is a part of Yoongi that wishes Namjoon would be able to play a more active role in all of this. Of course, he cannot, because if the media caught a whiff of the two of them at the appointment, it would cause a stir that Namjoon is trying to avoid.

He and Namjoon have not spoken since the day they had their argument, but Yoongi still wishes his calming alpha scents and familiar, soft voice were present while they sit in the sterile, fluorescent waiting room. He wishes Namjoon could hold his hand tight while he waits on the paper-clad operating table for the doctor to return with his urine and blood sample results. 

When the doctor says, "Congratulations, Min Yoongi-ssi. You're going to be a parent!" Yoongi wishes Namjoon could wrap him in a warm, tight hug. 

Yoongi does not hide the tears that fall when he and Jeongguk return to the car, and he is grateful when the beta quietly drives to an ice cream shop and tells Yoongi, "Anything you want. It's on me." 

He is grateful when he is handed a fish-shaped pastry full of melon soft-serve, and grateful that neither of them speaks the rest of the way to the hanok. At least he can hide away in the bungalow and be alone with his thoughts.

And he nearly gets through the night streaming television blissfully alone, eating his feelings, until, at 11:16 PM, there is a familiar knock at his door.

"Yeah? Come in." Yoongi calls with a sigh, tapping his fingertips to the space key to pause the episode before deciding he may as well just close his laptop and push it aside. 

It has been rather hot the last few days, and Yoongi only wears a pair of light blue briefs and a black tee. When the door opens, he bends his legs and wraps his arms around his knees, resting his head on one knee, facing Namjoon, who walks in and closes the door quietly behind him. 

Namjoon is dressed in grey sweatpants and a white tee, and he appears to hesitate before entering, then approaches the bed. 

"Do you want more furniture?" Namjoon asks, glancing around before having a seat at the end of the bed. "Or are you comfortable here?"

"Is this what you came to ask me about in the middle of the night?" Yoongi responds somewhat groggily. 

"No," Namjoon mutters, surprising Yoongi with a soft smile, emitting warm musk. "I suppose it is not."

Although Namjoon hesitates as he sits on the corner of the bed with his legs pretzeled and his back slumped slightly forward, he also seems much more calm and collected than the last time he was here. Yoongi wonders if he has come to apologize for everything from before, and he braces himself for Namjoon to once again tell him that what had happened was a mistake – a product of his rut and nothing more. 

"I thought I would come by because…well, we both owe one another an apology."

Yoongi snickers but nods, accepting that what he said before was probably not necessary or kind in any way. 

"I also wanted to congratulate you," Namjoon says much softer, gaze finding his.

All at once, Yoongi feels choked up, and he swallows it down, burying his face between his knees for a couple of seconds before changing the way he is sitting to mirror Namjoon, with his legs in a pretzel and his back straight. 

"Congratulations to you two, as well," Yoongi mutters, voice much shakier than he would like. 

Silence hangs, and although it does not feel heavy, Yoongi suddenly wants to curl into a ball and close his eyes to the world. He feels overcome with sadness and a little bit of excitement for the life he carries. 

Unable to hold in his emotions, Yoongi hugs his arms tightly around himself, lets his chin fall to his chest, and heaves out a shaky exhale. He is so tired of crying, but cannot help the tears that build and fall. At this point, he no longer cares if Namjoon sees him like this. 

Namjoon stands and walks to the door, and for a split moment, Yoongi wonders if he is going to leave him. Maybe he thinks coming here was a mistake and he cannot stand watching the omega cry, yet again. 

But Namjoon locks the door and returns to the bed, tilting his head as he quietly asks, "Are you tired? Do you want to lay down?"

Yoongi shakes his head, although it is not entirely true; he is tired. But he is not interested in lying down just yet. Not if Namjoon has more that he wants to say to him. 

"May I?" Namjoon asks, opening his arms and lifting one knee to the bed.

Without allowing himself to overthink it, Yoongi nods. And when Namjoon gets onto the bed behind him with his legs on either side of Yoongi and his arms wrapped around his shoulders, Yoongi sinks into the feeling, breathing in the calming scents that waft from the alpha, and letting his tears fall freely. 

Namjoon is warm, and he holds Yoongi just tightly enough that he feels protected and safe. Although the knowledge of all of this having an end date looms overhead, Yoongi allows himself to pretend that it can be his. 

Gently, Namjoon rakes fingernails over Yoongi's head, making him practically purr from how nice it feels. He has no idea how long they sit tangled together, but Yoongi sniffles and breathes deeply as the tears dry, catching his breath a little more easily. 

"Want to tell me why you're crying?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi scoffs. 

He practically asks Namjoon why he cares but settles on, "This is all just…a lot."

Namjoon hums and continues to gently scratch at his head, and Yoongi closes his eyes while considering how much he should divulge. Would it be worth it to tell Namjoon that he really has been developing feelings, and that is why he acted so irrationally the last time the alpha was here? He thinks it would, but struggles to find the words. 

Suddenly, the warmth and comfort of Namjoon's embrace feels like too much, and he shrugs away the arm over his shoulders and sits up. Without turning to face the alpha, Yoongi closes his eyes and says, "I do owe you an apology."

Namjoon rubs a hand over Yoongi's back and he flinches slightly, finding himself feeling bothered by how kind he is being despite everything. Or, perhaps, only bothered by how badly he wishes he could have this affection full-time and not just in bursts. 

"I'm sorry for what I said. What goes on under your roof is your business, not mine. But what you said really struck a nerve with me."

Namjoon hums and asks, "Because you don't feel the same way about me, I assume?"

Yoongi's heart pounds heavily as he twists and assesses the soft, daresay caring expression Namjoon regards him with. He frowns and furrows his brow, and all he can respond with is, "What?"

Namjoon sighs, cocks his head to the side, and with a soft smile says, "I meant what I said, you know. And I apologize if that was something that you didn't want or need to hear at the time. I can't imagine how weird it must have been for me to confess my feelings after we have hardly gotten to know each other outside of…well…you know…the ritual."

Yoongi's brain buffers. He struggles to accept any of what Namjoon has just said, and once more, only has the ability to ask, "What?"

This time, Namjoon falters, and he looks confused. "I'm…not sure what was unclear, but—"

Yoongi shakes his head and waves his hands, desperate for Namjoon to shut the fuck up before he incriminates both of their hearts even more. He opens his mouth to argue and insist that Namjoon must only think he has feelings because of the heightened emotion surrounding his rut, but instead, Yoongi blurts, "But I do have feelings for you," taking them both by surprise.

"I mean—" Yoongi says, heavy-blinking and shaking his head as he comes to his senses, "—fuck, why did I say that out loud?"

Namjoon's eyes are wide as disks, and he reaches up, gently cradling Yoongi's face with an expression that oozes affection. Yoongi shakes his head in tiny, quick movements and turns away, shrugging off the hands that touch him. 

"We can't," Yoongi mutters, eyes wide and glued to the black sheet that folds over the edge of the mattress and disappears. He repeats it again, softly, like a mantra. "We can't."

Namjoon's hands rub over the slopes of Yoongi's shoulders and gently tugs him back. And as much as Yoongi wants to resist and shove the alpha away, he allows himself to be wrapped into a back hug. When Namjoon's hot breath sighs against his neck, stirring up a familiar swell of arousal, he squeezes his eyes closed, doing his best to ignore the soft but present heady blend of scents that shroud them.

"We shouldn't," Namjoon responds, voice breathy and a bit distant. "Once with you should be enough."

Yoongi hums and nods. "Once has to be enough."

It is silent save for the pounding of Namjoon's heart against Yoongi's ear, and he begins to drift asleep, half-seated and half-lying when he hears Namjoon ask, soft enough to nearly be a whisper, "But what if it's not?"

Yoongi wakes up with his face on Namjoon's chest and gasps, scrambling back while holding in the urge to scream. He remembers Namjoon coming in last night but has no memory of the two of them lying down together and falling asleep. 

The movement startles Namjoon awake, who regards him with wide, worried eyes before he huffs out a quiet chuckle and stretches his arms over his head, asking, "What time is it?"

Yoongi feels frantic and afraid, and he looks around for his phone, finding it on the low wooden table and haphazardly dropping to his knees on the floor to grab it. 

"7:02," Yoongi says, turning back to Namjoon to gauge whether or not the alpha is going to be in a lot of shit for not returning to his bed last night.

Namjoon, however, has the fabric of his shirt pinched between two fingers, right near his pec, inspecting a spot in the fabric. He looks at Yoongi with an amused smile and says, "You drool in your sleep. Cute."

"Cu—" Yoongi starts, already tired of this day before it has had a chance to begin. "Shouldn't you get back to your room? You stayed the night!"

Although Namjoon chuckles in response, his eyes are somewhat sad when he says, "We often don't share a bed. It's fine."

"Oh," Yoongi responds, feeling a bit sullen. "But what about Jeongguk? Doesn't he have a key?"

Namjoon holds his arm out across the bed and pats the mattress invitingly. "He does, but he wouldn't come in here without permission if the door is locked. And you can always message and tell him to bring you breakfast later this morning."

Yoongi stands and returns to bed against his better judgment, clutching his phone tight. He supposes he could message Jeongguk. Or he could insist Namjoon get the fuck out of the bungalow and leave him to stew in last night's confessions alone. 

But Namjoon is handsome, warm, and smells like heaven, and he crawls back to the center of the bed and allows himself to be pulled down against his muscular, drool-spotted chest. 

Only, Namjoon rolls them over, flipping Yoongi onto his back while he hovers above, burying his nose against Yoongi's neck and down to his armpit, sniffling like a madman. Yoongi chuckles and shoves Namjoon away, only for the alpha to make more of a show of smelling him. 

"What are you doing?" he complains despite his smile.

"You're addicting," Namjoon groans, nuzzling against Yoongi's neck, tickling him with a faint pass of lips against skin. 

"What?" Yoongi asks through a laugh, jerking his head away. 

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi and yanks him until he is on his side and the two of them are facing one another. He feels somewhat crazed from all the attention – from how grabby the alpha is – and he buries his face between Namjoon's shoulder and the pillow. 

"You smell even better after sweating all night," Namjoon responds in that deep inviting tone that makes Yoongi want to dive into a frozen lake. 

Petulant, Yoongi whines, "Shut the fuck up," earning him a laugh. 

Yoongi feels tired and begins to drift in and out of sleep as he and Namjoon settle into their tangled positions, with Namjoon returning to his back and Yoongi fitting perfectly against his side. 

When he wakes again, Namjoon is slowly sliding from his hold and sitting up in bed. 

"Hmm?" Yoongi grumbles, wiping drool from his face. 

"Gotta get to work," Namjoon says. 

"Oh."

Yoongi rolls onto his back and stretches his limbs out long, then he sits and rolls his shoulders back. He feels deep, empty heaviness as hunger pangs settle like gunpowder in his stomach. 

"I should message Jeongguk," he grumbles, mostly to himself. 

"I already did," Namjoon responds as he crawls out of the foot end of the bed and passes a hand over his dark brown hair. 

It takes a moment for the words to catch up, and Yoongi gasps, asking, "You what?"

"Relax," Namjoon says, rounding the bed and approaching Yoongi's side, taking a seat beside him. His dimples show as he smiles softly, eyes roving Yoongi's face. "He tried the door shortly after you fell back asleep, and I let him know that we were having a private conversation but that I would let him know when to return."

"Oh." It sounds simple enough, Yoongi supposes. "But what if he suspects—"

Namjoon shakes his head and cuts him off. "Don't worry about Jeongguk." 

"Okay," Yoongi mutters, unconvinced.

Before he can say anything more, Namjoon leans and plants a soft kiss to Yoongi's temple, causing the world to screech to a halt. Air gets caught in Yoongi's lungs, and he stares at Namjoon unable to process what just happened. 

"Have a good day, Yoongi. You should come swim at 1:30 today."

Yoongi nods, still dazed. "Oh…okay."

And with that, Namjoon gets up and leaves. Yoongi stares ahead for several minutes, interrupted by a familiar knock, thankful to find the resident beta carrying a tray of omelet and tea. 

As he gets up to sit on one of the yellow-brown cushions, the spot on his head still tingles, and Yoongi finds himself fixated on how soft the alpha's lips are against his skin. 

Yoongi checks his phone over and over all morning and afternoon in anticipation to go out to the pool. He even gets dressed in his swim shorts and a black tee twenty minutes early and opens the bungalow door a crack to let in some warm afternoon air. 

At 1:30 on the dot, he hears the hanok door open and close, and he gets up from his floor cushion in a rush and scampers into the bathroom for a towel. Then he stops in his tracks in the bathroom and forces himself to breathe deeply in and out. He does not need to walk out into the blazing afternoon sun reeking of desperation, especially if Wheein or Jeongguk are around. 

When Yoongi finally steps out of the bungalow, Namjoon is sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, wearing only a pair of black shorts while staring ahead, softly kicking his feet. Yoongi's presence makes him look up with a start, and the wide smile that spreads over his lips kicks up Yoongi's pulse, undoing all the calm breathing he had done moments ago. The sight of Namjoon's nude sun-kissed torso alone has his cheeks turning warm.

"Fancy seeing you here," Yoongi grumbles playfully as he tosses his towel to a chair near Namjoon and peels out of his shirt. 

Namjoon anchors himself onto his hands and slides into the pool, going all the way underwater before returning. He is deep enough that the water comes to his pecs, and he waves for Yoongi to get in. Yoongi approaches the deep end and throws his hands over his head to dive in shallowly, just below the surface, sucking in a breath the moment his fingers breach the water, and smiling to himself as he huffs out the lungful of air.

When he stands, Namjoon is wading over to where he is, and he backs up instinctively, bouncing with every step and changing course in a bit of a zig-zag while the alpha approaches. Namjoon has a sharp, mischievous smile, and every one of Yoongi's nerves is on high alert.

"I feel like I'm being stalked by a shark," Yoongi jokes as he makes quick steps backward, only for Namjoon to make wide, swift steps forward. 

"We're canidae, Yoongi," Namjoon teases, "not fish."

Yoongi finds himself cornered, too distracted by the advancing alpha to keep track of where he is going. When Namjoon lunges forward, caging him in with his arms on either side of Yoongi's shoulders, Yoongi screams and laughs – chest heavy and so full of joy. Namjoon steps in close, knocking their knees together as he chuckles deeply, and hits Yoongi with a dizzying scent of heady musk. 

His voice sends a shiver through Yoongi as he says, "Seems I have you cornered, pretty omega."

Unable to hold back from panicking, Yoongi looks between the hanok and Namjoon, waiting for someone to come walking out and find them like this. Finally, while quaking with anxiety, he turns his head to the side and mutters, "What if someone sees us."

Namjoon's arms slip into the pool, and his head disappears underwater for just a moment as he bends and wraps his arms around Yoongi's thighs, lifting him as he stands. Yoongi yelps and instinctively wraps his arms and legs around the alpha, squirming and squealing in his hold. 

