#best air mattress 2023

[jahanarak34]

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[1ovewoo]

Hihi I'd like to request prompt 8 and 11 for Mingi please ^⁠_⁠^. Thank you 💕

tysm for submitting these prompts! sorry for taking so long to post this but i hope u enjoy regardless!

cw/tags: making out, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, bed humping lol

send me a prompt! [closed]

the sound of you and mingi’s lips smacking fills the air as you and him make out on his bed, his large frame hovering over yours and making you feel almost trapped in the best way. 

mingi’s hands glide down your body and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him.

he sits back on his heels and grips your thighs, “open your legs for me, baby. i wanna see you.”

a blush burns your cheeks as you allow mingi to guide your legs apart, sliding his body down to lay between them and planting wet kisses up the inside of your trembling thighs. 

you run your fingers through his messy blonde and black hair as his lips finally reach where you need him most, his tongue sliding up your core and swirling around your clit expertly, causing you to cry out, tossing your head back.

mingi hums and brings a hand up to slip two fingers inside you, curling them up into your sweet spot as he slurps up the arousal pouring out around his fingers.

after a few minutes, he slips another finger into you as he sucks harshly at your clit and you let out a loud, breathy moan at the intense feeling.

“that noise…keep making it,” mingi groans into your pussy, his hips rutting into the bed beneath him as his hand picks up his pace of fucking into you.

your moans increase in volume as your boyfriend brings you closer to the edge, the bed slightly shaking from the force of his movements, both his fingers inside you and his hips against the mattress.

“coming.. fuck mingi, baby please,” you gasp as you hurtle towards your climax, waves of pleasure washing over you and your vision blacking out for a moment as your jaw hangs open while mingi continues to pound into you, fucking you through your high as he reaches his own, cries spilling from his lips and his eyebrows furrowing.

after, you both lay across the bed, chests heaving as you catch your breath, until mingi climbs up your body and plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

you sigh and relax into him, exchanging sweet nothings against each other’s lips until you jolt, feeling the tip of mingi’s cock sliding through your folds.

“ready for round two?”

ty for reading! if you enjoyed this and would like to support my works please consider reblogging or checking out my masterlist!

© 1ovewoo 2023

[saxxxology]

Nonstop | Drabble

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: 809

WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, smut, oral sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

NOTE: This story was posted to Patreon in October 2023. To get access to dozens of new stories like it, click the link below to become a Patron!

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I do not consent to minors (17-) reading my work. This story is 18+ only. Do not save, download, or repost my work on any other sites.

It had started out slow — gentle touches under the covers as they allowed their bodies to wake on their own time. It was meant to be quick, maybe five minutes of grinding and thrusting until they got what they wanted, and that’s exactly what had happened.

But it hadn’t stopped.

Neither of them can remember the last time they woke up with this much desire in them, or the last time they’d been able to make it work this good, but when they’d ended round one with even more lust and need in them, they’d just gone with it, ignoring the two alarms he’d set for work the night before.

He’s made her cum twice, the first time on his cock, the second time when he’d slipped down beneath the covers and tongued her until he felt her thighs shake and she’d squirmed away with a plea for a quick break that he barely gave before shoving her legs apart and sliding back inside.

“Holy fuck—” she tips her head back, reaching up to grab hold of the pillow above her head, “Sam, please…”

“What?” He leans back, skimming his hands down her ribs and over her belly, “too much?”

“No, no,” she takes a quick breath, and he watches her rock her hips up to feel him move inside her, “don’t wanna make a mess.”

He chuckles, leaning down just enough to kiss her, “we made a mess already, don’t know how we could make it worse.”

She doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s fixing his grip on her waist and pinning her in place against the mattress. The heavy slap of his hips hitting hers fills the room, and she only makes it a few rough strokes before she can’t hold back the sweet whimpers and moans that drive him absolutely crazy.

Her nails dig into his skin, and he grits his teeth at the sting, letting out a grunt that makes her tighten around him. She loves it when he’s loud, and he doesn’t hold back on giving her what she wants. He can get one more out of her if he really works for it.

He’s almost lightheaded when he feels her start to tense up again, and she tips her head back, mouth open as she works a hand down between her legs and touches herself just enough to help him out. Her thighs shake, and he collapses over her, thrusting through the strong waves of her orgasm as she whimpers and moans in his ear.

She lets out a breathy giggle when he rolls her over and tugs her hips up into the air. Two pillows get stuffed under her waist to keep her propped up, and he takes a moment to sit back and stare at the mess they’d made between her legs, where there’s just a little bit left of his first release mixed with the slick of all three of hers. He wants to knot her so fucking bad and and it kills him that he’s not going to be in rut for another month.

She lets out a heavy breath when he pushes in, teasing her inch by inch until she’s stuffed full of him and he can feel her squeezing around him, teasing him right back.

“Go harder,” she whimpers, “please—”

He shifts his weight behind her, catching his breath as his hands slide up and down her sides. “Y’sure?”

She nods eagerly, sucking in a deep breath that almost makes her dizzy. “Yeah, I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He squeezes her hips, and she clutches at the bedsheets when he finally gives in to his own lust and ruts forward as hard as he can. She bites down on a knuckle, eyes shut tight as she takes every heavy thrust that has her practically crying from the overstimulation.

“Fuck—” he curls over her, one arm wrapping around her waist to keep her against him as his orgasm starts to peak, “gonna come in you, baby, you want that?”

She nods as best she can, lips parting as his teeth graze against the side of her neck. “Yes…”

“That’s my girl.”

She braces herself for it, unable to move her hips or legs as he uses his weight to keep her pinned underneath him. She can feel the start of it, a quick throb that’s matched with a deep grunt, and then a soft rush of wet heat inside her that makes her almost want to come again. He holds himself deep, fucking everything he’s got into her until she feel him relax. He stays inside her, moving up close to keep himself tucked deep as he dots her neck and shoulders with kisses that have her squirming.

“I’m calling out today,” he whispers against the back of her neck, “I’m not done with you.”

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[anantaru]

rockstar! scaramouche who likes one special, peculiar individual of all of his groupies the most— it being you and you alone.

small, lingering gifts, exclusive bouquets of flowers from distinct nations and the most intriguing one by far, expensive lingerie sets in his favorite color that he knows, seeing you in it will turn him hard, painfully so, throbbing until he can‘t help himself but hump his palm desperately in between studio breaks, cumming in his pants and cursing himself to waste his seed like that instead of tombing it down your throat.

"you’re here."

scaramouche sees you in his private area, not the vip one which was filled with all different kinds of people, but his own space where he usually gets ready for his gigs, "take off your clothes."

he doesn‘t look at you, he tries his hardest at least, instead he plays around with the translucent straw in his drink, fingers shaking— the faint, penetrative scent of alcohol lingering over your nostrils, building up the humane air in the room.

but you do as he says, slowly as to tease him, taking off your dress until it hits the floor, the pricy lingerie hugging your skin on all the right places, as if he had noted all your curves, your pretty flesh and what suits your body the best. after a while, scaramouche joins you in bed, you perceive how the mattress shifts under his weight as he settles his head in between your naked thighs, greeted by his musky smell in combination with his signature cologne.

the man sighs, kissing your clothed pussy, but you could feel him because how not? there was barely any material hiding your most sensitive part. "i knew it‘ll fit you well." he carries on, low lidded looks stealing the show, hooking both of his hands into the cloth before exposing your cunt to him, "but this, i prefer." and he leans in to flatten his wet tongue on your hole before lapping a straight line in between your folds.

you pant and lick your lips, sweat sticking on your skin and his palms are quick to find a nagging, almost burning spot, rubbing your nipples and you bite your lip as he squeezes and twists them just the way you like, just the way you taught him when you two were first starting out with this— he wasn‘t too well versed in intimacy and you remembered being shocked that a loved, cherished and idolized rockstar such as scaramouche was a little lost when it came to pleasuring another human.

"did you like the show?" he talks into your cunt, your liquids long since sticking on his chin. "y—yeah, so much."

he‘s gotten quite good at drawing noises and squirms out of you, and oh, who would’ve thought, you’re going to get him back for this later, but right now you’re enjoying yourself too much, riding his tongue when his nose repeatedly brushes and digs into your pussy, the stinging, prickling feeling on your core only now building up.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[scuddisher]

WHAT OTHERS CANNOT GIVE.

