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lorelune · 10 months ago

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O4O: part i

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega for omega, soft smut || wc: 10.3k || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan has been content riding out his heats alone for centuries. You, despite being another omega, are happy to lend a hand if Jing Yuan will have you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

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

✨O4O masterlist✨ // part i — part ii — part iii (part 1 & part 2) //

notes: hello omega jing yuan omega jing yuan save me... the way omega jy has haunted me for months. MONTHS. this fic is incredibly indulgent soft, needy smut with non-traditional a/b/o dynamics. THANK YOU to the lovely @owlespresso for beta reading!! please read the tags and enjoy!! <3

CW: a/b/o dynamics, omega jing yuan (with afab and amab anatomy), omega reader (afab anatomy), past yingxing/jing yuan/dan feng, bottom jing yuan flavors (though reader does not do any penetration), use of toys, worldbuilding around omegaverse, lots of biting, milfy jing yuan, mommy kink without the word mommy (at least not in this part 👀💗!!),

Jing Yuan has not shared his heat with anyone in a very, very long time. Centuries, most certainly. Jing Yuan doesn’t find it very useful to keep track of that length of time— he finds it cumbersome if anything. There’s no use holding onto a past that only forces him to redigest pain.

Jing Yuan rarely has heats. He keeps a diligent schedule of medication and only has to go through them once every decade or so. Occasionally less, if the Luofu is passing a particular star system or comet field. His heats are always cumbersome. He can conceal his omegan sensibilities often, but it is more difficult prior to a heat.

Preheat is a different beast.

When Jing Yuan sequesters himself in his estate for the better part of a week, anyone who knows he’s even there assumes it is to go through a rut. A week is a standard amount of time to take off for a rut and is expected. However, a heat has a standard time off of about two and a half weeks. Much longer to accommodate preheat and nesting needs.

Jing Yuan rarely indulges his own.

The Luofu, at large, assumes he is an alpha. This is manufactured, however only partially. Generally, the citizens of the Luofu assume, given that he is the General and he has a larger, broad-shouldered stature, that he is an Alpha through and through. He always wears scent patches in public, which is normal for both omegas and alphas. Betas, too, occasionally. Depending on the subtype. The Charioteers know that he is an omega, but they are committed to some amount of discretion and guard the information as a secret. Lady Fu, an alpha, will occasionally scold him for being so secretive. Like he harbors some sort of self-hatred that he is an omega.

It is simply more convenient for him to be seen as an alpha. Jing Yuan doesn’t wish to disturb this perception.

And therefore, it is much easier to wait as long as possible between heats and bear them alone. Whatever instincts he has can be satiated with toys and a half-decent nest. Jing Yuan has always considered this enough. ‘Enough’.

(It’s not sating. Jing Yuan cannot lie to himself about this. He remembers laying with Yingxing, and how the alpha made him feel more full and content than Jing Yuan had ever thought possible during a heat. Or ever, truthfully. He remembers how calming Dan Feng’s presence had been— grounding and reassuring, too. Jing Yuan was fucked, filled and protected. An omega’s dream.)

Jing Yuan... copes with what he has. A large, plush bed with a downy mattress, a few donated, alpha-scented garments, and a collection of inflatable, knotting toys. He always leaves his heat with lingering cramps, a brutalized hole, and a yearning that takes a few weeks to quiet itself.

It is natural that he craves his mates. Even if they are long dead (not dead. Not really. Not the same as they once were, anyway.)

And certainly, never to be his again. The mating mark on his neck has long faded.

Jing Yuan tracks his heat so such yearning can be anticipated and planned for. He knows when his heat is approaching, down to the specific day it will occur. He titrates off his suppressants carefully, and maps out a portion of time off for himself a year or so in advance.

Which is why it is very odd that he starts exhibiting preheat symptoms in the middle of the day, a random day, during a tactical meeting.