"They went on an errand," Namjoon says, dripping wet with his hair in his face, hands rubbing over Yoongi's ass while he presses Yoongi back against the wall. He leans close, speaking directly into Yoongi's ear as he adds, "They won't be back for a few hours."

"N-Namjoon," Yoongi mutters, dazed by the pheromones that ooze from the alpha but also worried about the kinds of lines they may be crossing. "We shouldn't—" he mutters, swallowing a lump. "We can't."

Namjoon rakes his teeth and lips over Yoongi's scent gland, and his body reacts so strongly – quaking and tingling and oozing with musk – he finds himself whimpering and clawing at Namjoon's shoulder. 

"I know it's wrong," Namjoon groans. "But I can't keep my hands off of you."

Blood rushes to Yoongi's cock, and with every hot breath that ghosts over his neck, his hips shiver and rut. He can feel how hard Namjoon is every time one of them moves even the slightest amount, and he plants his hands on Namjoon's shoulders when his desire becomes too overwhelming, attempting to push him away.

"We can't do this out here," Yoongi says, somewhat frantic. "Even if they left, it's too risky."

"Where can we do it?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi knows he should not invite him back to the bungalow – knows that the only correct answer is nowhere; they cannot do this anywhere, under any circumstances. 

But he swallows thickly and says, "Inside," before he can stop himself, closing his eyes as guilt sloshes around his insides. 

In a swift movement, Yoongi is lifted and placed onto the edge of the pool. He flails, confused by what is happening until his butt meets rough, warm gunite. 

Namjoon's pupils are blown wide, and he grins as he says, "Better run, little omega. If I catch you, I might just eat you."

All at once, Yoongi's anxiety and arousal reach new, horrifying heights, and he scrambles to his feet and runs around the pool to where his towel and shirt are. Namjoon wastes no time hoisting himself from the pool, water pouring from his body as he gets to his feet and stalks Yoongi around the deep end, causing Yoongi to scramble and run in the opposite direction of the bungalow, near the shallow end. 

"Where are you going, pretty Yoongi?" Namjoon teases in a growl, walking just a little faster to where his towel also hangs draped over a nearby chair.

Once the towel is in hand, Namjoon runs toward Yoongi, making him scream from excitement as he darts around the shallow end of the pool and takes off the long way toward the bungalow. Namjoon spins on his heels – closer to the bungalow than the shallow end – and takes chase, making Yoongi feel frantic as he opens the door wide and slams it shut. 

Feeling somewhat guilty about standing on the hardwood floor dripping wet, Yoongi hurriedly towels himself off, staring eagerly at the door, which opens fast and wide, revealing a wet, hungry alpha. 

Namjoon wastes no time closing the door, locking the knob, and crossing the space in two swift steps, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's waist before sinking to his knees. The look in his eyes is dark and full of lust, and Yoongi trembles where he stands, heart beating frantically in his chest. 

"Namjoon, what—" Yoongi begins, watching as the alpha's eyes trail down his naked torso, to the bulge in his shorts, then drift lower, to the bruise on his thigh. He looks sad, and he leans forward and places a soft kiss over the skin. 

Yoongi's eyelids flutter closed at the feeling of Namjoon's mouth pressing into the sensitive spot. He wonders how long a mark like that might stay, and how much harder he would have had to bite in order for it to be a mating mark – on his neck, of course; not his thigh. 

Curiously, Yoongi opens his eyes and begins to inspect Namjoon's shoulders and neck for his mating mark. When he finds nothing on either side, he dances his fingertips over the skin beside Namjoon's throat, absentmindedly muttering, "You don't have one."

Confusion stirs in Namjoon's lifted gaze before recognition settles. He scoffs and shakes his head, and then – with a sadness in his eyes – says, "I told you…we're not in love."

Even in today's society, with things being done in less traditional ways, the one act that people still hold onto is mating marks. They say the bond between mated pairs is less intense than it once was, and it is even common to meet younger folks with marks who are single, and folks with more than one. But not marking at all, after years of marriage, is practically unheard of. Especially for a traditionalist like Namjoon, who will not even have a surrogate carry his child in vitro. 

Yoongi feels sad at the thought of Namjoon being in a loveless marriage all these years, and he rubs his fingertips over the alpha's cheek before sitting down on the edge of the bed, bringing the two of them closer to being eye-level. 

"What are we going to do?" Yoongi mumbles, unsure what precisely he is asking for, or what Namjoon can even say.

"I don't know," Namjoon responds. "Let's just…take it one day at a time."

Yoongi nods, feeling affection burst and bloom behind his ribs. And when Namjoon sits high on his knees and says, "Turn around, I want to taste you," Yoongi does not think twice. 

Namjoon peels away Yoongi's soaked shorts and tosses them aside, groaning as he spreads him with both hands and licks over his slick entrance, causing Yoongi to sink forward into the mattress, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, completely enraptured in bliss. For a split moment, Yoongi questions whether he should stop this, but he does not dare; not when Namjoon makes him feel so good. 

Namjoon is slow and steady as he eats Yoongi out, twisting fingers inside him while his tongue and lips lap and swirl and suck. 

"Tastes so good," he says intermittently, making Yoongi's tummy do a backflip. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about this."

Yoongi sees stars when Namjoon flips him over and takes his cock deep into his throat, gagging himself while sucking eagerly, pulling Yoongi's release from him in an unfurling of time and space that has his body suspended in pleasure and intoxicating desire. He sobs and whimpers as he cums down Namjoon's throat, gripping tightly to his wet hair while his body trembles and quakes. 

And when the shrill alarm on the alpha's phone blares just in time, letting him know his lunch break is over, Yoongi feels satisfied as Namjoon plants a soft kiss to his temple and leaves the bungalow in as much of a flurry as he arrived. 

Some nights, Namjoon sneaks into the bungalow nice and late to fuck Yoongi until he cries, always pulling out before he knots, sometimes only using his hands and mouth to make him completely fall apart. 

"I thought about you all day," Namjoon always says as his fingers dig into soft skin, and he takes and takes, pulling pleasure from Yoongi as if it is his lifeblood – always greedy, always reverent. 

Other nights, Namjoon comes by just to hold him and talk with him about remedial stuff. What music they like, what movies they have recently seen, any memorable events that have happened since high school. The more Yoongi gets to know the alpha, the more he finds himself falling for him, and although the heated nights are his favorites, he cherishes these softer moments – holds them close to his heart. 

Namjoon arrives some days with his tray of lunch and tea instead of Jeongguk, always quick to check Yoongi's forehead and ask how he feels. Most days, when Yoongi joins Namjoon poolside, nobody else is around, and they can speak and giggle softly while Yoongi wades against the wall with his arms on the gunite floor, and Namjoon sits in his chair, holding onto the same book he has hardly made progress on for weeks. 

The two of them have taken to licking over one another's scent glands, but they have never kissed on the mouth. There seems to be an unspoken boundary that neither of them is willing to cross, and Yoongi thinks it is probably best, this way. Kissing is too intimate, he tells himself, knowing in his heart that so many other moments between them are, as well. Kissing, he decides, is too sacred.

Tonight, Yoongi lays on Namjoon's chest, both naked while the alpha combs his fingers through his hair, on the edge of sleep but eager to stay awake a little longer just to bask in his presence. His tummy is still flat, but he can feel his body changing; he has even begun to get sick some mornings. 

Nights like these, laying in Namjoon's arms, are a perfect way to end otherwise tempestuous days.  

"You know…" Namjoon mutters against the crown of Yoongi's head, and Yoongi hums in response. "We never signed that contract."

Yoongi chuckles and pulls Namjoon closer, nuzzling his head against his sweaty bare pec. "I know. I think about it sometimes."

"Remember the argument we had, when you were still in the main house?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi buries his face against him and laughs. 

"Oh, gods, don't remind me."

"You insulted me as an alpha," Namjoon chuckles, holding Yoongi tighter, "and then I stormed in there and you…were you turned on, or something? I swear, I could smell it; you made me dizzy."

With a whiny, embarrassed groan, Yoongi shoves at Namjoon, attempting to roll away, only for his alpha to wrap his arms tight around his back and pull him close. 

"You looked so fucking hot when you were angry," Yoongi mutters, feeling his cheeks warm.

Namjoon laughs some more, and Yoongi flails, indignant and slapping the alpha's chest with open palms while laughing, as well – hands striking only hard enough to make Namjoon take him by the wrists, roll him over, and pin him down.

"Is this what you wanted me to do to you?" Namjoon growls when he gets Yoongi onto his back with his arms held beside his head, pinning him to the mattress while he kisses his neck, his clavicle, his chest, going lower and lower until the grip on his wrists falls away. 

"Gods, yes," Yoongi whimpers as arousal and excitement pool and slosh inside him, pouring out in a heady musk, inviting Namjoon to do anything he wants. 

Namjoon growls as he nips and kisses Yoongi's tummy, to his hip bone, which is always so ticklish, making Yoongi squirm. Ordinarily, the alpha would spread his legs wide and lift his hips, bending him in half to taste his slick. But tonight, Namjoon stops right at his belly button, lips gently pressed into his skin, and he stares at Yoongi as if lost in thought. 

Yoongi lifts his head to find Namjoon cradling his tummy while slowly planting kisses against it, and he anchors himself on his elbows as he asks, "Everything alright?"

With a heavy blink, Namjoon nods and lifts his head to smile, but there is a sadness lingering in his eyes, and Yoongi sits up further, reaching down to rub the backs of his fingers over Namjoon's cheek. 

"What is it?" Yoongi asks, and Namjoon gets up onto his hands and knees and hovers over Yoongi, caging him in with his head just above his chest. 

"Have you ever wanted to raise a child?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi freezes, feeling the air slowly get sucked from his lungs. 

Truth be told, no. He has not. 

"I don't…know…" Yoongi tries, worried about being too honest; worried that if he says no, Namjoon may no longer want him. 

Namjoon watches him for a quiet moment, then kisses his chest and lower, down to his belly, hips, and thighs, soft and slow. When he finally rolls Yoongi around and pulls him onto his knees, thighs spread wide, he is unhurried, taking his time building Yoongi up and pushing him over the edge, again and again, until he is overstimulated and begging Namjoon to stop. 

The night before his eight-week checkup, Yoongi is frantic and hormonal, desperate for Namjoon to knot him and make him scream. Namjoon hesitates at first, clearly scared of hurting Yoongi, but he begs on his hands and knees, choking down Namjoon's thick length until it is achingly hard and ready for him. 

Namjoon props a pillow under Yoongi's ass and fucks him rough – hard and fast like the first night, fingers and mouth possessive and harsh against his soft skin. Although Yoongi has not begun to show, Namjoon is careful of his tummy, keeping his hands on his hips, thighs, pecs, and throat. 

The punishing pace of Namjoon's hips has Yoongi swaying and whimpering deliriously while his body is slightly arched, head digging back against a pillow. Namjoon always fucks Yoongi like each time could be the last, but he seems to hold back, never squeezing too hard or thrusting too fast. Tonight, Yoongi needs it. He begs and pleads until Namjoon gives it to him so good that he can only whimper and sob, crazed and practically non-verbal.

"Gonna cum, pretty," Namjoon grunts, hips stuttering. "Are you sure you can take it?"

Yoongi nods frantically before muttering, "Please," barely able to get the word out. 

One large, warm hand travels over Yoongi's side, up to his neck, and around to the back of his head, gripping a fistful of hair. Namjoon lifts Yoongi's neck, pulling him upward, and Yoongi nods somewhat maniacally, on the verge of cuming and so dreadfully entranced by the sight of his alpha. 

"I'm gonna—" Namjoon grunts, squeezing his eyes closed before opening them wide, brow knitting desperately. "Fuck, Yoongi, I'm gonna—"

Namjoon bows his back, sweat glistening down his neck, chest, and stomach. He groans and heaves out quick bursts of air, and then he bends forward, filling Yoongi with his hot release – spurt after spurt, mixing with all the slick, which Yoongi can feel dripping from him. 

And then, the knot begins, and immediately, it is so overwhelming, Yoongi starts to scramble and squeal, squeezing his eyes closed while he breathes heavy and fast. Tears break, and just when he thinks he cannot take anymore, Namjoon grips onto his hard, leaking cock, rolling his palm over the head. 

"Fuck, yes!" Yoongi screams as his orgasm rolls through him like molten lava in his veins, and he trembles and sobs, convulsing in Namjoon's hold, bending further forward as his release sprays over his tummy. 

Namjoon's knot continues growing, and as Yoongi's high begins to subside, oversensitivity sets in, causing him to panic; feeling amazing in the worst way possible. 

Namjoon looks maniacal as he leans forward, wraps his arms around Yoongi's back, and growls, "Bite me."

"Wh—what?" Yoongi asks, dazed and dizzy and being torn asunder. 

The scent Namjoon emits is so cloyingly sweet and thick on Yoongi's tongue that he finds himself chasing it – leaning forward, suspended by Namjoon, who aids in pulling him close. Yoongi opens his mouth and grazes his lips over the alpha's neck but hesitates. He wants to bite him so badly, but that would be an act of staking claim on him, and he is not sure that he can do it. 

A scream rips through Yoongi as the knot continues to expand, and he buries his face in the junction between Namjoon's shoulder and neck, attempting to muffle the sound. Namjoon grips onto Yoongi's hair tight with his fist and holds him against his salty sweat-slick skin. 

"Bite me, omega," he insists. 

The pain reaches its peak, and Yoongi whimpers, trembling and frantic. He knows that he has to bite in order to stave off the pain. He cannot hold back any longer.

With a pitchy roar, Yoongi opens his mouth wide, closes over Namjoon's scent gland, and clamps down hard. All at once, a burst of euphoria floods into his mouth and fills his chest and head with a warm rush of calm and affection. Yoongi continues to bite, breaking skin and tasting blood, all the while Namjoon holds him in place, trembling and growling against him – clinging on like a lifeline. 

But he feels incomplete. Yoongi's body is suspended between heaven and hell, full and connected and sated, but he feels like something is missing. 

"Need you to bite me too," Yoongi sobs, licking Namjoon's blood from his own lips. Tears pour from his eyes as his body shimmers and flows with a bliss he has never known possible. He hardly recognizes his voice as he begs for it. "Namjoon, please!" 

"Are you sure?" Namjoon asks, teeth chattering against Yoongi's neck; when did Namjoon's face become buried in his neck?

Yoongi nods and claws at Namjoon's shoulders and back, feebly attempting to pull him close. And when Namjoon sinks his teeth in, Yoongi snaps. 

White and splotchy black is all Yoongi can see as he screams and trembles and writhes, caught on his alpha's knot with his scent gland pierced by teeth. Arousal surges through him in a frenzy he hardly comprehends, and he cums untouched, spurting his release against both their bodies. Never has he felt so electric before as shockwaves of pleasure roll through every inch of him.

In a blink, Yoongi is laying flat on his back with his limbs spread wide, and Namjoon is dragging soft kisses over his neck and chin, muttering incomprehensibly as the pain of the knot dulls and he begins to return to his senses. 