Price finds out you've been having second thoughts on your intimacy with him, searching for other men's services in the area—but he's convinced you're partnered with him for a reason.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — gigolo! john price x gn! reader GENRE(S) — drabble, gigolo! au, yandere! au, smut WORD COUNT — 1k WARNINGS — mature content, language, jealousy, highly possessive john, loads of under-toning SMUT WARNINGS — sexual content, dom! price, edging, doggy-style, missionary, unprotected intercourse, creampie, bruising, mainly filth lol RELEASE DATE — DEC 14TH 2023

AUTHOR’S NOTE — me: i’m not gonna write for cod. i’m not gonna write for- [GUNSHOT]. this has been in my brain for WEEKS but now it’s finally written out <3 i live off of any type of modern-worker price concepts lmao they’re keeping me going rn.

“You know what sets me apart from others?”

John had you wrapped around his finger. Like a ring given in matrimony—the one you'd shiver over every time you had to take it off for some necessary chore where it could be damaged or lost. He knew his importance to you was real, it was what kept you coming back. But he had never taken into consideration that his services weren't enough for you.

Not with the way he had you clenching around his length, like now. “Why I am so good at my goddamn job?”

His ego had grown the more you had spoken. Broken sentences admitting to him that you had gone to see another man, asked for the pleasures of another's touch that wasn't him—you were his only regular.

John already knew, he was already hearing the gossip amidst the others. He had already found the strangely familiar phone number hidden deep inside of your drawer. In his world, of dark nights and long-time pleasure—he knew the signs of when a client was putting a distance between them and him.

You felt him twitch up into your heat as your breathing stuttered. Ears ringing loudly but only listening to the sounds of John spilling words through his gritted teeth. You knew you had crossed the line.

“What makes me the fucking best?” His words were harsh like a growl, yet spoke softly into only your ear as he pressed you into the mattress below him and felt your hips jerk back into his hot loins.

He had been fucking you for two hours. And this was once something you begged for. Once, his intimacy—now, obsession.

You felt yourself shivering from the cold air, the only major heat being the rough man behind you. His body was sweaty, hair sticking to himself along every part of his body. His happy trail soaked with drops of sweat running down his abs, stomach sucking in every time you clenched around him. You were dizzy from all that he had done to you.

And yet, he got another rise. Had released his load into you twice now, stretching you even further on his cock. That twitch of your body, mouth agape and claiming his name on your tongue. “John!”

Each time he pulled his length from you, the stickiness of his cum was enough to make you jerk and nearly orgasm until you felt the bruises he left on your hips throb in pain from his calloused fingertips pressing into them again.

You felt the cold air of his dick leaving you, could only whine as his hand pulled at your head until his lips were on your ear. And just as you felt the rush of his hot cum hitting the skin of your ass, he spoke again.

“Because I focus on my own pleasure, not yours. And that makes you my toy.”

Your whine was enough to have him turning you over to look at him, his touch becoming gentle as he heard the hisses and whispered words from your lips. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry.” He was still John. “Sorry is a tough word for you to use, isn't it?” His accent had grown thicker by each syllable. He was playing with your emotions. “Did you apologize to the man you called out that late night?”

There it was. The jealousy he had pent up, rocked his hips into yours until he almost forgot, only to see your big eyes staring up at him with tears falling down your cheeks to remind him.

“The one whose number you dialed instead of mine? Met in the latest hour of the night? Asked to pleasure you in some new way to get your fucking rocks off?!”

His beard was still covered in the wetness of your arousal, mixing with his spit and displaying itself on your skin each time his words turned angrier. Everything he had done to you tonight, it was all to convince you.

His mind was lost in his own thoughts as he spoke aloud. “Could he even make you cum? Know how to use you? Did he even get a touch before you realized he was someone else and not me?”

His hand moved from your heat, feeling you throb against the little friction he gave you until it found the pulse of your heartbeat at your neck. His thumb pressed into the spot, begging to feel how fast your heart would beat when he finally told you what he wanted to say all night.

“I'm the only person in the world that can make you cum like this.” His hard length was in his free hand, pressing into your heat once more until you were all-consuming. You saw the flinch in his face as he felt your walls feather with overuse, but he still found himself filling you up.

You felt his hips stutter once he was balls deep. The way his cock twitched from being sensitive like he hadn't used every hard-on he had gotten that night to prove his point. Now was his final show.

The ring of your arousal around him only caused a louder squelch and he pulled from you and thrusted himself back in. His speech only turned guttural when he felt how tired you were, how well he had taught you this lesson.

And as your body took him in and then kept going, your rise finally crashed down on you.

“You’re the o-only person who I have seen this many times in my field of work.”

You squeezed him, milked him of one more gushing orgasm, and then fell right down into your own. “Your body only knows me now. This—” He winced feeling your entire body turn into mush as your orgasm finally swept over you. “This is only for us.”

His words quieted as his head fell into your shoulder, mouth kissing at your neck. You could only cry, only whine his name softly. He finally claimed what he wanted to since the first day your shaky little fingers dialed his number.

“I'm the only one who can give you what others cannot.” He spoke so gently, pressing his entire weight onto your form below him and into the mattress. “My love.”

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

[theharrowing]

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.

🐺 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

PREVIOUS | INDEX

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!!!

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[goldenempyrean]

Healing Herbs

〚 Day 17 - Magical Remedy/Healing Potion〛

〚 Pairing - WandaNat 〛

〚 Summary - Wanda uses her magic to make some tea for her girlfriend 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

The soft glow of evening sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the cosy living room. Wanda Maximoff sat on the couch; her attention only somewhat focused on a book in her lap. She could hear the faint sound of sneezing followed by an annoyed grown and the rustle of tissues coming from the bedroom down the hall, a sound that had been echoing through their shared apartment all day. 

Wanda sighed and closed her book, setting it aside. She couldn't concentrate on reading it anyway. Not when she knew her girlfriend was feeling miserable in the other room. Nat had caught some sort of bug, and as much as she was trying to hide it, Wanda could tell it was taking a toll on her. 

But she had an idea to help. Wanda got up and headed into the kitchen. She was known for her magical prowess of course, and she intended to put her abilities to good use. She opened the pantry and gathered a selection of herbs, honey, and other ingredients, then began to brew a special tea. One that should provide some comfort to her miserable partner. 

Wanda hummed to herself as she worked her magic, the scent of the steamy concoction wafting into the air, filling the apartment with a comforting aroma of herbs. Wanda knew she was on the right track. Her magic was at its best when she was motivated by love and a desire to help those she cared about. 

Before long it was done. Once the tea was ready, she poured it into a mug and carried it down the hallway to the bedroom. She pushed open the door and found Nat curled up in a nest of blankets, looking both adorable and pitiful at the same time. 

Natasha sniffled and looked up as Wanda entered the room. "Hey," she rasped, her voice scratchy from all the coughing she’d been failing at muffling throughout the day, “Sorry, was I being too loud.” 

Wanda smiled sympathetically and approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside her girlfriend, "Hey, love. Not at all, don’t worry,  I just came to bring you something." 

Natasha's eyes brightened a little as she noticed the steaming mug in Wanda's hand, sitting up she asked curiously "Is that for me?" 

“Mhm.” Wanda nodded and handed the mug to Nat. "It's a special blend I made just for you. It should help you feel a little better, it’ll let you finally sleep too. I can tell you’re tired.” She pressed a soft kiss to the redheads’ cheek. 

Nat smiled to herself before taking a cautious sip. The effects were immediate, and she could feel the soothing effects of the tea settling it. She let out a contented sigh and nestled further into her blankets. "Thank you Wands’." 

"You're welcome," Wanda soothed gently, "I really hate seeing you like this. Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

Natasha reached out and took Wanda's hand, giving it a weak but appreciative squeeze. "You’ve already done enough.” 

Wanda smiled and used her magic to gently stroke Natasha's hair, soothing her further. The magic tea began to work its sleepy magic, and Nat's eyelids began to grow heavy. 

"Rest, my love," Wanda whispered, her eyes glowing with a soft, comforting light. "I'll be right here." 

With a final sigh, the widow closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips, as she drifted off to sleep. Wanda continued to sit by her side, her magic keeping a protective watch over her beloved girlfriend. In that moment, she knew that love and magic were the most powerful healers of all. 

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[lnfours]

summer loving (eleven) ⎸t.h

⌙ summary: your mom and tom’s mom grew up together, swearing that their kids would be life long friends. and it was true, the holland boys were a special part of your life. but on the annual trip to their beach house this summer, everything feels different. and that’s because it is.