Even if he had been titrating down his dose in anticipation for a planned heat in a few months time, it is far, far too early to begin feeling symptoms. The familiar itchiness prickling under his skin is entirely unexpected. Jing Yuan has to put a particularly large amount of effort to get through this unnecessary meeting without letting a single symptom slip. He can only adjust in his seat so many times before it is improper, or juggle the cradle of his jaw from one hand to the other before it is clear something is wrong.

If any of the Charioteers and their advisers notice anything amiss with him, they say nothing. The only one who looks off-put is Fu Xuan. She’s a spitfire alpha herself, and perhaps she’s keen enough to notice that Jing Yuan is beginning to feel... unwell. Though he is masking his scent as he always does, he imagines that the flush in his cheeks is becoming increasingly obvious.

Fu Xuan gives Jing Yuan a wary look as the meeting is dismissed.

“General,” She says curtly. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” He gives her a rich laugh as he stands, muffling a groan as his stiff back and knees ache. He’d sat for too long. He feels light-headed as he rights himself and Fu Xuan glares at him.

“I doubt that,” Fu Xuan huffs. “I will not interrogate you in public, nor do I think you would give me an honest answer even if I did—”

“So little trust in me, Master Diviner—”

“ However, I will urge you to go home. ” She takes a step closer and sniffs the air. It’s just the two of them in the meeting room now, the rest of the parties in attendance having filtered out. Subtly and without fanfare, she takes his hand in her own, and presses her wrist to his. Jing Yuan keeps an easy grin on his face but can’t help the way he tenses his fingers, flexing them at the contact. “Do you need an escort?”

“Is Lady Fu worrying for me? How kind.”

“I’m— not, ” Fu Xuan huffs now and more roughly smears their wrists together. The scent gland she is almost abusing is swollen and hot to the touch. It takes all of his composure not to squirm with her treatment. “I’m no fool. If you have a heat starting, you should be comfortable at home, not in a war room.”

“Master Diviner, you think I’m an omega?” Jing Yuan says with a smile. He knows she is already privy to this, but he can’t resist teasing her a bit.

“You are insufferable. Even in this state. Go home. I will take you there myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t return home just yet,” He hums. He imagines he has a few hours before proper pre-heat sets in. “I have a lunch date that I cannot miss.”

“You— a lunch date?”

“Yes, of course. It’s a scheduled event, dear Diviner.”

“Do not patronize me.”

Jing Yuan laughs as she fumes. He has the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinks better of it. The complicated updo would surely be ruffled, and Jing Yuan is already getting an earful as it is.

“I would never.”

Fu Xuan yanks her arm away with a growl. She wears some type of masking perfume, she always has, but with her frustration swirling, a bit of her actual scent peaks through. It’s light on the back of his tongue, floral almost. Nearly inedible, but the kind of scent Jing Yuan that makes him nostalgic—

(For a master with a scent like frost-covered roses, and a packmate with a scent filled with springtime lilac blossoms in fat clusters.)

“If this lunch is really so necessary, may I escort you there at least? Or will your alpha be meeting you here?”

“They’re not an alpha.” Jing Yuan hums. His stomach feels warm regardless. “And I’ll be just fine getting there myself.”

Fu Xuan looks at him, questioningly. Her lips open, then close once more. There are questions she clearly has. And for all her brashness and hot-blooded fervor, she understands decorum better than most. She pries out of care and her good intentions, and Jing Yuan can respect that if nothing else.

“I’ll concede,” Fu Xuan sighs. “ However, please let me know if there’s anything else you need. You have my number.”

“Noted.” Jing Yuan rises, and feels the heat clouding his head sink lower in his body. He’s being engulfed.

Fu Xuan deadpans, “General—”

“Have a good rest of your day, Master Diviner,” He calls with a light laugh, slipping away before Fu Xuan can give him any further grief.

...

As the Arbiter General of the Luofu, Jing Yuan knows its streets and secrets very well. There’s more than one way to arrive at his favored terrace garden without being seen or smelt by the public. It is helpful that this path is lined near an aqueduct stream, surrounded by lush greenery and clumps of fragrant azure asters. This path is tucked away, straddling an external tunnel of the Luofu’s inner tunnels. Really, only the Calibrators aboard the ship use it, and as there are only a few and they tend to keep to their delve, Jing Yuan has very little fear walking this way at his own leisure.