Yoongi lifts his heavy, trembling arms and grabs Namjoon by the chin, capturing his mouth in an eager clash of lips and teeth. When he opens his mouth for Namjoon to lick hungrily inside, the taste of their blood comingles before fading away to something sweeter and more delicate; something innately Namjoon. 

"Should we have done that?" Yoongi asks against Namjoon's lips as he begins to fade and fall asleep. "Was that a mistake?"

"I don't care," Namjoon mutters against his chin, draping his heavy warm body over Yoongi, getting comfortable enough to wait for the knot to deflate. "All I want is you. It feels right; I don't care if it's wrong."

As sleep claims Yoongi, he almost allows himself to mutter confessions of love, stopping himself just in time. 

The ride into the city has Yoongi on edge, and he does his best to mask his scent, but it is impossible. He knows he must stink like Namjoon, as well, making the trip excruciatingly nerve-racking. Wheein insisted on driving Yoongi to his appointment. 

"If the media finds out, we're old high school friends, so it wouldn't be weird for me to accompany you," she says reassuringly. "I'm too excited to wait; I want to have a glance at our little baby."

If Wheein notices anything about Yoongi's aroma – his sharp, distressed pomegranate and the heady alpha musk that lingers on his skin – she says nothing. Although her own earthy patchouli gives her anxiety away, her voice is friendly, and she appears eager to be helpful. 

The waiting room is dauntingly bright, and the doctor's office feels suffocating. Yoongi keeps his hoodie on, covering the bite mark on his neck. When he adjusts his shirt and pants for the doctor to perform an ultrasound, he closes his eyes. The lubricant and metal paddles are cold on his skin, and everything about this situation is so overwhelming, he feels the urge to cry. 

A soft, warm hand takes his, and all at once, lavender hits his senses, and he lets out a deep sigh. Being comforted by Wheein only makes him feel worse, but at least his tears are warranted; seeing your baby for the first time is emotional, after all. 

Once he opens his eyes and looks at the screen, a little black blob comes into view, looking like nothing more than a giant bean. And then the paddle works over Yoongi's stomach, pressing in hard, and all at once, he hears it – the heartbeat. 

"Wow, just look at that," Wheein says, and Yoongi nods then sniffles as hot tears pour down his cheeks. 

There it is – the little life that he and Namjoon have made. A giant bean with a heartbeat. A living, breathing piece of the two of them.

Neither Namjoon nor Yoongi swims for the rest of the summer. The bite marks on their necks never fully heal, and the one Yoongi wears bursts with deep blues, reds, and purples – bruised in the shape of each of Namjoon's teeth. Whenever he runs his fingertips over it, warmth and affection blooms, covering him like a shroud. 

But when Namjoon drags his mouth over it, oh the feeling is horrific – good in ways that should not be physically allowed. Arousal bursts through Yoongi like an electric current, running at frequencies too high to control. Just a pass of lips over skin has his cock hard and leaking in his pants – has him on his knees begging for the alpha to cum down his throat and make a fucking mess of him. 

As Yoongi's tummy grows, his appetite for pleasure is insatiable. Namjoon spends far too much time in the bungalow for their relationship to go undetected, and Yoongi fears for the worst once the baby is born. He fears Wheein's wrath somehow, though he is not sure what to even expect from someone like her. 

Will Namjoon get a divorce? Will Yoongi move out and allow their relationship to fizzle? Will he sit on the sidelines pretending nothing ever happened while an unhappy couple raises his baby as their own?

Most days and nights, Yoongi does not want to ask the hard questions. He only wants to take it one day at a time, as Namjoon suggested. And when Jeongguk drives him to and from the doctor appointments, they always end in tears and ice cream before he is brought back to his temporary home.

Yoongi does not dare tell Namjoon that he loves him. But sometimes, he thinks Namjoon knows. A soft, candid glance here and there, and the way he holds him as he uses his hands and mouth to make him cum – close, affectionate, delicate. Namjoon oozes knowing and understanding, even if he is also too afraid to voice it. 

When Namjoon arrives with a wide smile and a grocery bag of Yoongi's favorite snacks, Yoongi is sprawled on the floor cushions, staring at the ceiling. He groans as he somewhat sits up, body stretched and heavy, feeling the familiar swell of love that aches deep inside him at the sight of his alpha. 

"How are you feeling, pretty?" Namjoon asks as he crosses the room and sits on his knees, discarding the bag on the nearby low table. 

He wears turtlenecks now, usually black like the one he has on today, tucked into grey slacks. Namjoon hovers over Yoongi, caging him in with his arms and legs, leaning in for a chaste, soft kiss. It always takes Yoongi by surprise when they kiss, and he sighs into the feeling, lifting a hand to card through Namjoon's freshly cut, short dark brown hair. Namjoon groans against his lips as Yoongi drags blunt fingertips against his scalp. 

"I feel good," Yoongi finally answers as Namjoon backs up only enough for them to see one another. "Better now that you're here."

"Corny," Namjoon teases with a scrunch of his nose, despite the tangy-sweet tangerine he emits. 

Yoongi pouts. "It's true."

They hover like this for a while, inspecting one another up close with soft smiles and knowing glances. Words hang around them left unsaid, palpable in the air, and Yoongi wonders when he will find the nerve to just voice everything that builds in his lungs and throat, suffocating in the way his feelings cling.

"Namjoon," he tries tentatively, cringing with the way his voice trembles. 

The alpha's gaze softens – something Yoongi would not have thought possible, given how he was already looking at him – and Yoongi takes a fortifying breath and, barely above a whisper, says, "I'm scared."

Although Namjoon says nothing, there is recognition in his eyes. He sits up, then stands, and reaches his hands out to help Yoongi onto his feet. Although it is a bit of a task now for Yoongi to move his body around quickly, Namjoon makes it seem so easy, cradling and lifting him, holding him until he is stable. Then they walk the two steps to the bed, and Namjoon sits, getting into the middle with his legs spread and knees bent, patting the spot in front of him. 

Yoongi gets on his knees and moseys over, plopping down with his legs bent to the side, facing Namjoon. Clearly dissatisfied with the space between them, Namjoon scoots forward until one leg is beside Yoongi and the other is draped over his ankles. 

"Talk to me," Namjoon says. 

"After the baby is born—" Yoongi begins, but he chokes on a sob. His chest rattles and he does not think he can say what is on his mind. 

Namjoon scoots closer and pulls Yoongi into a hug, tugging him forward until he is resting against the alpha's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Silence hangs, and Yoongi lets tears fall but swallows back every urge to fully bawl. 

"I just…" he tries again, swallowing and sniffling and closing his eyes tight. "Once I'm done here…once I return home, we…we won't—"

"Shh," Namjoon whispers, holding Yoongi close, emitting musky citrus. "I suppose we do need to talk about this, don't we? I don't want you to be so afraid."

"What if I never see you again?" Yoongi sobs, unable to hold back, clenching the black material of Namjoon's shirt in his fist, desperate to never let him go again. "What if you just carry on as if none of this ever happened?"

"Yoongi—" Namjoon tries, backing up as if attempting to look at him.

But Yoongi holds him close as anguish rattles through him. "You said I shouldn't come around to see the baby. You said it would be bad for the media to know about me. So once I'm gone that's it, that's—"

"Hey, hey, Yoongi," Namjoon says, hugging him nice and tight, squishing Yoongi's face into his chest. "We didn't sign the contract. We're not…legally required to do anything, alright? I'll…we'll figure something out."

"You're married," Yoongi sobs, grinding his face against Namjoon's chest while air heaves from his lungs – burns behind his ribs. "You're married and once I leave, your life will go back to normal. Remember long ago, when you told me, 'We can’t choose our circumstances, but we can do our best with what we are given'? Well, I didn't choose to fall for you, and now I'm…now I'm gonna lose you and I…Oh gods, I'm gonna lose you."

"You remember me saying that?" Namjoon asks softly, hug loosening but not letting go. "That was years ago." 

Yoongi sniffles and sits up, eyes raw and heavy. When he releases his grasp on Namjoon's shirt, his palm is sweaty, and the material is wrinkled. 

"Of course I remember that," he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. "You were nice to me when nobody else was. I could never forget that." 

This time, the silence that hangs feels oppressive, but Yoongi does not know what more there is to say. And his body betrays him with intense cravings and hunger that need to be addressed. 

"What did you bring me?" he asks, looking over his shoulder as he sniffles, to the bag on the table that sits sideways, spilling with snacks and a pack of apples. 

"Some of your favorites," Namjoon responds, rubbing his palms up and down Yoongi's arms.

Yoongi wriggles around and scrambles onto his feet, hobbling over to the table. In addition to being a round, heavy baby conduit, he feels emotionally off-kilter. Spiritually, even. 

He bends a moment and groans, finding the bag just out of reach. But before he can complain or ask for help, Namjoon is behind him – warm palm against the small of his back and reaching around him for the bag. When it is lifted to Yoongi, Namjoon stays close, wrapping him in a back hug and resting his chin on Yoongi's shoulder. 

"Was the fact that I was nice to you the only reason you remembered what I said?" Namjoon asks, gently rubbing his lips over the mark on the junction of Yoongi's shoulder and neck.

Yoongi's eyelids flutter closed, and he shakes his head, gripping the grocery bag handles tight while his body sways with affection. 

"I never forgot what you said because, after that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Oh?" Namjoon asks, surprise in his tone. 

Yoongi nods. "You were so…handsome. So considerate. And you smelled…" he trails off and smiles at the thought of Namjoon scaring off his bullies so many years ago. "...amazing."

"So all this time…" Namjoon trails off with a chuckle. "I could have had you in my arms all these years, and I had no idea."

Myriad emotions kick up in Yoongi's guts, with frustration and worry at the forefront. "I could have known what it feels like to be loved by you," he says as his eyelids flutter shut and tears continue to build and fall. 

When he feels the tug of the grocery bag handles, Yoongi releases, allowing it to be taken away. He hears Namjoon set it on the bed, feeling his body shuffle and twist behind him. Namjoon takes Yoongi by the shoulders and spins him around, pulling him close, so their tummies touch. 

"My silly little omega," Namjoon teases as he thumbs at Yoongi's tears. 

Yoongi opens his eyes to find his alpha smiling soft and wide, and he feels his heart crack just a little deeper, leaving his chest in the form of a huff. 

"You already do know what it feels like to be loved by me," Namjoon says. 

With a knuckle, Namjoon softly lifts Yoongi's chin. As he slots their lips together, Namjoon smiles, eyes still open, which Yoongi stares into despite being so close they are smudges in the form of deep brown discs.

"Handling our…situation…" Namjoon says, trailing off to press kiss after soft kiss against Yoongi's lips, "it won't be easy." Another kiss, and Yoongi's cheeks begin to burn. "But I don't want to lose you. And as much as Wheein will hate losing the big house and man-servant she did not earn, I'm sure she'll be fine. Maybe her family can marry her off to someone who actually loves her, this time."

"You don't want to be made a spectacle of," Yoongi responds somewhat indignantly. Namjoon's considerations do assuage some of his fears, but he remembers conversations they had months ago, and he has a hard time believing that Namjoon has had a complete change of heart, already. After all, Namjoon has the most to lose. The adversity he could face is nothing compared to what Yoongi might experience.

Namjoon shrugs. "My term ends next year. Perhaps I won't run again."

At this, Yoongi frowns. Although he and Namjoon have not spoken too extensively about his profession, he has come to learn that the alpha enjoys being a public servant, and that the work he does makes a positive impact. There should be more leaders like Namjoon.

"We'll take it one day at a time," Namjoon says, planting a kiss on the tip of Yoongi's nose, which Yoongi scrunches as he turns his face away; he does not need Namjoon kissing his snot and tears. "You made a good point, before; perhaps setting a positive example about boundaries and divorce is something I can help normalize."

"And if the public shames you?" Yoongi asks, unconvinced that Namjoon has given the situation enough consideration. 

Namjoon releases the hug and plops back down on the bed, reaching for the bag and dumping its contents onto the mattress. Yoongi's stomach loudly growls at the sight of shrimp chips, and he sits on the other side of the pile, reaching for his prize. 

"I'll worry about my image," Namjoon responds, grabbing an apple. "You just worry about bringing a healthy baby into the world. And if you feel uncertain about raising them, we can always hire a nanny. Maybe Jeongguk is good with children."

Yoongi chuckles and opens the bag of shrimp chips with a smile. He imagines a life back in the hanok – in a home with more than two rooms. A nice, open building with more than one window. And although it seems like too big of a situation to be hopeful about, he allows himself to dream, just a little. 

The morning Yoongi wakes to his water breaking, he is in the bungalow alone. 

Yoongi struggles to sit up in bed, anchoring his palms against the mattress as he lifts his chest and stomach upward, sighing heavily. His cell phone is on the mattress, and he presses the power button on, revealing that it is 6:13 AM. 

His thumbs are swollen and slow as he opens his contacts and finds Namjoon's name. The alpha answers on the second ring. 

"Yoongi?" he asks, voice groggy on the line. He chose to stay in the hanok last night because he had a really early morning and did not want to have to wake Yoongi…a lot of good that did. 

"My water broke," Yoongi croaks, voice rough from disuse. 

Yoongi hears a gasp, followed by the line going dead, and he chuckles softly, shaking his head. He can only imagine the panicked expression on Namjoon as he tears clumsily through the home to alert Jeongguk and make sure their bag is packed and ready to go – despite having checked it several times in the past few weeks. 

The plan had been for Jeongguk to drive Yoongi to the hospital and be at his side, and Yoongi is surprised when Namjoon pulls the door open wide. His short dark hair is disheveled, possibly from pulling on the black hoodie he wears over grey slacks. He has a mask around his chin and sunglasses tucked into the front of his sweater, and Yoongi wonders if he plans on joining him, incognito. 

Before Yoongi has a chance to get to his feet, Namjoon is by his side, arm around his waist, pulling him to stand. Calming citrus musk fills the space, and Yoongi's heart pounds excitedly in his chest. 

"Alright, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says as they begin walking toward the door to where Jeongguk waits in a black sweater and matching joggers, holding a duffle bag in one hand and a set of car keys in the other. "Let's go deliver our baby."

the enddddd!!! ahhhhhh!!! i know this may be too open of an ending for some people's liking, but as mentioned, i literally ran out of space. the fest had a limitation of 40k. sorry, friends lmao. they live happily ever after, okay??? we love to see it. the end. 😍

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs and comments are the lifeblood of this hellsite and likes are appreciated too!!! i love you!!!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13@giriiboyy@mgthecat​ @moonleeai@m1sss1mp@spookyminyunki @sumzysworld @yoongoboongo0

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[nowoyas]

Boiling Point 1: Rabbit Season - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)

Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: hi I'm very normal about miguel o'hara. come be normal with me.

Summary: You are determined to put an end to the onslaught of your toy collection. In your quest, you set out to re-train yourself into some discipline.

Warnings: smut, vibrator use, masturbation. reader is afab and a sub.