⌙ au: based on the book and tv show ‘the summer i turned pretty’ by jenny han. childhood friends to lovers

⌙ wc: 3.8k

⌙ warnings: this chapter kind of jumps around a lot, but it’s a fun one. mentions of drinking, a little bit of language, a hint to smut if you squint, and just pure fluff. im crying rn. i love these two so much. only one more chapter to go 🥺

⌙ pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

masterlist ⎸ chapter ten  ⎸ chapter twelve ⎸ listen

                               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

before you knew it, you were back in new york city. back in the city that no longer felt like home. nothing felt the same as being with tom, in london, your new home. 

before you left, he made sure to help you with getting started on the citizenship process. it took longer than you both thought, but you knew it’d be worth it. all the time it would take would pay off as soon as you were back with tom.

you were back in your room, your unwritten final essay doc untouched. you had to write a personal essay about something that made a surprisingly positive impact on your life, something that was unexpected but it made your life better. you had been staring at the doc for what seemed like hours, trying your hardest to think of something that’s happened that would make a good 2,000 word essay. 

you huffed, taking defeat as you picked your phone up. you opened your instagram, the notifications popping up at the top bar now becoming a welcoming sight. it had taken a little while, but you had gotten used to it. 

you went to the search page and typed in tom’s name, smiling as you clicked on the post he had made a week or so ago. the pictures were from new years eve, the both of you smiling as harry snapped the photos. you were laughing in his arms, head tilted back as he pressed his lips to your cheek. your glass of champagne was resting behind his head with your arms wrapped around his neck, his was sitting in the hand that belonged to the arm wrapped around your waist. 

you read over the caption, smiling to yourself as you replayed the memory over and over again in your head; 

alexa, play new years day by taylor swift

you laughed at the memory, remembering how you had the song basically on repeat that night and the day after. after the third time you played it through the speaker in the kitchen, he was singing and dancing with you. you even caught a glimpse of him adding it to his spotify playlist. 

you had finally talked to shawn about the story he posted and told him about how you were upset over it. he realized he had messed up and apologized, but you told him to give you some space. he agreed to give you space, and the two of you hadn’t talked since.

you didn’t know if it was for better or for worse, but you were back to being content with how your life was going. the unexpected becoming a positive impact.

that’s when it hit you, locking your phone and tossing it down on the mattress beside you. your fingers danced over the keys on the laptop, typing out the introductory sentence to your essay.

i never really expected to fall in love with my best friend, but it became a surprising plot twist in my story that positively impacted my life. a plot twist that i wouldn’t change for the world.

                              ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

spring

“we now proudly present to you, the graduating class of 2023.”

you stood with your graduating class, smiling as people clapped and cheered. you swallowed the lump in your throat as you spotted your family in the stands, smiling and waving. you locked eyes with a pair of brown ones, his hands over his mouth as he hollered.

you formed your hands into a heart, putting it up in the air. he did the same gesture back, your heart skipping a beat.

after the ceremony, you found the group and was immediately pulled into a hug by your mother. you laughed, smiling at her as she squeezed you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe.

“my little girl, so grown up!”

you smiled, “i’m always going to be your little girl, mom.”

“i know,” she wiped the tears from under her eyes as she pulled away, your brother next in line for a hug.

“proud of you, kid.” he said and you laughed at the nickname, knowing you’d never outgrow it no matter how old you got. you were always going to be ‘kid’ to your older brother. 

the holland family was next, nikki and dom pulling you into a group hug. your heart squeezed as nikki handed you a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “congratulations, honey.”

you thanked them, moving onto the three holland brothers. they all tackled you in a hug, the twins rustling your hair after paddy took off your cap. you laughed with them as they congratulated you, their happiness radiating off of them.

and lastly, it was tom’s turn. you turned to him with a smile as he opened his arms for you. you hugged him tight, your feet being lifted off of the ground as he spun you around in his arms. you laughed into his neck, smiling so big your cheeks started to hurt. you were pretty sure you heard the snap of nikki’s camera in the background, but you didn’t care.

all that mattered right now is that you were finally in his arms.

you pulled away from the hug, running a hand over his short curls, “you were finally able to cut your hair?”

he chuckled, “while i was home, yeah.”

you smiled up at him, everyone softly laughing as they watched the two of you with love-filled eyes. 

“i uh, have something for you.” he said, fishing a small box out of his pocket. your heart rate picked up, watching as he fiddled with the box in his hands. 

you sent him a questioning look, “what is it?”

he handed the white colored box to you, “open it and find out.”

you took the box from him, trying to hide the fact that your hands were a little bit shaky. you untied the ribbon, lifting the lid to the box. inside sat a silver key.

you looked up at him, tears threatening to spill, “is this…?”

“the key to our house,” he smiled, “i may or may not had put an offer in on that house when you left london back in january. i’ve been keeping it a secret since the middle of february.”

you let a tear fall down your cheek, a smile still on your face. your heart soared. you didn’t know what to say, you were left speechless. 

“everything you’ve been shipping to the old house in london the boys have been taking over to the new house. everything's waiting for you, darling.”

you didn’t say anything, just immediately crashed into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. he tugged his around your waist, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

your mom stepped in, fishing an envelope from her purse, “and this came for you in the mail at the house this morning.”

you pulled away from tom, grabbing the manilla envelope from your mother. you opened it, fishing out the papers. you quickly scanned over the first sentence. 

‘dear ms. y/l/n, congratulations on your uk citizenship!’

you looked around at your family, the people you loved. everything was finally falling into place. everything you ever wanted was coming true right before your eyes. 

you were pulled into a group hug by everyone, smiling happily. for once, you felt like everything made sense, like everything happened for a reason. 

“can we go get something to eat? i’m starving.” austin’s voice broke through the silence. everyone laughed, pulling away.

“yeah, me too, let’s go.” harry nodded. everyone got ready to leave the ceremony. you felt tom link his arm with yours, a smile still on his lips.

“so, we have to talk about the decorations for the house.”

“whatever you want, love,” he said, “you can paint the walls whatever color you want, put as many fake plants as you want, as many books, i don’t care. whatever makes it feel like home.”

you smiled up at him, “shouldn’t be too hard, then. wherever i’m with you feels like home.”

he squeezed your hand as he happily smiled back at you, “i love you.”

“i love you most,” you smiled, his arm wrapping around your neck as you snaked yours around his waist, pulling you into his side as much as he could, “but now that you mention it, how about navy blue for the master?”

he laughed, “sounds good, baby.”

the next couple of days had flown by. tom helped you pack the remainder of your things into suitcases, and before you knew it, you were handing your key to the landlord. kat was waiting outside for you, her things had been moved out and to her new place in new jersey over the last couple of days. she managed to find a gorgeous house that wasn’t too far from her parents, a great spot to come to if you ever needed a break from london. 

it wasn’t until she was pulling up to the doors at the airport that it hit you. you were leaving this place behind and starting a whole new life in london. 

a life where you’re madly in love with the boy you had a crush on since you were little. the boy who was the thing you wished for every birthday when you blew out your candles on your cake. the wish on every shooting star, every lucky penny flung into a wishing fountain. 

“please, text me when you land.” kat said, hugging you tightly. you smiled into her hair, laughing softly. 

“i will, i promise,” you said, “have fun back in jersey. promise me you’ll visit.”

she laughed, “i will, i promise.”

you pulled away, kat shortly pulling tom in for a hug, “and you, please take care of my girl for me.”

he smiled as he gently rubbed her back, “always, i promise.”

she smiled, the two of them pulling apart. you checked the time on your phone, sighing as you grabbed the handle to your suitcase. 

“ready, london boy?”

he’s gotten to the nickname by now. silently coming to terms with the fact that you’re never letting it go.

“the question is, are you ready?”

you smiled, “been ready my whole life.”

with one last final goodbye from kat, the two of you headed into the airport. you managed to get through to your gate quicker than you had imagined, the two of you sitting down by the windows. you looked out at the plane, toms hands rubbing your legs as you sat with them draped over his lap. 

“you know,” you said, catching his attention from his phone, “i never thought i’d actually be moving to a whole different country.”

he smiled, “and better yet, you get to live with the most handsome man in london.”

you laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder, “tom hiddleston is moving in with us?”

he snorted next to you, “ha ha, very funny.”

you smiled, leaning your chin on his shoulder. he looked down at you, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, a soft one, but it was filled with so much love.

“you know, now that we live together we can do whatever we want, when we want.”

you smiled as his nose brushed against yours, “keep your head out of the gutter, holland.”

he pressed a kiss to your nose, “c’mon, you don’t want to break in the new furniture with me?”

you laughed as he smiled, pushing his head away, “you’re disgusting!”