Word count: ~3000 words

You are really starting to hate Miguel O'Hara.

Oh, sure, you’d follow him to the ends of every earth, Earth-47 notwithstanding—fuck Earth-47 and its migraine-inducing everything—and you will never thank him enough for everything he’s done, for you and all the other dimensions saved by him, directly or otherwise. He’s brilliant, he’s a genius, he’s easy on the eyes, his leadership is instrumental to holding together All of Everything, all that which you can comprehend and conceive, all that which you cannot. He does not always have all the information, but you trust him to do as much good as he can with the information he has. He is fundamentally good to a fault, and while he can be abrasive at times—perhaps more often than not—we can’t all be winners all the time.

No, your issue with him has nothing to do with any of that.

Your head is more than a little fuzzy right now, given your current circumstances, so I’ll be nice and put this in a way you can understand:

Miguel O'Hara keeps breaking your fucking sex toys.

Like I said, he’s easy on the eyes. Maybe too easy. Maybe, more than once, you’ve fought at his side and had an entirely separate fight in your head just to keep your mind on the matter at hand. Maybe, one time too many, you’ve seen his fangs flash during a flare of the temper or a slip of his guard and not quite forgotten the sight. Maybe you’ll need to be lobotomized if you want to forget that time you’d gone on a mission with him and he’d leapt directly at you, claws out, fangs bared, eyes vermilion, to tackle you out of the way of some particularly dangerous debris and stayed on top of you for a full eternity after that to make sure you were okay.

If that final image was the one seared behind your eyes as you sighed and pressed your vibe into yourself this fine afternoon, that’s between you and no one. And, in fact, it wasn’t, because you are never admitting to getting off to the general thought of your—boss?—your boss, not today or ever, under oath or the threat of death.

That being said, it had started as a bit of a coping mechanism.

He was stupid hot, and he walked towards you like you were quarry he had hunted, and the first time he’d done it, your brain had gone completely offline for a full five seconds. Getting off that night had been unrelated, you tell yourself—you didn’t think while pumping two fingers into your cunt, let alone about him, let alone when you’d added the third because you were certainly not imagining something thicker plunging into your heat. Fingers hadn’t been enough, not for a job like that, and by the time you overheard him finish a playful spat with Lyla with the words “good girl”, you’d given in and broke open the vibrator collection, a relic of a much more impulsive time, before you were fucking yourself on toys definitely not to the thought of your boss.

The first casualty had been your green rabbit vibe. It was a mainstay, and your oldest toy—a thruster, thick, good insertable length, great battery life, not so loud you struggled to get off for fear of your next-door neighbor hearing its buzz. Miguel had bitten someone during a mission that day, just held them and sunk his teeth in and set them down as they slumped, paralyzed, and wiped his mouth of the blood afterward like it wasn’t the hottest thing known to man.

Monsterfucking porn had been your saving grace. You’d turned to werewolves and tried not to overthink the image in your head when you pictured their teeth scraping your flesh, and then your old reliable rabbit vibe had made an odd noise between your writhing that tore you out of the image entirely. Seconds later, it stopped thrusting whether you wanted it to or not. When you hit the button, it made a pathetic noise like a spent lover, wriggled a moment, and went right back to motionless.

You’d groaned in frustration, pulled it out, told yourself it had just died, except it was still making that buzzing noise and the clitoral stimulator was still working fine. You pulled the third orgasm of the night out of the clit stimulator and your wrist work alone—it had been a bit better, because the ruined orgasm 2.5 had ultimately turned out to be an edge, and a name that no one would ever be able to prove was Miguel’s ghosted your lips by then. A good cleaning, a good charge, and some cooldown time, and you determined that the thruster of your poor little green rabbit would never work again.

Miguel O'Hara’s second casualty among your collection was nearly as tragic. You’d come to see him at the wrong time that day—walked in, said his name, and he’d turned to you with red eyes and actually growled at you, and holy shit, you couldn’t calm down for the next hour or the rest of the night.

Your green rabbit had been relegated to a glorified dildo and clit vibe, and as you thrashed on your bed, desperately chasing just an echo of the things that ran through your head when he growled at you, pressing the vibe into yourself as far as it would go and nearly there nearly there nearly there, it buzzed oddly and its power suddenly fell away.

You’d choked back a sob at that one. Again, you assumed it’d been a case of poor battery life, though you hadn’t charged it all that long ago. When you reluctantly pulled out the dripping vibe and saw its indicator lights flashing and flickering in the dark room, you did sob, and then, because you were still thinking about the growl in his voice and the flash of his fangs, you dragged yourself out of bed, dumped your old friend in the trash, and found your backup vibrator to finish the job.

The next casualty of your collection had been your pink vibe—she was an upgrade in every way to the green one. More speed options, rotating beads in the shaft, an attempt to imitate “tongues” on the clit, however the hell that was supposed to work, and more money to have discreetly shipped to your apartment.

This time, Miguel hadn’t even done anything in particular to catch you in his toy-breaking throes. He’d just been existing. Vibing, if you will. And your horny ass—by that point you were starting to suspect yourself some kind of nymphomaniac, and that was before casualty number three—saw him just sitting there and eating food like a normal-ass person, had some really fucking horny thoughts (first about just cooking for him, nice, domestic, sweet) (second about him pulling up the apron you’d wear for him in the first scenario and splitting you in half over the kitchen counter), and that was it for your evening post-shenanigans.

So, naturally, when you got home, you took off the bracelet, stashed it in another room, leaned over your kitchen counter, and revved up that rotating-beads-in-the-shaft thruster, pistoning it into your cunt with obscene squelches like your life depended on it. You’d kept it up, free hand clasped over your mouth, until you were forced to finish on the couch lest your legs give out, and the poor thing overheated from the strain of trying to keep up with the image you had in your head of Miguel and the thruster never moved again. Great investment, that one.

It was at this point in time that you had two options:

First, seek therapy to help you through the excruciating condition of being sex-crazed for one Miguel O'Hara.

Or, secondly, you could funnel those feelings through a surrogate and fuck someone else’s brains out so you didn’t have to think about him.

You, in all your overwhelming genius, decided that the city’s superhero could not retain the services of a therapist in any way that mattered, let alone any of the Spider-Therapists abound at HQ, and instead found your way into a myriad of fuck-buddy relationships with perfect strangers.

You found your pool of eligible fuck-buddies wanting, to say the least. You never used to be all that picky—I mean, sure, you were never exactly all that attracted to anyone before the whole Spider thing, and then you were a little too busy to worry about it, but you still probably would have slept with someone if they were decently pretty enough and nice to you—but then you tried to find someone and filtered out half of them on looks alone.

Hair too light. Too waifish. I could snap this one in half.

Some were just generally not great candidates as you swiped through: weird thoughts about domming, one whose bio mentioned how he would expect you to throw out your toys once you were “dedicated” to him (those were expensive and you’d been forced to throw out one too many already), misaligned kinks, one guy who literally said “I don’t believe in safewords” and didn’t see how that was the biggest red flag in the universe.

It took too long, once you’d settled on a few choice matches, to figure out what they all had in common beyond making profiles on a hookup app and claiming to be dominants:

They all reminded you of Miguel.

This, admittedly, did not become clear until later, when you slept with the first one for the second time and it wasn’t all that bad and while he had you blindfolded on the bed, you forgot yourself and moaned a name.

Not ‘sir’, like had been discussed in your initial meeting.

At first, you’d frozen because you’d forgotten to use his title, and that meant you were due for punishment. Then, it was because you realized the real mistake:

That hadn’t been his name you’d moaned.

You broke it off shortly after that. When the second guy went the way of the first, you gave yourself one last shot with this whole diversion idea, and that went pretty well. You lasted three whole months with this one—he was sweet, he was funny, and when it came time for you to be tied down and have your brains fucked out, he respected your hard stops and made your head fuzzy by the time he was done with you.

He bit you in the heat of the moment, and you moaned the wrong name again, and this time, you gave up on having any sort of sex life, even though he tried to be understanding of the misstep.

His teeth weren’t sharp enough to live up to who you wanted him to be, anyway.

How many casualties had Miguel O'Hara racked up in your bedroom, now? Three partners, two thrusting mechanisms, one vibrator, and now, as you sit on your knees on your bed and ride the half-defunct pink rabbit, the still-functioning vibrator buzzing in the night, you give in and admit to yourself that what you need more than anything is for him to break you in half. To chase you down, clamp his teeth on your throat, and have his way with you.

Riding this stupid toy isn’t enough. You slump face-first onto the bed, ass in the air, and try to imagine how his hand would feel on the back of your neck as you reach a hand back to pump the toy into your weeping pussy.

This, too, is not enough—you resort to full-power vibrator, nearly spasming as you try to reach the heights you need to feel satisfied tonight. And you even nearly get there, before Miguel O'Hara’s stupid everything claims its seventh casualty and the vibrator sputters out with a noise that you’ve come to associate with a profound sort of grief.

You throw the broken vibrator aside, reach for the shitty purple bullet vibe that had come as a free gift with one of your collection. In your haste and with the strength that comes with being a Spider, the fucking thing snaps in your hands. Another casualty of his. At least you didn’t pay a hundred dollars for that one.

It’s little consolation. Tears slip down your cheeks as you reach back to do the job manually, but no amount of fingering yourself or frantically rubbing at your clit is going to be enough, and fuck it, you know that by now, but that was your last toy and now there’s nothing left and his stupid pretty face is still in your head and you have to do something!

It’s no good.

Nothing you’ve tried has ever quite been good enough, and you know that.

Short of buying yourself a fucking machine, too expensive and noisy and hefty to even really consider, you’ve got nothing.

After fifteen frustrated minutes of crying and trying to bring yourself up to that climax you so desperately need, you throw yourself down fully onto the bed and actively cry into your pillow.

He’s stupid.

He’s burned through every sex toy in your collection, every vibrator and thruster, every partner you’ve tried to lay with since meeting him.

You are really, really starting to hate Miguel O'Hara.

~

Okay, so that’s one unhealthy coping mechanism lost to your complete inability to be chill. Luckily, you’re not just a sex-crazed simp for him, you’re also an adrenaline junkie, and if your substitute for all the lost sexual outlets happens to be taking some bigger risks than you normally would when caught up in some fight or another, that’s between you and the wall you went through.

Keep telling yourself it’s sustainable, and maybe you won’t have to worry about the weird look from one of the many various Peters running around or the stern look on the face of Miguel when you report back in. Which Peter? Fuck if you know. You were faceblind before joining the society comprised of 95% the same guy in different flavors. They don’t take it personally. At least you almost always get the name right.

And really, it is! It is completely sustainable! Bruises are a thing you wear with pride, and you’re beyond the worry for broken bones and serious injury by now. If anything, the dull ache in your back could be a useful grounding point to keep yourself from thinking about things you shouldn’t, a skill you probably should have been practicing well before you broke the first vibe.

Nothing you try works, of course, not when he’s standing in front of you looking an awful lot like he has something to say.

“I should head back, too,” you say when your backup Peter has moved to leave. A perfect segue to heading back to your home dimension and—

“[name]. Stay back a moment.”

He doesn’t word things like requests. You’ve learned, over time, that he is requesting, in a way, but his voice is forever just a bit too deep and rumbly for your body to interpret it as anything but an order, and god you’re useless. So much for not thinking about the things you’re trying not to think about.

You have to remember that you can’t stay here and chat, so you remember that you can’t stay here and chat, and so you turn to leave anyway. “I can’t really stay and chat—“

“That was stupid,” he interrupts.

Ah. He was watching you fight today.

He raises a single eyebrow as he studies you. (You hate his stupid face you hate his stupid face you hate—)

“You could have moved out of the way.”

You snort, brush it off. “He was just some villain of the week type. I thought it’d be cool if I could get him before he hit me.”

“You let him hit you because you thought it would be cool?”

“No, I waited too long to move the way I wanted to, because I thought it would be cool. It’s not like I really got hurt, anyway.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, muttering something in Spanish you don’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I can’t decide whether you’re stupid or just need discipline.”

That is decidedly not what he said. You caught enough shreds of his muttering to know that much. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because it takes all your willpower not to reply with discipline me yourself then, coward and you’re so focused on that thought that it clicks.

Oh.

What you need is not to get over your monumental attraction to him.

It’s discipline.

Before you fucked the life out of every vibrator you owned, you had discipline.

Before you met him, you had discipline.

It was something you’d given over to sexual partners to handle—to tell you when to masturbate, when to cum, when to pull your toys away regardless of how needy you were.

And, in the absence of any such partners between your newly exacting standards and inability to sleep with anyone without thinking of someone else, it’s once again going to have to come from you.

You meet his eyes, a new fire within you. “I’ll do better.”

He holds your haze a long moment, his expression one of those enigmas you could spend centuries trying to crack and still turn out to be wrong in the end.

He breaks it off first, turns away from you.

“Then do it. I’ll be waiting.”

You slip out of the room and clear out of the dimension.