“i didn’t hear you complaining last night when i was-“

“now boarding group a on flight 338 for direct service to london.”

you smiled, “would you look at that? that’s our group.”

he got up with you, grabbing your things as you made your way into the line, “we’re not done with this conversation.”

you giggled, handing your passport and boarding pass to the flight attendant. she smiled at the both of you, letting you through to get onto the plane. 

and after what felt like the longest plane ride ever, you were in your new home. the city of london. the city that you never thought you’d be moving to, but couldn’t be happier to start a new life. 

the twins, haz, and tuwaine had picked you and tom up from the airport. all the boys made it known they were ecstatic about your arrival, pulling you into tight hugs and complaining about how much tom talked about you while the two of you were away. 

and after they dropped you off at your new home, the one that was perfect for the both of you to start this new chapter in, you smiled over at your loving boyfriend. 

“race you inside? last one has to pay for dinner.”

you shook your head, “no, i cant. your legs are too long, one step of yours is like two steps for me-“

you cut yourself off and started running towards the front door. he was quick to catch up to you, scooping you up in his arms. he somehow managed to get the suitcases onto the front porch before picking you up bridal style. 

“you’re a cheater!” he laughed, unlocking the door. you smiled in his arms as he carried you through the doorway. 

“you know you’re supposed to do this when you get married, right?”

his lips turned up in a smile as he shut the door with his foot, “who says this isn’t good practice?”

you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, your hands cradling his face. you smiled as he laid you down on the couch, his body hovering over yours. 

“have i told you how stunning you look? especially when i’m on top of you?”

your top teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “personally, i think i look better on top of you.”

he laughed, head dipping down to your neck as his lips ghosted over your skin, “guess there’s only one way to find out.”

                              ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

summer

your head laid on top of tom’s bare chest, his fingers brushing over the skin of your leg that you had thrown over him. he was absentmindedly scrolling through the different streaming apps to find something for the both of you to watch. 

you had started your job not too long ago, the company welcoming you with open arms. it was better than you could’ve imagined. everything was slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. everything made sense. 

your fingers danced along the lines of the indents in his abdomen. you two had been spending most nights tangled up in the sheets, not that either of you were complaining about, of course. 

your mind wandered, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the question, “do you ever think about having kids?”

he looked down at you, the shocked expression quickly dissolving as your eyes met his. you knew it was probably too soon to even talk about kids when the two of you werent even married, but you had offically been together for a little over a year now. the conversation had to happen at some point. 

right?

he placed the tv remote down on the mattress, giving you all of his undivided attention, “honestly, all the time. i like to think about having little tom and y/ns running around the house.”

you smiled, “how many?”

he shrugged, “how about you? how many kids do you want?”

you thought about it before speaking, “i think three is a bit much,” you said, “two is a good number. that way they’re not lonely growing up.”

he nodded with you, agreeing, “yeah, i want our kids to have siblings. gives me more of an army to keep picking on you with.”

you both laughed as you swatted at his chest. you pressed a kiss in the same spot shortly after, “i know we’re not married yet, but there’s nothing that would make me happier.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips, “should we practice some more? just so we know we’re really good at it when the time comes?”

you smirked against his lips, “y’know what they say, holland. practice makes perfect.”

                              ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

winter 

“can you please tell me where we’re going?” you giggled, holding onto kat’s arm as she led you through the park. 

kat had decided to come spend the week in london with you and tom, help you guys put the finishing touches on your new home. it was nice to see her, the both of you picking up right where you left off. 

the real reason she was here, unbeknownst to you, was because tom was finally going to propose. he had went over details with kat over facetime one day while you were at work. she had spent the past couple of days helping tom and the others with ‘operation engagement’, as harry called it. she had made appointments for the two of you to get your nails done, even convinced you to buy a really cute dress when the two of you went shopping yesterday.

you didn’t have a clue what was going on. quite oblivious, actually. 

she had you cover your eyes, making sure you weren’t peeking as she led you through the park tom had settled on proposing at. there wasn’t anyone around, the sun was stating to set. everything was going perfectly, as it should be.

“nope, you’ll see in a few seconds.”

you huffed impatiently. for some reason you were nervous about the surprise, your heart beating a little faster than usual. 

she led you to the walkway, a couple of feet away from tom. harry was off to the side with his camera, recording and ready to take pictures of the memorable moments. 

kat looked over at tom, waiting for him to let her know he was ready. once he nodded, she turned to you. 

“okay, you can open.”

you uncovered your eyes, immediately falling onto the path of candles that lit the walkway over to tom. you smiled, hand covering your mouth as you turned to kat. she smiled at you, laughing as she pushed on your shoulders.

“just trust me, this is good.”

you walked towards tom, a smile still on your face as he stood in front of you, “you look gorgeous, love.”

“could say the same to you, holland.”

he smiled, fiddling with the velvety box in his pocket as he started his speech, “i remember the first time we met. we were both 5 or 6, it was at the beach house. you were fun, sweet, and threatened any girl who made fun of the mole on my chin.”

you laughed, “i’ll still go beat her ass. that mole was adorable.”

he smiled at you again, “the point is, is that we were destined for each other since the moment we met. wether it was as friends or as partners, we were always meant to be together. one day, i was talking to my mom and i remember her saying to me that she’s always felt that you and i were destined for one another. ever since she laid eyes on you, she knew that you’d end up being apart of the holland family one way or another. and nikki holland is never wrong.”

you laughed as he continued, “i knew i was in love with you when we turned 20. that’s when it really hit me that maybe my mom was right, maybe you and i were supposed to end up together. but whenever i’d feel like it was the right time, something would always come between us. wether it was the other being in a relationship or something going on where i wouldn’t be able to be around because of filming, there was always something that prevented me from showing you how much i loved you. until last summer, even after trying to push you away because of how scared i was, you still stayed. you showed me what love is actually supposed to feel like. showed me that no matter what, you weren’t going anywhere. you and i were like infinity.”

you wiped the tear that was slowly falling down you cheek as he got down on one knee, holding the velvety box in his hand and opening it, showing you a beautiful diamond ring, “so, let’s show everyone else that we’re like infinity and then some. y/n, will you marry me?”

you smiled, immediately nodding your head, “yes. a million times, yes.”

he smiled back up at you as he got back up, slipping the ring out of the box and onto your left ring finger. you sniffled happily as he grabbed your face, kissing you sweetly. kat cheered on from the sidelines, harry snapping pictures before running up to congratulate you. 

after helping clean up the scenery for the proposal, you and tom drove back to your house. there were cars parked outside, meaning there were a bunch of people inside waiting for the future mr. and mrs. holland.

once you walked thorough the door, everyone cheered. you laughed, your fingers laced with tom’s as everyone congratulated you. you said your thank yous, finding your mom in the crowd.

you smiled, pulling her into a hug, “i suppose you were in on it, too?”

“of course i was,” she chuckled, pulling away as she brushed a hair from your face, “i’m so happy for you, sweetie.”

“thanks, mom.” you smiled. you moved to your brother next, who gave you a hug and ruffled the top of your head.

you swatted his hands away, laughing as he spoke, “my baby sister is getting married! congratulations, y/n.”

you smiled, “thanks, austin.”

you made your way through the house, giving hugs and being showered with love from everyone who’s been apart of your journey. you walked up to tom, who was with his family. you wrapped your arm around his waist, smiling as nikki’s eyes went large.

“there’s the bride to be!”

she immediately put her drink down and wrapped her arms around you, “i’m so happy for the both of you.”

you smiled, “thank you. for literally everything.”

“you never have to thank me, darling.”

you gave the rest of the hollands hugs, laughing with them before going off to find your group of friends. you smiled as harrison raised his arms, “there’s the happy couple!”

the rest of the group cheered, giving hugs and congratulating you, “thanks, guys. it means a lot.”

“sam, you owe me 20.” harry said.

sam rolled his eyes, fishing out his wallet as you laughed, “you bet on us?”

“no, just tom,” harry said, “i bet him that tom would marry you in the next year, sam said the next two to three, so he lost.”

tom laughed, slinging an arm around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “oh, sweet, sweet, brotherly love.”

the rest of the night was filled with happiness and laughter, everything you could’ve wanted. harry even showed you the photos he managed to take, making sure to put a reminder in his phone to send them to you when he got back home. 

tuwaine raised his champagne glass, smiling, “cheers to the soon to be mr. and mrs. holland!”

you smiled at tom, the both of you raising your glasses, “cheers!”

                           ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

💌  beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)

[xoxobuckybarnes]

August 2023 Stucky Fics

Completed

The Irony of Fate (Rated: E, Words: 10K) by janedarling

Summary: Bucky had been curled up at one end of the couch when Steve got home on Tuesday, buried up to his collarbone in a purple flannel quilt Clint had recommended as "the coziest shit ever, you have to get one of these" and so absorbed by The Obelisk Gate that he barely said hi. Steve had simultaneously wanted to crawl under the quilt to suck his cock and bring him a cup of tea. He'd landed on tea, but now he's regretting it. Bucky had been so warm and soft, and Steve could have slid up under the quilt, spread his legs and settled down in between them. Maybe Bucky even would have kept reading a bit, and Steve would have had to work at it a little to distract him, do his best to get Bucky's attention with just his hands and his mouth — “Have you tried talking to him, or are you just thinking about sex all the time?" Sam asks.

it was the summer of '69 (Rated: E, Words: 6K) by controlofwhatido / @controlofwhatido & art by DeamonSlayer576 / @angelicalslayer

Summary: It's 1969 Woodstock. Bucky's there to get high, listen to some music, and get his dick wet.

you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all (Rated: T, Words: 15K) by biblionerd07 / @biblionerd07

Summary: Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

I just met you (and this is crazy) (Rated: E, Words: 41K) by littlesystems / @littlesystems

Summary: After Steve gets outed by a grainy cell phone picture, it takes the media less than 24 hours to discover Captain America’s secret relationship with James Barnes: classical musician, teen heartthrob, and son of a former president. The only problem? Steve has never met James Barnes in his life.

That Boy Is a Problem (Rated: E, Words: 10K) by 2bestfriends & art by @arsartisf

Summary: In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it. (The leash is a metaphor. For now.)

Smile for the Camera (series) by lordeofstucky

Smile for the Camera (Rated: E, Words: 172K) Summary: In the pages of every high school yearbook, there is a boy that everyone thinks they know. In the case of Shield High School, that boy is James Buchanan Barnes, and sometimes, he doesn't even know himself. No one does. No one apart from a certain blond haired, blue eyed boy that makes Bucky's heart stutter every time they lock gazes. The boy whose name just happens to be Steve Rogers. High School AU Attention: Bear-Backing Boyfriends Get Mauled While Camping (Or At Least That's What the Headlines Would Read in Bucky's Mind) (Rated: E, Words: 10K) Summary: "I need to bounce on it.” Steve’s brain goes a little haywire at the comment but before he can actually process what Bucky’s referring to, or what his mind envisions, his boyfriend plops down on the air mattress in front of them. “And I think you should join me,” Bucky adds. Looking down at Bucky, Steve has to swallow. He wastes no time and sends a quick glance around the store's aisle and finds that it's still empty. Lucky them. Gently, Steve sinks his knees down into the mattress and immediately Bucky’s legs open up to let him settle in. The brunet hums and his hands trail down Steve’s back,. “Mmm, thought so.” The smile on Bucky’s face is breathtaking and instantly Steve’s kissing him senseless. ***These fics are complete but the series is not.***

The Only Familiar Thing (Rated: E, Words: 39K) by brideofquiet

Summary: Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.” And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

Sharper Knives (Rated: M, Words: 3K) by mind_empty_heart_full / @mind-empty-heart-full

Summary: A Friendly Competition with Deadly Consequences When the New York Times Best Sellers book by acclaimed author Yelena Belova broke all major sales records, it seemed inevitable that the story of two rival assassins on the run would be adapted into a film. Now we have an exclusive interview and photoshoots with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes for all the inside scoop. ----------------- Or: Steve and Bucky have been best friends since childhood and are seasoned actors. After many years, they finally got to make a movie together. Much thirsting ensues.

To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most Of All (Rated: M, Words: 118K) by perfect_plan

Summary: Steve is a shy comic book artist and meets his new neighbour, Bucky Barnes. In which there are awkward longings, meddling best friends, comic conventions, heartache, lemons, video games, dorkiness, dancing and two cute boys.

Judged By the Cover (Rated: E, Words: 32K) by EmmaLostInWonderland / @emmalostinwonderland & LouiKazooie / @louikazooie

Summary: Bucky frowns deeply, clicking open the NYT best sellers list. #2. He’s number two. His new book, which he poured heart and soul, blood, sweat, and so many tears into, is number two. On the NYT best seller’s list. He rolls over and closes his eyes, hoping it was all just a bad dream and that he’ll wake up soon… Because the name on top of the New York Times Best Sellers List in the romance genre seemed to be none other than Steven G Rogers. // Bucky Barnes, award-winning romance novelist, is dismayed to learn that his publisher is sending him on a book tour with Steve Rogers, a fantasy author who recently topped the NY Times Bestseller list for his first and only romance novel and Bucky’s personal authorial adversary. As they’re sent off to spend several months touring 50 US cities together, they’ll attempt to overcome their differences and leave the past behind them… maybe they’ll even find love. Bucky POV and fanart by LouiKazooie, Steve POV by EmmaLostInWonderland

WIP

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) (Rated: E, Current Words: 44K) by dorian_burberrycanary / @burberrycanary

Summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included. ***Part of the series A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy): The Same River, Twice (The Man Is Still Left with His Hands) (Rated: G, words: 4K), Still Left with the River (The Paradox of Motion) (Rated: G, Words: 14K), &  Not Language by a Map (The Grammar of Sensation) (Rated: E, Words: 20K)***

Treading Water (Rated: M, Current Words: 193K) by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace & art by Dyslexic_Fetus (Reagy_Jay) / @reagy-jay

Summary: Olympic swimmer Bucky Barnes always believed that when the time came to retire, he would walk away with his medals and world records firmly in the history books and never look back. He never thought the water would leave him first. ***Part of the series Lane Lines: Lane Lines (Rated: M, Words: 132K), Lumière (Rated: M, Words: 5K), & New Traditions (Rated: M, Words: 6K)***

a league of our own (Rated: E, Current Words: 30K) by burning_brighter / @burning-brighter

Summary: Steve’s sixteen-year-old son’s one and only dream is to play in the Major League. He thinks he has a shot when the team get a new coach, retired MLB legend and Steve’s high school crush, Bucky Barnes. Steve hasn’t thought of the man in many years, but seeing him brings back many memories that push Steve to reach out to an old friend and maybe make new ones on the way. What happens when Steve gets to know Bucky properly? What happens when they open up about their darkest secrets and deepest fears? There’s really only one thing that can happen.

[leiawritesstories]

In Dreams

Rowaelin Month 2023, Day 21: Scars

a little imagining of a not-included scene during early early TOG, inspired both my my current fixation on Celaena's character and by the stunning artwork of @sassyhobbits on her instagram

Word count: 1,318

Warnings: angst.......but also comfort

enjoy :)

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Celaena Sardothien was tired. So, so bone-deep tired. 

Wherever that burst of rage as hot as crackling wildfire had come from, it was long gone, leaving her cold and empty, sprawled out atop her threadbare blanket on a mattress that was more springs than straw and reeked of mildew. Though her body cried out for water, for fresh air, for anything to break the too-still darkness, she hardly dared to breathe too deeply for the searing pain slashing across her ruined, shredded back. 

One more set of scars etched onto a once-powerful body. 

Squelching the weak, pathetic groan that bubbled to her lips, Celaena closed her eyes and willed her mind away from the dark, dank barracks at the salt mines of Endovier. As she slid into welcome unconsciousness, a long-forgotten memory unfurled itself behind her eyes–a stone bench on a balcony overlooking a sprawling garden, deep green silk curtains obscuring the private balcony from view. An old childhood hiding place, perfect for all the times the young princess of Terrasen had either wanted to run away from her tutors or listen to something she shouldn’t be hearing. 

Celeana’s dream self approached that bench, ran a hand over the well-loved velvet cushions, and sat down, her weakened, battered body groaning with every slight move she made. In her dreams, her back wasn’t yet a ruined mess, but the dull throb along her shoulder blades and down her spine was an ever-present reminder of just how much the overseers cared that she was a trained assassin capable of a hundred ways of killing them. 

If they knew who Celaena Sardothien really was, beneath the snark and the sneer and the reputation as bloody as her favorite knives, she was wholly certain they would have flogged her worse. 

Aelin. 

Celeana’s head jerked around, towards the direction the unexpected voice had come from. She found nobody else there in the alcove–of course not, she was dreaming. 

Aelin. There it was again, that woman’s voice. 

“I’m not Aelin,” Celaena whispered, her words croaky, choppy. 