You’ll get your discipline back if it kills you.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet

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[ruthless-rainbow]

A Call from the Ocean (Introduction)

Ohmygoodness, you guys, I finally finished my concept art for my big Thiam project and this is the introduction to my latest AU. (This is just the beginning, so I hope you are ready for a bit of a ride. 😅) I am so happy for you all to finally meet my little mer!Theo. 🥺 & Welcome to; A Call from the Ocean Summary; Liam Dunbar likes to think he's just your average, everyday, twenty-two year old guy. A College student majoring in history. Captain and star of the swim team. And seemingly just a happy go lucky person. But if only life were that simple. And for Liam, living with his disorder is anything but. Not everyone will and can understand what it's like living with IED. Forced to explain his outbursts of what others see as irrational anger and feeling like a freak. Liam finds solace and peace in one place. The ocean. He's felt the pull of the sea for as long as he can remember and it's like a second home to him. But could there be something else that calls Liam to the waters edge? Something more that lurks beneath the waves? And somewhere deep under the surface of that very ocean is where Theo calls home. An outcast of his kind, a survivor despite the odds being against him and leader of his small pod of three. Theo wonders if there could ever be more to his cold, painful existence. He wonders if he'll ever know a real life, a life lived and not just survived. He wonders if he'll ever experience a touch that's more than claws piercing his flesh and littering his skin with scars. Theo would give anything to know that there is something out there better than this. ..... A few things about this AU, I love mermaids/merpeople and have always been fascinated by them. So, I really couldn't resist making an AU for my all time favorite OTP. And when I imagined Theo as a mer, I fell in love with him and I just couldn't get him out of my head. I jumped all in and let it consume me for months. 😅 Waiting until MERMAY to finally post him. 💜 I had a lot of fun with his design and I didn't want 'frilly Disney mermaid' vibes. I wanted Theo to be beautiful, of course. But I also wanted him to be just a little bit terrifying. 😅 like, yes, he could rip your throat out and drown you before you can even scream, but he would look so pretty while he does it that you may just thank him for the experience. 😅🤣 Also, yes, I did one of his concept arts twice because I wanted to show the fact that parts of Theo are bioluminecent. I mean, c'mon, Bioluminecense is one of the most beautiful and magical things about the ocean, so it only felt right to make him that way. So I did a 'night' version but I still wanted you to be able to see the colors of his fans in both kinds of lighting. Last but never least, I have a few people that I really need to give a shoutout to for this AU. I was truly nervous about it, so I decided to reach out to a few of the wonderful friends I have made on here to get their thoughts and opinions. I honestly couldn't have made this peice if it wasn't for you all because your feedback and support has been vital for this. And we are talking months of y'all having to deal with my nonesense. 😅😅😅 @sterekshipper-writer​, @thiamsxbitch​, @sydney-winchester​, @wolfboy88​, @sapphire-rising-sun​, @stitchkiss​ All of you are so f*cking amazing and I heart you all so much. 💜 I really, really hope you all will like my little mer!Theo and I really hope I will be seeing you again when I post the first chapter to the story in the next few weeks. 💜 Ya’ll . 😘 ✌️💜🌈

[27emailsicantsend]

Season 3 Episode 5 Thoughts

I have to start out by saying that this episode had such a high impact on me that I literally was not able to write these notes until the next day… So yeah that should explain a lot about how great this episode was

Let’s start off with sassy Gina. I think it is so fantastic how much she is using little comments and remarks to get back to EJ. It reminds me a lot of the last episode and how he was making little side remarks against Ricky. It’s almost like her subconscious way of showing him what he was doing to Ricky when he was mad. She was going to lash back the same

CARLOS’ NAILS I LOVE SM

Ricky breaking the 4th wall again by making eye contact with the camera 😭 pls

Also why does it make so much sense that Carlos was literally the only person to pull off the drama stunt with the rest of the cast? Like he really understands what makes good tv and I love that for him

Also the writing in this episode was 😙👌🏻 it was funny, romantic, dramatic, confusing and fast and everything else. It kept you on your toes and felt engaging every step of the way. The writers REALLY stepped up their game this season and it’s making the season feel whole and complete. I think some other story lines could be slightly more fleshed out but with the time constraints they had it was still done well

Kourtney saying “RCOSL” and Carlos getting annoyed gives me the same vibe as London and Mosby with the “PRNDL”

The fact that Gina said she CANT improvise and then she was asked to improvise in WDYKAL tells me it might not have been improv at all. She wasn’t improvising, she was acting out in vengeance. Which remembered what happened last time she couldn’t improvise and acted out instead? Mr Elton John got a drink dumped on his head at the dance in S1

And I LOVE that there is a water dumping parallel when Gina gets “upset” at Kourtney over her lines and gets to throw it again

Tbh I feel like anyone in this fandom would be fine if Sofia threw water at them

EJ is here for the wrong reasons??? Remember why Carlos casts these? Because he felt like they matched people’s personalities. I think this is a big ole red flag for p*rtwell. He’s in Gina’s life- at camp- for the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s to hold onto his past, not go to school, whatever… but that tells us he shouldn’t be there loud and clear

Ricky “I can hit him fr” 😭😭 pls my guy no need to be so eager

Also it’s been pointed out a million and one times but RICKY SAID HE LOVES GINA IN A NOT SO SUBTLE WAY. Like NO HESITATION. The minute Carlos said Ricky was mad Ej took the girl he loves Ricky was like “oh right gina!!” And then had to come back from it because he realized how quick he responded 😭😭

“He stole her- or WOULD HAVE stolen her in a fake scenario” 🤪😳🫢

And the held a torch to her for YEARS?? Um hello this implies Ricky has had feelings since the beginning?? Which in many cases Ej and Nini saw in s1. Like the scene where they hugged or Ej asked if gina cared about Ricky. EJ knows the feelings have always been there

Ricky b*tch slapping EJ is EVERYTHING to me. I shouldn’t promote violence BUT

And then him saying that was his motivation and asking to slap him again I’m DEAD

FREAKING CARLOS PUSHING THE MADDOX AND JET IN LOVE AGENDA SIR YOU DONT UNDERSTAND WHY ITS SO WRONG

Also him doing labor breathing to calm down 😭 call the police

A parallel I just realized: when Kourtney and Carlos asked Gina and Ricky a question all they needed was one question to come completely clean about how they felt and what was stressing them. It’s interesting they responded the same way to their friends

“A big bouncy butt” who wrote these lyrics?? I just wanna talk

Like this whole episode was peak comedy but Channing and Carlos had me ROLLING the entire time. So so good 😂😂

Maddox’s squeal when she fake cries 😭 and then Carlos “IVE BEEN SLAPPED 😦” GOLD

When Gina and Ricky are talking backstage by Carlos you hear Gina do this little flirty “yeahhh 😏” and it’s very much giving the same vibes as them in the woods

Did anyone else notice that Ricky has the EXACT same look on his face when Carlos says, ���remember you still have unresolved feelings for Gina” as when she brings up the chocolates?? (Yes I’m a chocolate truther sue me)

How does 10 to 1 mean peeing in Hollywood? 😗 am I missing something?

The evil look gina has when Carlos tells her to have fun torturing EJ 😭

AND THE SVEN COSTUME I CANT EVEN LOOK AT IT ITS SO FUNNY

Like literally I could use EJ in that costume as a reaction meme for SO MANY THINGS

Timberlina knew what he was doing with that costume and it was evil 😭

Ricky’s soft “hey buddy” ☺️ and EJ’s face 🥺 THIS EPISODE IS GOLD I TELL YOU

I AM AT WDYKAL NO ONE LOOK AT ME NO ONE PERCEIVE ME NO ONE MOVE

The way Ricky says in the song you don’t know his name?????? And then we find out Gina doesn’t actually know EJ’s name???? The Hans agenda are you kidding me?????

When Gina took his hat??

Or what about when she touched his neck??

WHEN THEY HOLD SILENT EYE CONTACT MULTIPLE TIMES ARE YOU KIDDING ME THE LOVE IS LITERALLY TANGIBLE IT HURTS. THE VERY END LITERALLY LEAVES ME BREATHLESS

Or how about the fact that Ricky dips her AFTER the little streamer shutters close and EJ can’t see what’s happening?

Or the slow touching moments

LETS NOT FORGET RIGHT AT THE END THAT IT LOOKS LIKE MR BOWEN IS ABOUT TO HOLD HER HAND AGAIN AND WHO HOLDS SOMEONE ELSES HAND AT THE END OF BREAKING FREE??? TROY TO GABRIELLA

And every person who has made the lights comparison is so so right and for what

Gina throwing Ricky around as a rag doll with no remorse and him enjoying it is EVERYTHING to me

ALSO DONT FORGET THIS WAS ALL SUPPOSED TO BE IMPROVISED. THEY DID THIS ON THEIR OWN, NO DIRECTION, JUST THEIR OWN NATURAL INCLINATIONS. JUST LET THAT SINK IN

The vocals, the choreo, the other actors reactions, the CHEMISTRY… everything about this song is literally so good. And it all built up to this??? Like it’s not out of nowhere but years of waiting and build up and at the end the tension is so high it literally causes Gina to run out of fear because she doesn’t know what else to do but panic???? Like hello???!!!

If you’re not on the Bird app or if you haven’t gotten a chance to listen to their vocals isolated please do it. It is so worth your time

This song really truly deserves every praise it’s received and will continue to receive. Timberly and the others really outdid themselves this episode and for what

(For rina, that’s what… this is what happens when the shows producer has a blatant favorite couple… sorry not sorry p*rtwell and r*ni duets don’t hold a candle to this one)

Did I just rewind it so I can watch it again before finishing the episode? Maybe. Don’t stop me.

Me talking about Rina: don’t get me started

“Heart wrenching honestly” 🥺🥺🥺 that really was so hard for him and you could see it the whole time in his performance he just wants to love Gina so badly ughhhhh

Ricky even apologized for being too intense? Like he knew he went full throttle in that performance because it probably was the only time he was allowed to without EJ saying something. I’m sure he took that opportunity and ran with it… no matter how painful

RICKY JUST SAY WHAT YOU FEEL WE’RE ALL BEGGING 😭😭

Also those were heart eyes if I’ve EVER seen them holy crap

I actually have a lot more I want to say on this scene but I want to make a separate post about it

THE PARALLEL SCENE OF THEM WALKING IN A ROOM IT ALL HURTS SO MUCH

this scene was so much because everything comes out in different ways and to have that many reveals in one sitting can be not overwhelming for the characters but the audience watching as well

Not Maddox just calling Ashlyn out like that 😭 but also she never denied it… so??? 😳🏳️‍🌈

I don’t know if this was supposed to be taken as a funny thing or not… But I find it really interesting that Ricky needed to lay down when Jet and Maddox were yelling so much of each other? It seemed like he was almost having some flashbacks to things that made him upset and his anxiety started to heighten reliving that trauma over again? Because not only did his parents fight like this but he also fought with Nini like this… it just seems like a trauma response for him to literally shut down so I’m not surprised he felt the need to lay down during all of that

But also on a lighter note it’s so funny how the kids are all yelling and everything is serious and then Carlos gets completely caught up on EJ not being Eric Junior and Ricky missing everything to yell about Maddox and jet being siblings completely out of context help 😭😭

And ok I’m not going to go TOO in on this because it’s been discussed a lot but there has been a lot of discussion around Ricky having regression (which is not true at all… look at other posts about this to get more context), but isn’t it interesting that Gina says OUTLOUD, “this is what the old Ej would do”. She is literally pointing out that him not being honest and hiding himself is a form of him regressing as a character. I’m really interested to see how the writers bring him out of this

I saw someone post about Ricky saying when you can’t find the words you just sing instead might be him hinting at singing Kristoffs lullaby and I LOVE THIS SM. But also I can’t tell what I would love more? If he is singing this off in a distance and pining at Gina or singing it to her 😭 both would be beautiful tbh

RICKY HAS A CRUSH ON GINA I STILL CANT BELIEVE THIS IS CANON ON SCREEN OUT LOUD ITS-

But also when he puts his head in his hands after getting caught speaking outloud. Like boy knows he done messed up. I am REALLY curious what they’re doing with that footage. Either Gina will see it on purpose, on accident, or it’ll get deleted but she’ll still find out anyway through word of mouth and I don’t care how but I love that somehow Ricky is gonna get CAUGHT

You can see he is trying SO HARD to avoid his feelings being known and he literally can’t. I think this is where the line from Val earlier about not being able to hide your love and it comes out in other ways comes in. He literally cannot keep others from seeing it and finding out which is frustrating him beyond belief. Enough people are seeing, noticing, saying things though that at this point… I’m sorry buddy there is nothing that can be hidden

Why does jet singing in that jacket at the piano remind me of the Gorilla from SING 😂😂😂

Bu that aside lmao I love this song. It’s implications with the kids around him and him looking with admiration at younger Maddox says a lot about their relationship. He just wants what is best for her through his actions and it showed so poorly. He feels so much regret even though he wanted to do everything right. Just a lot of misunderstanding and heart ache which I think sums up a lot of the relationships in this season as well

Ok who tf is EJ calling? I think it’s easy to assume it’s his dad but I don’t know that that is actually who he is calling and why? Is it to leave? Create more drama? Heal something that he feels or needs to be healed? I’m just very curious about who might be coming

[orleans-jester]

Not that either of them really needed the ego boost but they were definitely giving it to themselves anyway.

“Fucking right,” Thomas said with a grin. Flotsam could design it, Dale could probably work some metal into the shape of it, it’ll be a big, beautiful family thing. He was so up for something like that.

He would have to get some real nice paper. The parchment kind. Thick. Weighty. Get one of those really fancy pens too. He didn’t have much to say to anyone save for Flotsam and Valerie, and his kids, so he’d write them grand letters. Put some in a box for the triplets until they’re old enough to read them and find out more about their parents in Thomas’s own handwriting. He liked that idea a lot, actually.

Thomas really did love them equally. He took care of them the same. That’s just the kinda guy that he was. A natural caretaker guy. A fix it guy. They didn’t have their tickets in advance? He fixed it by buying them right there and then, swiping that credit card for the millionth time in the past couple of years. And there wasn’t the least bit of trepidation to showing his husband affection in public, arm around the waist as they pushed the stroller, watching over their two guests, enjoying the feeling of staying close.

He would take one of the tour things though. He was a fucking nerd, through and through. A chance for more information, yes please. He’d still be reading all the plaques to himself, crouching down low to tell some of the more interesting tidbits to the triplets, as if they could understand, as if they would remember. But hey, one of the best ways to learn is to teach, that was coming in handy. He was teaching these three everything.

Course he had no judgment about the S’s. Actually, he thought it was kind of cool. The whole lisp sounding thing. He used to try to listen to if Frank had one because of his tongue but the guy didn’t speak much to him, it was hard to tell.

But he looked at the tablet too. “Ahh, that’s a shame. You don’t get to know the joys and tribulations of mobile gaming,” He said, trying to make a bit of a joke. This was all good stuff to know though. Things go well, they’ll probably be spending more time with these two. They were the trusted babysitters now after all. Tablets, phones, lights, he was going to keep that in mind.

The room with all of the exhibits was gorgeous. History surrounding them, and yet … and yet -

There was Flotsam, looking fucking gorgeous. All this information around that they were paying to get, and his eyes kept flickering over to his husband like he was a boy with a crush. The way that the collar of his shirt was open, just teasing a little bit of chest flesh that Thomas wanted to run his tongue over. The dandy shoes. He didn’t even know about the bowtie yet but that was going to blow his mind. He did look a little bashful whenever he got caught and oh,would he ever get caught, especially because after two seconds of looking away, his eyes would be right back on him.

He did chuckle at Flotsam’s idea though. Things like that tended to happen at Hobbiton, where he knew everything off by heart. Knew things the official tour guides didn’t. Was a lot more passionate about the place too than the tour guides were because it wasn’t a job. So it wouldn’t have surprised him if people just started following around like he was a group leader. He had those kind of vibes, apparently. “Yeah, fuck that. Looks like Silvain enjoys the reading anyhow.”

One hand on the stroller, one hand in Flotsam’s, holding it playfully like they were on a first date or something. It was fun, still having those butterflies and those nervous ‘Will he like me if I do this’ sort of feelings. Kept him feeling young when the grays were starting to come in. Love never changes for some people, no matter what age.

The furniture was … not as inspiring as their tour of the old castle. There, at least, he thought about a bed with posts that he could handcuff his spouse to. Or be handcuffed to himself, he wasn’t particularly picky. Maybe the chaise lounge could be a good idea. With green velvet rather than this froufou shit. He could imagine Valerie laying on one with a microphone, singing in that Amy Winehouse like tone of hers. Now that’s a goddamn idea. Put that on his ever lengthening ‘to-do list’.

But damn. The movie had done a good job to show the difference in classes, but seeing it in person and not just on a screen was something else entirely. “Yeah, and if that’s the last bed that you sleep in before you die - phwoah,” He said, shaking his head. He thought of Oscar Wilde’s last words, actually. ‘The wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has got to go.’ The wallpaper won that battle. These beds won the one against the third-class.