Slowly, a woman’s figure materialized out of the night and assumed a seated position on the cushioned bench next to Celaena. Ephemeral, no more than mists given shape, the woman’s eyes were ancient and depthless, and the golden circlet around her head marked her as royalty. She adjusted her position so it looked more like she was seated, and then she turned her deep, searching eyes to Celaena and looked. 

“Aelin died,” Celaena breathed shakily, feeling the weight of the ghost woman’s gaze pierce her to the core. 

Perhaps she did. The ghost woman spoke without moving her amorphous lips, her words echoing directly in Celaena’s mind. But you lived, child. And Aelin of the Wildfire lives within you, still.

“I renounced that name.” Celaena’s voice cracked. “And everything about it.” 

For now.

“Not just for now. Forever.” Her hands shook, and she gripped the cushions for stability. “My land is a colossal mess. It’s best if Aelin stays dead.” 

Oh, my child. The ghost’s voice was impossibly sad, but impossibly comforting. Your time will come, Aelin of the Wildfire. Your time will come. 

“Wh–when?” The tears Celaena hadn’t allowed herself to shed pooled in her eyes.

Soon. Leaning over, the ghost woman pressed a gentle, tender kiss to Celaena’s temple. Her lips were cool but soft; her kiss seeped into Celaena’s soul, rekindling the tiny, nearly-dead spark burning within her. Son, my child, you will be free. 

“What do I do until then?” Weariness doused Celaena like the bucket of water thrown on the prisoners to wake them up in the mornings. 

The woman–some kind of queen, Celaena realized–smoothed one airy thumb over her jutting cheekbone. You do not yield. Those words took hold of the faint, flickering flame within her and poured kerosene over it. You do not yield. The woman smiled, her form slowly dissolving at the edges. 

“Wait!” Celaena managed to murmur before the woman had completely faded. “Who are you?” 

She smiled. I will tell you my name the next time we meet, Aelin of the Wildfire. And then she was gone, her ephemeral form dissolved back into the night. The bench and the balcony faded out from under Celaena’s body, and she felt herself drifting slowly back towards the salt mines, back towards the pain that beckoned with open arms. 

And she welcomed it. 

You do not yield. The ghost queen’s words echoed in her mind, her soul. Faintly at first, but then with all the strength within her, Celaena repeated those words to herself as she jolted back into consciousness, back into searing-hot pain and bone-deep exhaustion. You do not yield.

For she was Celaena Sardothien, and she would not be afraid.

~

An ocean away, a tattooed Fae male tossed restlessly in his uneasy sleep, shifting uncomfortably on the too-thin straw mattress that all the warriors in the barracks slept on. His dreams–when he was asleep enough to have them–came in fits and snatches, bare glimpses of his parents’ kind faces, his commanders’ harsh yelling, his queen’s all-seeing eyes, faraway flickers of intense pain, and a flash of a female he once loved and lost. 

The glimpse of Lyria jerked Rowan into wakefulness, and he rubbed at his eyes, senses adjusting to the dark silence of the wee hours of the morning. For a moment, a crack opened in the walls of ice encasing his heart, and he grieved for his first love. 

Then he closed his unsteady emotions back off, swung himself out of the uncomfortable bed, and silently left the barracks and headed into the forest, his feet instinctually following a path ingrained into his very blood. He reached the clearing and slowly lowered himself down to the soft, bright green moss beside the small stream, closed his eyes, and tipped his head up towards the clear, star-flecked sky. 

For the first time in over a century, Rowan sent up a plea to the gods. Why do you torment my sleep now?

As if in answer, a searing stripe of phantom pain licked at his back. 

He swore, reflexively pressing his hands to his back. There was no blood, no wound, no actual damage–the pain had been in his head, just another flicker of a memory or a dream passing through his overtired mind. It had been centuries since he was subjected to the harshness of military punishments; he thought the memories of flogging would have faded into the darkness of his early years. 

The pain flared again, sharper, like white-hot fire blazing along the length of a bladed whip. And Rowan realized that the dream-pain was different, that it came from a kind of whip that he’d never felt. 

Which meant it was someone else’s agony. 

Which meant…impossible. 

He slammed an iron door down on that thought before it could fully form. Lyria had been his mate, and she was gone. There would be no other, not for him. Not in his immortal lifetime. 

Still, the tiny corner of his heart that had yawned empty even when he was with Lyria strained, fluttering at the dawn of a recognition that he might still have a mate. That piece of him screamed in anguish at the dream-pain, feeling it as deeply as though it were his own, and thrummed in response, longing to send comfort out towards whoever was on the receiving end of that burning pain. 

Rowan shook his head. 

His mate was gone. Whoever’s pain he had felt, just for a brief instant…he could not comfort them. 

Exhausted, he trekked back to the barracks and collapsed onto his pitiful excuse for a bed, closed his eyes, and finally dropped into deep, dark, obliviating sleep. In the morning, the haze of half-dreams would be forgotten. In the morning, the flashes of searing agony would fade into nothingness with the rest of his dreams, as dreams always did.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[pea-green]

Best of Japanese gashapon/vending machines spring 2023: animals at urinals, water towers, actual meat, gryphons made of unusual birds (LOVE the secretary bird one), animals going camping (love the bull terrier inflating the air mattress), and turnstiles

[zombieheroine]

Hyperthermia

Pairing: Endeavor/Hawks Rating: Explicit Word count: 2k Summary: There's no better time to have an affair than war time, but if you ask Keigo, Enji is a bit too gentle.

[Read on Ao3] Kinktober 2023 Day 14: Orgasm Denial

~

It probably made him feel less like he was having an affair, when they were just getting handsy in their temporary lodgings in between missions but didn’t go all the way. That’s what Keigo guessed Enji was thinking, at least on some subconscious level, but he was too busy being the luckiest bastard in Japan to complain – about the uncertainty, about losing sleep, about anything.

This probably shouldn’t have happened between them, but when Keigo was perched on Enji’s lap, offering himself up with the hem of his shirt in his mouth and hot hands running all over him, he could have handwaved anything.

It was dark in the empty office space where they had set up for the night. Desks had been piled into a barricade against the wall with windows before they had even arrived, leaving plenty of space to set up the air mattresses and sleeping bags.

Even when they were resting, they were still ready to jump into action when needed, so Keigo had only taken off his shoes and jacket. He was still mostly dressed, but having his belt and fly undone and the tactical shirt pulled up he felt somehow more indecent than he would have completely naked.

Enji looked at him steadily and head on, but with something like guilt in his eyes. He hadn’t stripped down completely either, just unzipped his hero suit and tied the top around his waist by the sleeves. Keigo could feel how he wanted him, even though Enji wouldn’t let him touch, his erection hot and hard against the soft spot in Keigo’s groin it pressed against. Simmering heat surrounded them, clearly coming off Enji, like a midday in July, the summer sun making Keigo want to take off the rest of his clothes.

Aroused and impatient, Keigo chewed the hem of his shirt and swayed closer to Enji, whose dark gaze followed his every movement. He was holding Keigo by his flanks, large palms pressed just over the lowest ribs. Slow and inquisitive, Enji moved his hands up and down Keigo’s sides, then all the way up and around until the tips of his fingers touched the base of the small wings and the scars there.

Keigo muffled a moan into the fabric, his wings twitching and face burning. This wasn’t what he had fantasized about. In his dreams, he had always been his best self, strong, handsome, and whole, not this – this beaten and scarred thing that made Enji hold himself back. He had wanted to be Hawks, not Keigo.

He shook his head, trying to think less and touch more. He sought relief for his own arousal by grinding down against the other man and wrapping his arms around himself, fingers digging into his arms, and the pulse of pleasure with some pain cleared all thoughts in an instant.

Enji reacted to the pressure in his lap by taking a slow, controlled breath and blowing it out like he was meditating. His hands were still sure and slow as he left Keigo’s messed up back alone and slid lower, and for a second Keigo was about to whine about it but then Enji kept going, far lower than his sides and coming to his hips, pushing into his open trousers and slipping his thumbs under the band of his boxers.

He slipped them down, just a little, enough to tease, and Keigo felt himself twitch and leak into his underwear. How long had he been hard already? Half an hour? Hours? It felt too long. He ached.

Keigo breathed through the damp fabric and rolled his hips, hoping to entice enough to get some proper relief, something hard and heady instead of this endless stroking and caressing. He let out a muffled hum and ground his hips down, his spine rigid and entire body trembling.