And then another startling realization into the lives of demons, of course they lived the high class lifestyle and just thought like that. Adam’s words had him chuckling, despite the morbidness. “Yeah, you’re right about that, love. I’d rather die in one of these rooms without having to worry about drowning because I got stuck under a heavy Chaise Lounge.”

Neither of these two were capable of such things as dragging anyone to Hell, not even themselves, but their keeper sure was, so same difference.

"That's gotta be it. We're the cool sitters." Flotsam was quick to grab onto that idea. It stroked his ego and he needed some feel good.

They needed to get one of those? Oh! The wax seal.

"They are pretty classy aren't they? I agree. We so do. The Laveau seal. I'm so down for that."

He'd feel pretty damn cool sitting at the desk dipping his ink to write just to give even more aesthetic and finishing off with the lighting of the candle. He could feel the vintage academia vibe making him seem smarter already, or all medieval and important. Thomas wore mall jeans and Dad sneakers most of the time, but that's how Flotsam saw him. Era movie aesthetic oozed from his pores even without the get ups on, but it was certainly part of the allure of going to the theater for Valerie. Suddenly, Thomas would walk out and look the same as the vibe he gives off.

They both seemed to think the guidelines were easy enough to follow and the last vote was in. Thomas was ready to go in. As he held the door for Flotsam he couldn't help but find this fun. It was a natural feeling to follow even as himself and not herself despite being the one who would do these things for his long gone exes, any of them. But, as it had been a while since he'd been in his own skin he couldn't help but take mental notes again of the way Thomas was even for him. It gave him an inner smile. Something in him was glad some things never change. Thomas even went right up and purchased the tickets for everyone. For some reason even little things like that were amusing Flotsam through to his gooey center. It was so repetitive and seemingly so meaningless, just a transaction, but watching Thomas head the way of things and getting things done just felt so good. It felt like security, stability, something he was realizing he could trust when it was in his nature to be watching his back. Maybe there was something in Flotsam through all his changes that needed to see nothing else would. Every day his world kept working normally around him on this trip the more at ease he felt in his own skin again.

Once inside Silvain would be reading every single plaque and brief paragraph posted under every display. There was not one he'd shuffle past. It was easiest for him.

Silvain would put up his hand and not take any offered tablets or ear pieces for the self guided tour.

Adam would. "I'll try to fill you in."

Then Silvain would explain as he looked around doing what most supernatural beings did and checked for humans listening. "I don't do well with devices or watches."

Then Adam added, "Probably bessst to ssstand a few feet from him."

It was the first moment Flotsam noticed those drawn out S's. Snake thing. Sometimes he couldn't quite control the hissing sound in his voice try as he might around humans which he's rarely allowed around alone in public if not in the cirque environment. So, Thomas was right, they were being trusted. Flotsam hadn't heard him speak quite enough to ever catch it before.

Flotsam would question Silvain however, "Don't do well?" He'd let people do their thing, whatever, but he didn't quite understand. Maybe the guy was illiterate? What did he know? There went with what could be intrusive questioning if so, but it was simpler than that. When he flipped his tablet on near Silvain it fuzzed out and went blue.

"I mean I don't do well near devices."

It made Flotsam touch his pocket that held his phone for safe keeping. "Ah. Gotcha." All Flotsam could think was that must suck especially in this day and age when everything is so tech oriented.

"What about lights?" Flo pointed up seeing nothing was happening to the museum lights, but he would follow forward that a lot of the displays might have tech oriented displays or even movie reels running. Lots of museums do that.

"I can effect that too sometimes." Silvain answered leaving off the when he gets emotional enough part.

Watches. Flotsam ran it through his head, powered by crystals, and batteries, or electricity. He clearly effected the crystals first since screens seems to be an issue and watches. Instantly his mind was running through how this would affect a battle. He noted to himself to mention it to Chip considering his skillset. He couldn't help it. His life instilled this habit. He wondered at that point what might appear as a weakness what else this guy had going on, both of them really. He wasn't one to power interrogate though especially in the first moment of meeting them.

"Noted." And with that Flo moved apart enough testing to see if the guy blew his tablet or how far he'd have to stand for it to come back on.

Also, speaking on aesthetic, Flotsam got a little dressy for this event. He didn't go full back in time sort of gentleman's attire, but modern day casual dressy. He wore a button collar shit opened up with a jacket and some shiny shoes. Jacket season was the best whether he would wear his leather or something like this, this rocker loved his inner pockets. It made carrying his mojo bag and doodads much easier without feeling like he needed a handbag like Valerie. Those skinny jeans he usually wore only squeezed in so much. One of those doodads today would be a bowtie in his pocket. That was for later. He did look ahead a little at this place on the phone. A very big part of him wanted to come as Valerie because he was vibing the world of ladies dresses he could have worn here, until he saw something that absolutely igniting his inner Flotsam. From that point forward all he was waiting for one room in the museum and he'd be a happy camper. If asked when they were getting ready for the day he'd have said, "I want my Titanic photos to be snazzy."

So back to the now, on they went. He stood back with Thomas and the trips and let the guests lead. He didn't mind tinkering behind with the stroller.

Then Flotsam teased Thomas, "I thought about offering you up to retell whatever's on the self-guided spiel because you're such a good story teller for us, but then I realized that felt like work and would make people think you were a real tour guide and might ask you questions, and fuck that." He chuckled on as usual Flotsam hating public interference in his life.

As they roamed the display rooms he particularly caught note and stopped near one with upper class furniture. He noted the vintage era look of it all, the craftsmanship put into it compared to modern furniture despite it not being olden castle times. People still valued it here. Very French actually. At least that's what Flotsam thought not that he knew for sure. The guided words would answer such for sure.

But mostly what he noticed was the difference in classes.

It's not like he hadn't seen the movie and didn't know, but seeing it in real life did have an effect. That sort of shit always got under his skin. He couldn't help but say, "You know I was pricing Disney cruises once when were talking about Jetsam's bucket list. Then I went on a spiral pricing all kinds of cruise. But, anyway you go on a cruise nowdays even the cheap rooms are cush. This is ridiculous. Me and Jet's clubhouse in the swamps as kids with no bathroom was more pimped than this. All this money floating around and they couldn't put on any better than a jailhouse mattress? Come on man."

Flotsam just shook his head laughing at it really because damn.

Adam had this shoulder raise and shook it off being the rich boy he was. "That'ssss what they get for being poor. Guessss they should've wait for the next boat and sssaved for a better room."

Silvain tilted his head, "Okay Daddy's boy, never wanted for a thing in your life." It wasn't entirely true, but he was too young to remember anything too impoverished before Caim. "Everyone should have skipped this ride."

Flotsam was still chuckling despite the morbidness of the conversation. He like that though. "Yeah, I think if I got on this ride I'd have rather been in the cheap room anyway. Then they'd have to admit they paid more for their own untimely death. No one should be bragging about that like better boob jobs."

"Yeah, all tragic deathsss should be free of charge." Adam elbowed Silvain. "Like yours. How kind of you."

"Shut up. Uncool. But you know what? They're all very welcome."

"Oh, I'm always cool. Cold blooded, remember?"

"Hardy-har."

Flotsam was a little lost in the banter not getting all the pairs' personal references, but he was enjoying their back and forth either way.

[callmefitz]

fine. fine I did it. luca fic where massimo is trying to be a good parent for his teenage fish son. yes its the painfully awkward i know you’re gay talk. i wrote this at 2 am while projecting so this isn’t shakespeare, just a vibe. set sometime 3-4 years after the film but i think it’s implied enough.

—————————————————-

Alberto ran up the stairs, threw open the door, dropped his hat on the table and hastily washed his hands at the sink.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said breathlessly, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, “I got caught up in, uh, well-“

“Showing off?” Massimo offered, turning from his workstation in the kitchen. Alberto laughed nervously and nodded- then paused- and shook his head while looking away.

“Well, I prefer the term ‘sharing with the community’” Alberto offered, before pulling out a large pot and placing it on the stove.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Massimo returned to the cutting the fish, “It’s a nice bike.”

It was a nice bike. Nice enough that the kids in Portorossa frequently begged Alberto to let them sit on it or ride it around the plaza. And who was he to say no? It was the coolest thing he had ever set his eyes on, let alone owned. Of course he let them use it. Alberto had been saving up his tip money from fish delivery all winter to buy it: a shiny, brand-new, red-hot Vesta. Just like the one Erocle used to parade around town on. Giulia and Luca were going to be so excited.

Alberto began pouring cups of water into the pot as he raised the heat, waiting for it to hit a soft boil. “So how much time do we have?”

Massimo glanced out the window facing the countryside, where the distance etchings of train tracks were visible, “About an hour. Luca’s parents will meet us at the station. Then, dinner.”

“An hour. Right. We can work with that,” Alberto said, mainly to himself, as Massimo continued with his fish. They both fell into a steady rhythm, as they stirred and simmered an outrageous amount of food.

While his hands were lost in repetition, Alberto’s mind wandered to Luca. Massimo liked to joke about how Luca never truly left, with all the letters and phone calls sent, but Alberto couldn’t disagree more. Words couldn’t capture the way Luca would say things, like how he yelled when he was excited and talk quickly when he was nervous. And sure, Alberto could read between the lines, and infer things, like how scrunched up words meant Luca was happy or excited and messy letters and wonky lines meant he was tired, but it wasn’t the real thing. And phone calls, while better, were fewer and far inbetween, and couldn’t capture the way Luca would move when talking, whether it was the way he walked or gestured, or the faces he would make and the way he would touch your shoulder or grab your arm to make a point. So no- Luca had truly left, and while Alberto had seen glimpses and pieces throughout the months, he preferred the whole Luca he got during the summer.

One hour. One hour and Alberto wouldn’t have to rely just on letters and voices. It would be just them again, like it was every summer, whether it be sleeping under the stars in Giulia’s hideout, or swimming out to the island to watch the sunsets, or spending afternoons filling up on gelato and playing futbol on the hot pavement. Giulia would be there too, and the trio would finally be complete. Just like how it was that first summer, and just how it was now.

Had Alberto mentioned he was excited?

“The pasta is boiling over,” Massimo provided helpfully, and Alberto was thrust back into reality.

He swore under his breath, moving the pot to another eye and turning the stove off. He sighed and grabbed for a towel to wipe the sides of the pot. Turning his back to Massimo, he began searching for a strainer, but was interrupted.

“Alberto.” Massimo put his knife down and turned slightly. His face was drawn so that his eyes peeked out from under his eyebrows and bore down to Alberto (no matter how tall Alberto got, Massimo was always, well, massive).

“There is something we need to talk about before the train comes in.”

And there it was. Or, rather, there it wasn’t, because those words never came out of Massimo’s mouth. Maybe it was because, despite everything between them, Massimo just wasn’t a big feelings guy. He was a man of few words who would rather hand-paint signs, mend hats, and hand-make pasta than say “I love you.” Not that Alberto cared much, about that, he couldn’t complain honestly, but the point was that Massimo never “had talks”. If something was serious to discuss in private, it was always “Alberto, a word”. Because Massimo was a man of few words. So it was understandable, then, that that string of words elicited panic in Alberto. Because never in a million years, not even when Massimo first asked Alberto to stay with him, did they ever have something they needed to talk about.

Good thing Alberto was good at handling panic. He was basically an expert.

“Yeah, like what?”

He held his elbow out to lean against the counter in a calm manner, but missed and instead landed on the red hot stove eye. All while maintaining a smirk-turned-grimace. Yep. Expert.

That was going to hurt later. A lot.

Massimo looked at Alberto, searching for something in his face, and, upon finding it, sighed, and turned to the window where the train-tracks were. Absentmindedly, he turned the faucet of the sink on, and letting it cool for a moment, held a rag under it. Once it was wet enough, he handed it to Alberto.

“Luca is a... good kid, no?” Massimo led after a moment of contemplation. Alberto took the rag, but his face scrunched up in confusion as he held it to his elbow. Faintly, he felt the familiar tingle of flesh-turning scale as the coolness took the edge from the burn. But the beginnings of a frown was settling on Alberto as he followed Massimo’s gaze to the train tracks.

“Yeah?”

Massimo nodded. “He is very smart. He writes often. He knows fish... but not as well as you do.”

Alberto inched closer to Massimo, “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One of my best friends but... I think you know that.”

“He is a very good friend,” Massimo said, but something felt strange about the way he said it, “Handsome, too.”

Alberto’s body froze and his face heated up. Before he could say anything contradictory, however, Massimo continued.

“I know the way you two look at each other. Young love. It’s a good thing, especially when it’s between friends who have known each other for so long.” Massimo said slowly, “And if you ever want to take Luca out for some gelato on your Vespa... then I will be very happy for you, Beto. He’s a good kid. Good for you.”

Alberto wasn’t going to lie. He had thought about it, once or twice. In his head it always played out so incredibly natural, that a part of him assumed it would eventually happen. Giulia would be busy, either delivering fish or volunteering for the cup, and he and Luca would be on their own for the day. Maybe they bike to the top of Portorosso, or maybe they went out to the island or climbed a roof to watch the stars. Sometimes it would be just them having dinner together, and something would give- one of them would brush hands with the other, lean in just a little too close and stay there... then... well, it would be just like it to was. But more. And selfishly, maybe if they were more, Luca wouldn’t leave at the end of the season.

But Alberto couldn’t think like that. Luca loved school more than anything. Well, almost anything. He would never want to take that from him.

But Massimo was right. Luca was handsome. Summers in Portorosso had been kind to him, and they’ve both put on some healthy weight and muscle over the years. Even if they hadn’t been friends, Alberto had no doubt he would have been fond of Luca regardless.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Albert said candidly. “But... Thanks. For that. I guess.”

Massimo shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Giulia tells me a lot.”

Impossible scenarios ran through Alberto’s head. The wheels were spinning so fast that smoke was practically spewing from his ears.

“Like what?”

Massimo glanced out the window again, “I guess he’ll just have to tell you when he gets here.”

[theficblog]

BRINGING HIM HOME

JOSHUA HONG

Prologue: Fear takes over you as you bring Joshua to meet your parents, but he say’s you’re taking gratuitous stress

Genre: Fluff + Established relationship AU

Wordcount: 1,016

Warnings: None

Today was going to be a big day. You've had this in your vision for a long time now and it couldn’t be refrained from. You were, however, excited about it at the same time. But the excitement was accompanied by fear, anxiety, and worry. Human emotions can never be easily caught and understood. You were sat in the car, paying zero attention to the otherwise lively streets of the city.

Your city, the place where you were born, raised, and probably conceived, too. You had missed it. The busy streets, the halting of the vehicles at the traffic signal, the people, the places, everything but you are back now, after what were originally supposed to be three years of receiving higher education in America. No, the pandemic treated you no differently. Life was paused, leading to being stuck in America for two more years.

Anyway, you were back. There was so much sentiment inside you right now, that you could never process them. The car stopped as the traffic lights turned red.

"Are you too emotional to talk right now? Baby, are you okay?" Questioned the man seated next to you. Joshua, your boyfriend.

"Shua, Yeah, It’s just, you know." You failed to put your thoughts into words.

"Is it because you’re too emotional that we’re here? Or are you afraid that I might screw it all up in front of your parents?" Four years of being together and this man knew you better than yourself. His coral black eyes teamed up with comforting and deep aura questioned once again.

Yes. You were afraid, not because Joshua would mess it up. It was only natural to feel that way. He was the first man you were bringing home, he had had innumerous zoom calls and texts with your parents whilst the two of you still being in America, they knew him and approved of him. The admiration was so intense that your boyfriend and parents were also mutuals on social media. Then, what was so special about this day? Someone who had to go through it could only understand.

Soon, you reach your home. For a moment, tears started forming in your eyes. They say there is no place on earth like home, and it could not be better understood by you. You missed it. Everything appeared to be so different yet still managed to be the same. The vibe welcomed you as you took steps further.

"Trust me, everything will go well. We just have to be ourselves right? They’re parents." Joshua affirmed. "I know they love you." You added to his affirmation. "Yes. More than they love you." He teased, and his lips turned into a smirk. On normal days, you would hit him playfully, but the timing didn't allow you to do so this time. You could not ruin his appearance, no, not right now.

It was as if you were lost again, admiring your boyfriend. He was dressed in a pastel blue button-up that complemented his light brown pants. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, almost naturally out of habit. His alluring eyes, black-brown hair combed back, and the long flicks falling onto his forehead from the sides of it. Joshua looked perfect.

You shook your head, returning back to the time and place as you now rang the doorbell. Taking few quick breaths to ease your tensed body.

You were greeted by your parents, and you instantly leaped up and went on to engulf them in a hug. There was nothing more special than this, everything felt at place, you felt as if nothing from the outside could affect you anymore. Parents, were just some really special set of human beings. Although you talked to them almost every day during your time overseas, meeting someone in the flesh was a whole different matter. You lost count of time but surely it wasn’t any less than a good ten minutes.

"Alright, alright! My turn?" Joshua commented so as to ease the emotional environment. He made you laugh, even when you had tears rolling down.

The family now sat in the living room. Your boyfriend was completely lost in chit chatting with your family, as they went through your childhood photo albums. Everybody seemed to accept him at an instant. It felt like it was him who was this family’s child.

"Noooo Y/N, you were so cute as a baby! Look at you in this pumpkin outfit. When is this from?" He kept on inquiring and commenting while you just sat there, adoring him. Honestly he was the type that anyone could take home and get approved of. You were lucky to find a man like Joshua. He was understanding of your complex emotions, tolerated your deadly mood swings and unbearable shower concerts. He was more than that, of course. He befriended all you family and aunts and uncles and even cousins. Easy going and laid back, he was amiable. His charm could never be resisted.

"I promise that I’ll love you for the rest of my life."

Men like Joshua Hong were rare to find and, if found, were not supposed to be taken for granted.

The gathering soon ended after dinner, and there was more talking and sharing of old family anecdotes. You were the main theme today, though. It felt gratifying.

You were now in your balcony, alone with Joshua. Everyone in the house would have gone to bed by this time. You felt so at ease as his arms wrapped around you. He lifted and twirled you lightly, resulting in blood flowing to your cheeks, making them now appear red.

"Hmm, told you everything would turn out well. You were stressing over nothing" Joshua soothed.

"I was never stressed about it in the first place. I know what my taste in men is like. How could anyone not like you, Shua?" You defended yourself, teasing him.

"Ahhh, really?" He questioned sarcastically. A little roar of laughter now filled the air as he tickled you by the waist.

Well, yep, he was right. Everything would go well.

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[babylyctor]

can John actually control time or am i making things up? trying to reach a conclusion via tumblr posting

so as a theory this is 75% vibes. however there’s some things in the books that give me pause, and i wanted to put together all those bits and see if there’s something there. i’m not totally on board with this idea because it seems too complex to leave entirely to the last book, and i don’t know how it could fit with the rest of the narrative (or do i?) but in any case i keep thinking about it so here’s this way too long post. spoliers for everything

first, this fucking suspicious sentence that’s one of the first things John tells Harrow (Chapter 2, HtN)

"I would let you come back, bit by bit, until you felt entirely ready to wake up. I can’t. I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I’d done the smarter thing and mastered Time. I have to ask you to get ready soon, and so I am going to show you something I hope might … trigger your readiness.”

so this sounds like a really dull complaint on this immortal god’s part but also i don’t trust a single thing out of this man’s mouth, and this would be the exact kind of private joke he would make if he had actually mastered Time (capitalized) too. Also the context in which it’s said, talking about Harrow coming back from her coma, regaigning consciousness, awakening... you get it, oddly relevant theme wise.

then there’s the whole Soup Moment (Chapter 25, HtN), in which John seems to actually stop time maybe? i have doubts about this so lets see what our narrator tells us;

And God said, “Stop.”

The world slowed down. Augustine and Mercymorn stopped, arrested in the act of half-rising from their seats. Ianthe stopped, left arm paused, outflung, to shield her face. You stopped, sitting upright in your chair: your bones somehow rigid and still, and your flesh chilly and rigid around those bones. The shrapnel spray from the Saint of Duty did not stop, [...] But what remained of him stopped too, half man, half rupture—his prurient details hot and white, naked insides clothed with the sinus-drying burst of the power of God.

so here John freezes all the lyctors in place, they’re still conscious, or at least Harrow is, but they have their range of movement almost totally restricted. this is not like Mercy pinching Harrow’s dorsal nerve to paralyze her, this is a completely different feeling, maybe John’s thalergetic powers? it would make sense, all the lyctors are living bodies, they have thalergy and Johs is able to manipulate that, presumably. the bits of Gideon OG cascading down the table don’t stop but that might be John selectively using his powers, or it might be that that’s no longer living flesh.

so we’re saying this could just be John’s super special thalergy magic and nothing else. the first problem though is that technically he shouldn’t be able to use it against his lyctors without touching them, thanks to lyctoral invisibility. in fact when he explodes Mercy’s chest (rip in peace queen) he expressely reaches out and touches her to do so, because presumably he needs to make contact with a body in order to use magic against it, same as Mercy. so that’s a caveat, then there are these descriptions from the same Soup Moment;

You stared down the table at him: at the blank, remote faces of your two nominal teachers—at the frozen ivory stillness of Ianthe, her hair now whitish pink—at space outside the window, where the asteroids themselves seemed to hang in tranquilized arrest.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses stood. The spell, whatever it had been, dropped like a white sun setting.

These seem to imply certain ambiguity. John’s God and all that but i don’t think thalergetic magic should be able to affect asteroids, lifeless space rocks. of course it says they “seem” to hang in tranquilized arrest, not that they are really unmoving, but i think it’s a suggestive sentence all the same, and i’m suspicious of every word Muir writes. The second quote, specifically the highlighted part, is also a bit frustrating. It seems to imply that John isn’t exactly doing magic as we know it, but something else. If it was Harrow narrating we could go further with it, but since it’s Gideon we could simply attribute it to her lack of knowledge and familiarity with magic. However, two sentences after that we don’t have that problem;

The construct gamely clamberign our of the Saint of Duty dwindled to a powder of pink dust. The shard you had been driving up the cervical vertebrae to the base of the spine [...] simply disappeared: destroyed or removed, you could not tell.

This is still Gideon narrating but in this case she’s specifically telling us that Harrow doesn’t understand what John just did, it’s not magic Harrow is familiar with. There’s also the contrast between what we know is a normal process of destroying a construct - reducing it to dust -  vs this mysterious disappearance, that doesn’t really fit into what we know so far about the way thanergy/thalergy work.

so far, nothing conclusive, we know John is really powerful, but we don’t know exactly how, where his power comes from or what it can do. Then there’s the moment he unexplodes himself (Chapter 52, HtN);

White light.

It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

That light took colour from the room—everyone was a slow-motion cavalcade of greys, of eyes caught widening, of mouths parting in stone-shaded articulations of shock.

It happened in an instant. It happened over a myriad. A wet red construct knitted itself back together, [...]

again that white light that has been associated with thalergy magic and again all these references to time slowing down, stopping or just behaving in strange ways in general. again lots of ambiguity, this could be a thalergy based power - the ability to hold living bodies in stasis, and therefore make everyone feel like time has slowed down - or it could be that John is actually affecting time, maybe even reversing it (?) since he literally un-exploded himself, after Mercy put all her millenia of expertise into atomizing him and reducing him to almost nothing.

is that even explicable with regular thanergy/thalergy based magic? i’m not sure, a regular necro could never do that, a lyctor couldn’t do that. So if John isn’t just an overpowered lyctor what’s the difference exactly? i mean, how do his powers manifest differently from those of every other necromancer we know?

the other person we’ve seen using powerful thalergy magic is Silas. Whenever he siphoned, Gideon describes a similar vacuum sensation to the one that John’s magic also provokes, as well as white light;

As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of thunder. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Silas clambered to his knees, clasped his fingers together, and the feeling of suction popped the pressure in both of Gideon’s ears. (Chapter 34, GtN)

Silas is nowhere near as powerful as John but siphoning - thalergy based magic, condemned by God - still causes that suction effect and is marked by white light and lightning, just like John’s magic. However, there’s no mention of a time altering effect, no slowing down, no freezing in place, and seeing how both kinds of magic are similarly coded otherwise i find this difference suspicious.

To end this somewhere, two quotes, first, this thing Harrow tells Ortus when they both discuss what it must be like to be a lyctor (Chapter 5, HtN);

“Nigenad, what would be the tragedy in living for a myriad? Ten thousand years to learn everything there is to know [...] What is the tragedy of time?”

honestly to me that sounds like Muir making Harrow say things she will regret later. of course it could be about any of the numerous tragedies in Harrow life but still, gave me pause, specially because it kinda echoes John’s earlier sentiment, wishing he had mastered Time.

finally, a quote that might be totally meaningless and completely off base in this theory or it could round it up perfectly, i haven’t decided yet;

[...] ; yet you prayed all the while knowing Ianthe’s facility for tergiversation would have given the whole universe pause. (Chapter 36, HtN)

we know Ianthe is a girlboss and gaslighting is her thing. However, isn’t this sentence a bit too dramatic to describe Ianthe? doesn’t it sound kinda ominous to you? it definitely does to me, and although it might totally be my Ianthe bias wanting her to play an important part, who is Ianthe hanging out with lately? exactly John God “Jod” the Emperor.

in conclusion, i haven’t reached any conclusion. but i still think there’s something off with John’s powers beyond what we’ve been told, which isn’t much really, and i think there’s something going on with Time within the narrative (that’s another whole post though), and i think these two things are most probably related. but i can’t say i’m 100% sure of any of it. this was fun though. if you made it here thank you so much you’re the best <3

[ddarker-dreams]

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID THE TRUTH.

I admit that i enjoyed act 3 but it feels like really rushed i have so much complain with that.

The build up until act 2 was so good it give us so much premise but the final blow si meh. Sorry that i want to share thing long rant with you

1. Why the final talk is with yae, no offense to her but we need ei to explain not to mention she witness khaenriah downfall so she can give us more information, i feel like they do it for the plot armor so they can just keep dragging this

2. So many things that quite inconsistant, the shogun is show no mercy to anyone that even did a little thing outside what she think its right, how come she can still have a talk with signora, when sara is falling like that, and also there is no clarification about sara right now.

The traveler was so done at first they refuse to help thoma and ayaka at the beginning. But they seem so happy and forget everything how come they are not RAGE ( okay maybe this is to bias and personal) when this nation provide nothing about our siblings information and also why they are not mention anything about their problem in ei stroy quest. Its nonsense! She is right in front of youu, ask about your siblings, ask about khaenriah, ask about ukmown god!!. How come they can just forget like that. Also mihoyo really waste the potential about twin things i thing ei will give us so much help bcs of the sympathy that we both rn lost our twin but noooo.

3. Kokomi seem lost some brain cell, she make a very succesfull grand intro but she become meh in act 3, how come a great strategist like her let the sus sponsorship slip just bcs they are desperate, not to mention her screen time is really small and her role seem so unsignificant and it feels lile she is a plain npc.

4. The awesome world quest that we have done doesnt get any mention at all! Inazuma owe us so much with cleansing sakura, thunder sakura, tatarigami, obarashi quest. It has so much potential that yae or ei or anyone else aknowledge what traveler has been done but nooo.

cracks knuckles... i suppose it's time for my promised dissertation. interestingly enough, you touched on a lot of the main issues i had with chapter III.

i think that if i had to pin the main issue, it's a lack of overall cohesiveness? we were jumping all over the place without the chance to ever flesh things out. inazuma is a smaller cast, but i feel like we didn't get to see any of them shine. since i'm most interested in the genshin characters, i'll break down my problems by going over everyone and their (lack) of impact on the story.

was ayaka not questioned or placed under suspicion for being close to thoma before his escape? i wanted to see her broken up over her duties as they relate to the yashiro commission, paired with having someone she genuinely cares about in danger. it would've been an interesting struggle if she was forced to choose one or the other. instead she just kinda took a back seat.

speaking of thoma, i don't even have anything to say, because he just... was there? for .0001 seconds. said "lol this sucks ig" and that's about it. i know we're going to get a story for him in the future since he's a 5* but i'm not getting my hopes up 😭 then in the raiden shogun's character story, man is peachy keen! be upset with the raiden shogun! have some inner conflict! even if it's just using loaded language because he's under surveillance for going against the raiden shogun, that'd be so cool. saying something like,

"Traveler, what's with that expression? Oh please, there's nothing to worry about. We're under the Statue of the Omnipresent God's protection. Nothing bad has ever happened here." *wink*

i also don't know what to say about gorou. he was... there....... i think. what is he fighting for? what are the stakes for him? what makes him place so much trust into kokomi? i'm out of things to say about him because i don't remember anything he did or said.

kokomi... oh kokomi... i was so hyped. so excited. i thought that maybe we could see a foil to the raiden shogun. that she'd have a moment where she's forced to realize, just like her opponent, sacrifices must be made that will hurt people who will never understand why she made them. or maybe something to show her military prowess. but instead she just accepts a mysterious patron's help (?), sees her people aging like the grateful dead from JJBA, and goes oh well. that sucks. what can ya do. oh bye traveler i guess, good luck with that. ????????????? HUH... similar case to thoma where she's gonna get a character story but like. she won't be the leader of the resistance anymore. that was her whole shtick. they took her shtick away. also she forced me to interact with more NPCs whose names i've already forgotten so i'm tilted about that still.