Only Enji didn’t budge – or rather take the hint. He took one of his deep, meditative breaths and slid his hands up again, cupping Keigo by his waist in a way that would have been enough to make him blush and swoon a week ago, but now it was infuriatingly chaste. Keigo opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – and glowered at Enji, who looked back unwavering even with desire clearly reflected back.

“Could you…” Enji started and didn’t continue, his voice a low, rough whisper, the tone needlessly calculated, as if Keigo would be intimidated otherwise.

Trying to be encouraging, Keigo kept rocking down with his hips, grinding back and forth, his own desire just as plain and insistent. He made Enji close his eyes for a second and swallow, but what he didn’t get was relief. Enji stroked circles into Keigo’s hips as if to calm him instead of gripping them harder and pulling him close, or rubbing off against him, or anything – anything! – more.

“You could put your arms around me, if you wanted,” Enji rephrased the request, not even a tremor in his voice.

If he wanted to? If? Keigo nearly opened his mouth to make a cheeky comeback. ‘Welcome to Keigo Quiz, here’s a billion-yen question: What does Keigo want right now? A: to fuck, B: to come, or C: to not touch you. Wrong answers only, apparently.’

But he didn’t want to cover any more skin than he already was, only scrambled closer to throw his arms over Enji’s shoulders. It was a good idea, the best idea, he realized as soon as he leaned forward in a way that made him sprawl over Enji’s bare chest and canted his hips just right. Moaning loud and deep into his shirt, Keigo started to grind his hips with intention, rubbing his erection against the bulge in Enji’s trousers.

For a second Keigo lost himself into the movement, just grinding heat against heat, arms hanging over Enji’s shoulders and his cheek squished against his collarbone. He moaned shamelessly into his shirt and squirmed even further out of it, wanting as much of his own skin against the other as possible, more, now, and –

Enji grabbed his hips harder, but not to pull him in, rough and strong like he would have been if he was smart enough to win in Keigo Quiz, but to stop him.

Keigo let out a frustrated sob. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?” he snapped and sat up, close to tearing up from pure frustration. The wet fabric of his shirt felt gross against his chest, his spit cooler than his skin.

Enji blinked at his tone, brows furrowing. “Just that… You don’t have to do that if you don’t—”

“Enji, for fuck’s sake,” rushed out of Keigo’s mouth before he had the chance to make it into something more eloquent. “You’re killing me, just gimme more already, I want it, I promise.”

Was he whining? He might have been, whining and grinding, close to begging. If that was what it took to get off, he would definitely beg. The thought made a new wave of heat rush over Keigo, and he bit his lip as he rocked his hips down, deep and firm.

Enji’s hold on his hips tightened. His jaw clenched, and finally that latent guilt burned out from his gaze. His eyes darkened and regained that steely, sharp edge they had when he saw something he wanted and went after it.

Keigo preened under the gaze.

“You want more?” Enji asked, his voice dangerously level, the calm before a storm.

Keigo shivered, his small wings flapping and feathers puffing. “Yeah,” he groaned. “I want more. I want you to touch me, I want you so badly it hurts! Come on, gimme more already, just… Just gimme something–“

“I’ll give it to you then,” Enji replied, and suddenly pulled Keigo back against him. His hand gripped Keigo by the nape to pull him into the crook of his shoulder and neck, and after placing him there he raked his fingers up into Keigo’s hair.

His face against his shoulder, Keigo opened his mouth and moaned. Suddenly his nose was full of Enji’s scent and the taste of his skin on his tongue, dark and masculine, fire and sweat. Keigo squirmed and moaned at the onslaught and had half a mind to start mouthing sloppy kisses across Enji’s neck just to taste him more.

The fingers in his hair pressed into his scalp and then took a hold of his hair, a delicious tingle rushing all over Keigo’s skin. He keened, melting into the embrace.

In one, strong stroke, Enji’s other hand went down Keigo’s back and yanked his trousers and underwear down to his thighs, then went to pull open the knot keeping his own suit up. Keigo shivered, feeling small and stunned now that he was suddenly getting what he wanted all at once, his blood rushing so hard he felt light-headed.

“I don’t mean to tease,” Enji’s muttered right into Keigo’s ear, “I just don’t want to scare you. You’re my first man, the first person period whom I really want, and I… Don’t want to mess this up. I’m still learning how to be with you.”

Keigo should have probably been paying more attention to what Enji was saying, it sounded important. Unfortunately, he was just getting his cock stroked. “You’re doing fine,” he slurred, “so, so incredibly fine right now –“

Enji huffed. Maybe out of pleasure, maybe at Keigo. Either way, Keigo didn’t really care. Enji had just fisted both their cocks in his big, hot, perfect palm and started to stroke. “Is this good?” he asked, right in Keigo’s ear.

Keigo hung onto Enji’s shoulders and thrusted into the tight grip of his fist, nearly blacking out at the sudden flood of sensation – his voice, his hand, his cock. “Yeah, that’s so good,” he heard his voice whining, shaky with pleasure.

“Good,” Enji sighed. He pressed a kiss to Keigo’s temple, a strange contrast to his fist jerking them, and way too collected compared to Keigo who was just moaning and clinging onto the ride.

He was close, so close he could already feel the release toying with him, and he would have plummeted into ecstasy already if it wasn’t for the simple steady pace of Enji’s hand.

Enji’s free hand slipped back to Keigo’s nape again and squeezed a bit, fingers digging into the knots of his muscles. “I’ll have to slow down a bit,” he said to Keigo’s horror, “I don’t want to finish too early.”

“Nooo…” Keigo whined in protest, smacking a weak fist against Enji’s chest. “I want to come already, I want to come, I need to come! Now, now, now—“

“Oh,” was all Enji said, half surprised, half something else, something dark and hungry. His grip tightened and stroked hard, and Keigo tipped over and drowned in his orgasm.

Yes, yes yes finally! he thought, maybe chanted out loud, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Like a tidal wave the peaking pleasure drew him empty first, the feeling starting from the very tips of his toes before crashing the wave of ecstasy all over him at once. It pressed him down under, turning him deaf and mute and only able to shiver, shake, and come, to come and keep coming even after he was sure he must have been empty already, finished for good.

The pleasure finally relented, leaving him weak and tingly all over, and Keigo simply collapsed and rolled over. He was so utterly sated that even the thin air mattress and the sleeping bag felt like a luxurious bed. He felt warm all over like bathed by summer sun, every limb light like he was floating. He wondered if this was a glimpse of nirvana.

“What the fuck?” he said, blinking towards the ceiling and giving a weak giggle.

“You sound happy. I’m glad,” Enji said by his side. When Keigo turned his head to look at him, he was offered a pack of wet wipes.

“Um… “ Keigo said as he reached out a floppy hand to accept them. “Did you finish?”

Enji tossed two used wipes into a paper bag they were using for trash. “Yes,” he replied simply before lying down.

“Goddammit,” Keigo groaned, covering his face with his hand as he cleaned himself up, “which one of us is supposed to be coming out of a decade of celibacy, huh?!”

Enji didn’t seem to be bothered, but couldn’t leave a rhetorical remark be rhetorical either. His voice was back to his usual, serious tone. “You were excited, and I’m flattered. I’m glad you could allow yourself to be so open in my presence. And you… Well, you are very attractive, so… It’s… I like being together with you just as you are, Keigo.”

Keigo snorted, giddy in the afterglow. He dropped his hand from his face and turned towards Enji. “You’d win the grand prize in Keigo Quiz,” he said.

Enji reached over to zip up Keigo’s sleeping bag for him. “Thank you.”

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Sculpt Me Like One of Your Bird Friends

This is for @sambuckylibrary’s SamBucky Summer Bingo 2023 event! This fic is for the “Homecoming” prompt for the Delacroix card. It's also a reworked version of a story I wrote in a Discord group. Enjoy this goofy story! 🥰

Sculpt Me Like One of Your Bird Friends

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: M | WC: 2.9K |

Summary: Sam and Bucky may or may not have stolen Steve Roger's mattress during a party to commemorate Sam's homecoming.

Excerpt:

“Hiding out from the party too, Bucky?” asked Sam as he found his way back onto the bed, “Holy shit, this is a comfortable bed. What the fuck? Why's Steve's bed so comfy?" Bucky laughed. “Right? I went up here, thinking I’d have a moment to myself, but now it’s – well fuck, it’s over an hour into the party,” said Bucky, wincing at his phone. “This is so annoying. Steve shouldn’t have the best bed,” grumbled Sam. "It's really not fair," mumbled Bucky as he watched Sam lay on the bed, "I want it." Sam swallowed. There was a shift there. Something thick in the air. More than Sam expected from this night. "Maybe we should take it," said Sam mischievously. Bucky laughed. "Take it?" asked Bucky, amused. "Borrow it," Sam suggested, "Let's borrow it. I live right next door. We'll give it back to Steve... eventually." “You know what? Yeah. Yeah, let’s steal his bed,” said Bucky as he helped Sam up to a standing position, their hands lingering before they got to work.