KUJOU SARA... AN INJUSTICE. A DISGRACE. a slap to my woman loving face. the build up was there. yae miko's comments about sara probably knowing the tenryou commission is involved in shady dealings, but is choosing not to think about it. sara being forced to confront reality and challenge her adopted father with the truth. being able to blaze a new path for herself in the process. when she started running to the raiden shogun i was ultra hyped up. sara, a devotee to the shogun for so long, was about to see her god interacting with the same people who led inazuma to this awful state. how would she react? would she stay ignorant, like yae miko so coyly said, choosing to look away in favor of following her god's footsteps? or would she be forced to recognize the raiden shogun isn't as divine as she once thought, and challenge her belief system?

we open the door to see the raiden shogun. the loading screen ensues. the camera pans to the ominous room, clouded in darkness, hinting at the ominous confrontation that is to come. the music takes a serious timbre. and then...

well fuck that potential character arc i guess. (we still don't know what sara made of any of this since she poofed out of existence from the story at this point)

kazuha also was handed a similar treatment. we've been with him for a while longer now. he is our introduction into inazuma, the one who first gets us emotionally involved by regaling us with the bittersweet tale of friendship that led him to becoming a wanted criminal. a kind soul who loves nature yet was dealt a cruel hand by fate, forced to watch his home nation turn into a hostile place, where his dear friend ultimately perished as a result. we get the scene with his friend's vision lighting back up. he parries a block from the raiden shogun, in the same area where his friend was killed by her. the parallels. the drama. except this time, he wasn't too late. he protected the traveler where he "failed" to protect his friend in the past. did he feel redemption at this? or was it a bittersweet reminder of what could've been?

WELL i guess we'll never know because we didn't get to talk to him again 😭 idk who got a bait and switch worse, him or sara. jesus christ mihoyo.

then we have signora. why is the raiden shogun talking to her? does she know about the gnosis being taken, and if she doesn't, what was her plan to get it from the archon? what does she think about scaramouche? and oh, okay, we're fighting here now. good fight + god tier music. pog pog. okay, now we've beaten her up, and raiden shogun wyd— wait no not signora her lore is still on CUPS not YET raiden shogun and— ah she's dead. okay. non nerds who didn't read artifact lore are going to know nothing about her. signora has such an interesting story, and yet... well. ok.

then we get raiden shogun redemption (?) arc. i was hype for this as well, though at that point, idk why i bothered being hype. i knew they were gonna do a cute power of friendship something or another, and i'm good with that, so long as it's executed well. what i was envisioning was like seven different buffs to correspond with the seven different visions, the dreams of those whose ambitions were stolen serving as the spear to penetrate the raiden shogun's heart of stone. maybe a hydro vision giving us extra healing for a time, with the voice acting over it being like,

"Even if the rest of the world forgets us, let our will carry you through this one final time. Succeed where we couldn't, Traveler."

so on and so forth.

but instead we got— you get the idea at this point. why bother spelling it out anymore.

at that point i was surprised the raiden shogun didn't go "oopsie woopsie!! we made a fucky wucky!!!" because that was the vibe i was getting. i love ei, don't get me wrong, but i wanted to see her challenged with what she had done to inazuma in the past year. maybe meeting NPC #2345259 who lost her sister to the vision decree or something, reminding ei of the love she held for her sister... being forced to come to terms with the extent of what she's done in pursuit of eternity.

anyway. please for the love of god mihoyo hire better writers for the main story. that is all i ask. thank you.

[hyogonokitsune]

faint -- suna rintarou x reader

here’s a continuation of this, and part 3 is here

back at it again with the suna smut, this time with some slight choking 🥴

the song suna plays in this fic is snow in gothenburg by kasbo, idk I just imagine that’s the type of music he listens to dsdskjfs I actually have a playlist full of suna-vibe songs that I listen to when I write this shit

2000 words

--

“I can’t believe I actually put in the effort to pirate this.”

“Shush, we’re not even halfway through, give it a chance,” you said, prodding Suna in the side with your elbow.

“Alright, fine, you little optimist,” he replied. He was trying to sound annoyed, but you could hear the faint smile in his voice.

To be fair, the movie was pretty terrible so far. You had been interested in seeing it for a while, so when Suna had told you at practice earlier that day that he had downloaded it you were excited to watch it with him. Disappointment had already set in, but you weren’t one to quit something once you had started. You were determined to suffer through it until the end, even if that meant making Suna suffer alongside you.

Besides, focusing your attention on trying to find a redeeming quality in the movie was distracting you from the fact that this was the first time you had been alone with Suna since you lost your virginity to him. You tried to keep your eyes on the laptop screen in front of you, ignoring how close he was. Understandably, you were a little nervous around him after seeing him, and being seen by him, in such an intimate way. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little frustrating that he seemed completely unfazed by it. He was treating you the same as he always had in class, at practice, and now with just the two of you in his room together, sitting side by side on the floor in the dark. He was the same cool, collected Suna.

He reached up then to scratch at his cheek, the back of his hand brushing up against your arm as he lifted it. The brief contact reminded you of how he had touched you last week, and you could feel your face heating up at the memory; you were grateful that the lights were off in his room.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you pick a movie for us again,” he said when the credits finally rolled, snapping his laptop shut and standing up to return it to his desk.  

“That’s fair,” you sighed, stretching your arms out in front of you. “That was two hours I’m never getting back.”

“Every hour of your life is an hour you’re not getting back.”

“Oh, Suna, your wit continues to astound me,” you said, eyes rolling as he sniggered. “It’s getting late, I should probably go.”

“Wait.”

You had been about to stand up, but you paused when he spoke, looking up at him in surprise at his almost forceful tone of voice.

“I heard this song the other day, I thought you might like it,” he explained, scrolling through his phone to find it. It started playing through the speaker on his desk.

“Oh, I do like this.” You shifted to lie flat on your back, looking up at the dark ceiling. Suna said nothing, only smiling at you before moving to mirror your position, his feet pointing in the opposite direction, head coming to rest next to your own.

Your eyes were closed, body relaxed. The only things you were aware of in that moment were the music and the sound of Suna’s soft breathing. It felt nice to just lie there, completely at ease, all of your other senses shut off.

When the song ended you opened your eyes and turned your head to face him, only to find that he was already looking at you. Has he been watching me this whole time? It didn’t even matter if he had been, because the way he was looking at you now made your breath catch in your throat. His gaze held such tenderness that you found yourself leaning towards him before you were aware of what you were doing. You kissed him, and without hesitation he returned it, pressing his mouth against yours earnestly.

“Rintarou,” you breathed, and in an instant you were both sitting up, lips seeking each other out hungrily, hands tearing off clothing with urgency.

It was chilly in the room, but Suna’s hands were hot as they roamed over your body. You wanted to feel him, have him touch you everywhere. It was never enough.

His lips traced a line from your mouth to your ear, teeth nibbling at it lightly and sending a shiver through your body. He shifted, intending to lay you back down on the floor, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to stop him.

“Rin,” you said in a husky voice, “can I try being on top?”

Suna grinned, both at your request and the blush rising up your face. He kissed you once before laying down, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your thigh. Exhaling shakily, you crawled on top of him, hands on his stomach to steady yourself. You reached down to guide his cock towards your entrance, but your hand was trembling slightly out of nervousness.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he said softly, the smile on his face almost painfully gentle as one of his hands wrapped around your own to help you. He dragged the head of his cock between the folds of your pussy, gathering up the wetness there before pressing it into you. With a sigh, you sank down onto him, taking all of him inside you in one go.

“God,” he groaned, eyes closing and head tipping back. “God, you feel so good…”

It was different with you on top; it felt like his cock was deeper in you than before, reaching a place that was already bringing you close to the edge. You moved your hips back, almost gasping at the sensation against your clit. Your movements were making Suna’s chest rise and fall heavily; the sight of him coming undone emboldened you. You grinded your hips against him, gradually increasing the speed, each moan that you were able to draw out of him tightening the knot in your stomach.

“Rin,” you panted, grasping desperately at his chest.

His hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “What is it, baby?” He bucked his hips up into you, making you gasp. “You gonna cum for me already?”

“Sh-shut up,” you told him. It was embarrassing how close you were after such a short time. Suna was snapping his hips into you harder now, fingertips digging into you insistently; you could feel the bruises starting to form.

“You’re such a needy little girl,” he smirked, “I barely even have to touch you to have you creaming all over my cock.”

Your face was flushed from his words, and you were more than a little frustrated at how right he was. You had been thinking about him all week, and all it took was one kiss for your pussy to be dripping between your legs. “Shut up,” you repeated, breathing hard as you continued to grind against him, trying to focus on the sensation on your clit.

“I can feel how close you are, baby.” That smirk was still on his face. “Is it that easy for me to make you—”

“I said, shut up, Rin.” Without thinking, your hand reached out and wrapped around his neck. His eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment, but then he tilted his head back, exposing his throat for you, silently asking you to apply more pressure. Your fingers pressed into the sides of his neck, where his pulse was beating fast, limiting the blood flow to his head. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that made your hips work against him even faster.

You were hurtling towards an orgasm quicker than you thought was possible. The friction against your clit, the way his thick cock stretched you out, the sight of him beneath you panting and moaning from what you were doing to him; it was all becoming too much.

“Rin, I’m s-so close,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

“Me too.” His voice was as low as yours, his face flushed from your hand around his throat and the feeling of you riding him. “Please don’t stop.”

“I want you to cum with me, baby,” you told him. Suna moaned at your words, and the sound of it sent you over the edge.

Your pussy clenched hard around his cock as you kept grinding against him, panting hard and legs trembling. You wanted to shut your eyes against the pleasure, but you kept your gaze trained on Suna’s face.

“Oh god, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming… fuck,” he groaned. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, feel his warm cum filling your pussy. You released your hold on his neck, but your hips continued to grind into his.

The look on his face was so beautiful. His eyes were shut tight, brows drawn together under a sheen of sweat, his mouth hanging open as a string of curses and moans flew past his lips. His hands were gripping you almost painfully hard, the muscles in his arms and torso tensing as ecstasy washed over him.

“God, baby, stop stop stop, please stop!” he begged as the overstimulation became too much for him. You stilled immediately, leaning down instead to press soft kisses into his neck.

“Was I any good?” you purred into his ear.

“Yes,” he managed weakly, struggling to catch his breath. “You were amazing.”

You pulled away to look at him; his cheeks were glowing, strands of dark hair sticking to his damp forehead. You gently brushed them away, and the soft smile that he gave you made your heart melt. Suna sat up, pressing into your chest as he kissed you. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he used the other to push himself off the floor, his cock still inside you as he lifted you up.

“Rintarou!” you cried out, more than a little shocked at how easily he was able to carry you.

“Shh,” he hushed, setting you down on his bed. He laid down beside you and pulled the covers over your bodies. “Just lay with me for a bit.”

You stretched an arm out over him, wiggling closer to rest your cheek on his chest. His heart was pounding against your ear, still pumping hard from his high.

“Kind of embarrassing how fast we both finished, huh?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

“A little bit,” you giggled in turn, tracing tiny patterns into his skin with your fingertip.

The two of you lay in silence in his dark room, the only sound coming from the heater that had finally turned on beneath the window. It was late, and although you didn’t have class the next day, you really should have been home a while ago.

“Rin, I should go,” you said, but you made no move to sit up.

“It’s already so late, you should just stay the night,” he mumbled, careful to keep his tone casual, but the way his arm wrapped around you to hug you closer to his body betrayed him.

You didn’t want to leave, either. It was warm under the covers, Suna’s body heat seeping into you, his scent surrounding you; the darkness of the room and the aftereffects of sex were making you sleepy. Laying on his firm chest with his arm around your body, you realized that there wasn’t any place else you’d rather be in that moment. It would be worth finding an excuse to explain why you were out all night the next day, and dealing with any ramifications then, if it meant you didn’t have to leave him now.

You snuggled closer to him, arm tightening around his side. “You’re lucky I’m tired,” you murmured into his skin.

“Mm hmm,” he hummed. His hand moved up to bury itself in your hair, long fingers winding their way through your locks. If you had lifted your face to look at him then, you would have seen the faint smile on his lips.

--

➣ masterlist

[bunny-lou]

For some reason I feel like the film isn’t the first time finn has experienced some surpernatiral cause his dad says ‘that goes for you too’ after hitting gwen a den telling her her dreams are just dreams and she has no powers..I think it’s more of a case that his powers are more subtle/not as strong/less distrustive to his life as hers or maybe cause finn has a quiet or understated personality so he just doesn’t adknowledge them…imo it also doesn’t seem that he seems surprised that he can talk to the dead during the film? Like maybe it wasn’t as evident or strong cause he didn’t have the phone to act as a foundation totem but maybe he heard a whisper hear it there or saw something supernatural as he grew up? Also Do you think finn can still see and talk to ghosts after the film is done?

Warnings for a discussion of a film/short story called The Black Phone, which deals with a young boy being abducted and abused by a much older man. This response discusses the abuse toward the young boy.

Hey, I answered a very similar question here :)

Finney at the very least has experience into the supernatural because of Gwen (and his mother). Finney knows Gwen has special dreams and even asks her to use her ability to try to help find Robin. He sees his father beat her because even a grown man is afraid of what she sees. Finney is not surprised by these dreams at all and this doesn't seem to be the first time Terrence has been upset with what Gwen sees.

On top of that, we know Finney's mom was special too. (Interesting to note, we have two different scenes of Gwen and Terrence discussing their mother/wife, but she is never mentioned by Finney at any point, even just a reference to her. I'll have to dive more into that one of these days.) Finney and Gwen's mom even killed herself because of what she saw. Finney, at the very least understands supernatural things are real and can happen.

While I'm sure he's shocked to be speaking to the dead, Finney is already accustomed to weird shit happening because of his family. He's much more calm than the normal young boy learning of the occult.

Even in the original short story, it's implied Finney has a supernatural connection with his sister. There is a very detailed scene where he imagines her riding around on her bike looking for him and all the things she must see. We later learn that his imagination is correct and the things he imagined his sister seeing were all real things that she saw in real life.

I think gender has a small role to play in it. It's interesting to me that Gwen and her mother have more fleshed out abilities than what Finney does. His 'specialness' only comes from the phone, as if he needs a conduct for his ability (kind of like a magic wand. It doesn't give him his power, but lets him channel it). Gwen and her mom don't need anything to use for themselves. Plus, I think spiritualism and femininity go better together than spiritualism and masculinity. Like, I got Carrie vibes from the discussion of their mother and the short story was written by Stephen King's son. Their mother had abilities that scared people around her, even her family, even herself, and led to her demise. In Carrie, she gets her powers after beginning her menstrual cycle, after 'becoming a woman'.

I dunno man, it's 1:30 am here and I just got back from a party honestly. My thoughts may be everywhere.

I think Finney can speak to the dead after the film, but it's hard. I think the phone itself was a big help to him. Also, the fact that the dead reached out to him. Not the other way around. Finney did not seek out supernatural shit, it sought him out. I like to think all the boys found peace after the Grabber died and got to move on. But other spirits wandering the earth or ghosts or monsters or whatever, they can talk to Finney if they initiate the contact. Finney's ability is not as strong as Gwen's and he needs help from the supernatural to harness it.