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[farawayfiction]

Hurt

He woke with no clear memory of closing his eyes.  Not a new experience by any means but always a red flag.  The mattress beneath him felt right, like the one installed in the cave.  The ceiling was wrong and the viewing angle was more upright than Alfred usually allowed.  Thirty degrees difference meant that he was neither completely horizontal nor seated upright. 

It took him far longer than it should have to sort out what he was seeing.  He’d designed the facility, had overseen its construction, but had never made use of it.  Until now.  Swimming through the thick haze of painkillers delayed all conclusions and muddled his thinking.  But that was to be expected.  If he was here.  In bed.  Floating. 

He turned his inspection inward and found pain everywhere, dialed down to its lowest levels.  The good stuff, then.  The thought didn’t disturb him.  Even through the painkillers, his chest ached and his lungs felt unusually tight.  A rush of air swept into his nose.  Supplemental oxygen through a cannula.  The lines rested high on his cheeks. 

Without thought, he raised his hand to feel them.  Two of his fingers were buddied together, one in a splint.  Holding them up in front of his face, he stared at them blankly, reaching back into his memories to find the when and how.  Nothing surfaced.  He breathed out and settled his hand back on the mattress. 

“How are you feeling?”

Clark’s voice.  He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone.  More evidence to support he wasn’t at his best.  He might have startled but he was fairly sure he wasn’t capable at the moment.  Bruce rolled his head to get the first glimpse of his friend.  Who was still wearing the suit.  Sitting next to him.  Who’d probably been sitting with him for a while.  J’onn was present in the background, his back to them both.

Bruce grumped a displeased sound.  “High.”

A smile crept to Clark’s face, relief relaxing the lines of worry around his eyes.  “You punctured a lung.  J’onn was able to get the bleeding under control.”

A noncommittal response followed.  That explained a lot.

“You’ve been stable for about two hours but we’re keeping a close eye.  Your blood oxygen dipped pretty low.  It’s probably why you finally passed out.  We wouldn’t have known something was seriously wrong if you hadn’t.”

Certainly sounded like him.  Keep functioning until the choice was no longer an option.

“Try not to move too much if you can help it.  We don’t want your broken ribs to shift.”  Clark’s statement was strained and the worried look had returned in full force.  Bruce had the vague impression he was missing something of importance.  Broken ribs weren’t uncommon.  Neither were bruised ribs.  He wasn’t sure what Clark was so concerned about.   

“When were you going to tell us?  Were you going to tell us at all?”

Were they really going to do this right now?  Bruce sighed and closed his eyes.

“Bruce?”

“Shut up, Clark.  I’m going back to sleep.”

_________________________________

(a/n: Double fill for Batober #11 and Bruce Wayne Week 2023 - Injured Bruce. Set after “Crisis on Two Earths”.)

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

‘To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before’ AU: dear, hello, salutations, love, sincerely, from, goodbye

Dear, Hello, Salutations Violet Lane

“It’s whatever, it’ll pass.” She steps off of her seat, grabs her bag and heads down to their room to strip off her heavy jacket, airing out her sweat and stretching her arms back before climbing into her bed under the fairy lights Powder refuses to take down no matter how many bulbs have died. Her phone spins between her fingertips as she sinks into the blanket sitting on top of her mattress and turns her head to stare at the matching blue and pink tapestry her sister has a different version of on her side of the room, the best ‘I’M SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME’ art Powder has ever made her.

Her mind wanders to all the different times her and Sarah broke up, each time she watched Sarah flare her nostrils and her tears build as one of them calls it quits. The most recent one, three months ago, when Vi told Sarah to ‘back off’ on a bad day leading to Sarah saying she deserved better. Then, the one before that when Sarah called Vi a cheater for talking to another girl for a minute too long (Vi can’t count how many times that happened on her two hands). And the one before that one where they argued about nothing and everything from Sarah not showing enough affection and Vi not writing her those stupid romantic notes she’s always begging her to write before ultimately not talking to each other for a week.

They always came back though, half-baked apologies and the best sex Vi could offer paired with shut eyes, muttered moans that were never her name and maybe a kiss or two, then all was well again.

After sacrificing her relationship with her sister for a relationship with a girl who promised she loved her, she found herself without her partner. And actually this time.

So Vi’s determined to make Sarah rethink her decision after breaking it off and not coming back suddenly.

And when a love letter is addressed to her from an old friend, she finds the perfect opportunity.

It’s whatever until it’s not when feelings Vi wasn’t completely aware she had begun to resurface and she starts to appreciate the position she was forced into.

Weekly Releases Starting September 17th, 2023 :)

[colemillerg]

Probably the most unique thing about me is that I am a transgender male (FTM). While it’s extremely unique, it doesn’t define who I am. I am simply a man who was born in the wrong body and was assigned female at birth. No matter what you believe at the end of the day, my journey in uncovering Cole is a choice I am happy and at peace with. I am a good son, brother, friend, and uncle who contributes to the world around me. My journey is not your journey and you aren’t able to judge my path without first walking in my shoes. Sorry, not sorry. So here are some questions I get about being transgender I thought I would address:

Did you alway know you’re a boy?

Yes. From as early on as I can remember, I felt like a boy trapped in a female body. I liked male toys, wanted to look like a boy, behaved as a stereotypical little boy and didn’t understand how I was different from my male cousin Zach who was just a little younger than I. I have a sister who is 4 years older than me and I have never identified with being female the way she has. There was just something “off”. Growing up, it was made very clear to me that I was in the wrong for behaving like a boy or wanting to look like a boy. It was so engrained in me that this was wrong, I began to hide those parts of me.

What was it like to come out?

Well first and foremost, I didn’t come out as transgender right off the bat. I came out as a lesbian. Which to me was a huge step but a smaller step than declaring that I was transgender. Coming out was a nightmare. There’s no other way to describe it. I was secretly dating my first girlfriend and ex-fiancé Kim. She made me so incredibly happy that I knew if I was going to have a future with her it would require me to be open about her and not hide her in the shadows. I decided one day to tell my sister first. She listened to me on the phone and at the time seemed to recognize that this was something very difficult for me to admit. Then came my mother. I came home one day to my mother who confronted me about alcohol my stepfather had found in my room. There was a strict NO ALCOHOL policy in my house because my stepdad is a recovered alcoholic. Why he was in my room, I will never know. But I was 25 years old and like most young people my age, rebelling and drinking wasn’t a crazy idea. My mother was so angry with me she said some things to me that I never thought my mother would utter. I felt like at this point I was going to burst if I didn’t just confess to her that I was in a relationship with the girl she assumed to just be my friend. Bad timing? Probably. But I felt so betrayed by my mother that I thought why the hell not? She was disgusted and heartbroken with what I told her. She allowed me to continue to live with her but under numerous restrictions including taking on all financial responsibility. I lived with my mother and stepfather for a short period longer and it was horrific. My mother made it a nightmare. To just give you a sample, she took a stack of index cards and on each index card wrote a question or Bible verse to which she expected a response. I was to read and respond to her notes. She would either respond with disgusting/degrading insults, Bible verses, or leave it blank. I still have the index cards because I forgive but never forget. One day I finally broke and while she wasn’t home, I gathered as much as could fit in a laundry basket and I moved out. I had nowhere to go except my place of work (a small coffee shop). Long story short, I was homeless until a customer of mine offered that I could live in her attic. So with no heat or air and only a mattress on a box spring, I moved into a tiny house’s attic in the ghetto.

Have I had any surgeries?

I had top surgery January of 2023. Best decision ever! Surgery was performed by Dr. Hope Sherie in Charlotte, NC. It was an easy surgery and fairly easy recovery. I’ll include pics below.

Have I received hate for transitioning?

Absolutely. If not from my own family and others that I knew personally, coworkers at one point made my life a living Hell. I’ve had trash thrown at me, had bathroom signs changed at work to exclude me, been told I’m going to Hell and that no wonder my mother disowned me, had faggot written on my truck, been sexually harassed, and as of 2020 I was attacked and raped by a stranger. That is a whole different post for another time.

Do I regret transitioning?

Transitioning allowed me to become my true self. No I don’t regret it.