He is glad you tend to take your lunch dates in the privacy of this particular garden, under the gazebo and nestled atop its many silken blankets and pillows. A conventional restaurant in this state would be doable, but unideal.

Jing Yuan can smell you as he approaches. It makes him pause, just outside the gate. His hands hovers over his jade abacus as he opens his mouth to taste you in the back of his mouth.

(Warm, a familiar scent that he associates with the rare indulgence of relaxation. It’s not overly sweet or ripe, but balanced and full-bodied. Not quite floral or fruity, and not deep enough to be akin to an aged black tea. Perhaps like the roll of a hearth or the beeswax of a lit candle.)

He’s sighs. It calms him instantly.

Even if you aren’t an alpha, you are familiar, as is the current setting.

You’re sitting at a low table in the shade of the gazebo. There are several plates of cheeses, cut fruits, salted meats, and nuts laid out. You’re ladling sticky honey into a small dish as he enters, and look up at the sound of the gate closing.

You smile when you see him.

“General,” You smile. “I apologize, I started setting up lunch without you. Everything should still be chilled.”

“No need to be sorry,” he laughs gently, brushing a hand against your shoulder before rounding the table, and taking a seat across from you. “I could never complain about your diligence. You have chosen quite the spread today, haven’t you?”

You flush with a nod, and gesture down to the table, “The markets were lovely today, I had to splurge. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“I-I can do that,” You smile at him softly.

Despite your familiarity, you still regard him with some amount of anxiety. Jing Yuan has long since placed this has less to do with his status as General, and more than likely due to a deepened amount of affection that Jing Yuan... entertains. Enjoys. Thrives off of, even. He perhaps returns it, though he hasn’t told you that explicitly.

Besides, you believe him to be an alpha. He’s sure that, if you did know his secondary gender, such affections would fade quickly. The allure of what he could provide as an alpha is quite different from what he can provide as an omega.

Jing Yuan takes a sip of sparkling juice, and as he lowers the thin-necked glass, you look at him strangely. A crease knits itself between your brows.

“Did I get some on my face?” Jing Yuan chuckles and wipes at the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

“No... you just,” You stumble with your words, hands flexing in your lap. “Are... are you alright? Your cheeks look quite warm, and you’re sweating around your hairline.”

You always have been keen to bodies other than your own. It’s not the most common trait.

“... Am I?” Jing Yuan could choose to lie at this moment. It would be easy to say he was using a new brand of suppressants, or blame it on a stressful day. However, he doesn't like lying to you, only twisting the truth when entirely necessary. “I do suppose I’m at that point in my cycle.”

“Oh!” You startle and sit up more straight. You push a plate at him. “Pre-rut? You should eat, then. You’ll need your strength. Do— do you have someone I can call? I don’t mind.”

Your worry is cute.

Jing Yuan can’t help thinking about it. You are an omega full of so much care and urge to help. Jing Yuan has seen it and experienced it many times, and has also seen how it has gotten you into unfortunate situations. You have a trusting mind and spirit, and more than once, it has been used against you.

Jing Yuan likes keeping you close, so he can look after you, even if it’s from a distance.

He stares down at the plate. There’s a pile of glistening orange grapes, a few roses of sliced, cured meats, a chunk of honeycomb, and buttery looking crackers. It does look delicious, however Jing Yuan has always struggled to eat in his pre-heat. When he looks up at you to decline, your expression looks even more worried, almost sour.

Before he can speak, you are. Petal-soft lips lips downturned. “Are you... not in pre-rut, General?”

He deflates, slightly. He is old— and. He does not wish to steer you away from what is a correct assumption. You are his most trusted companion.

“I am not,” He says softly, and picks up one of the grapes. He squeezes. The skin is taut and tight. “And, please call me Jing Yuan. Formalities can be dropped, yes?”

“I— yes, of course.” You look from his plate to him. “So, you’re... pre-heat?”

“I am, yes.”

“Oh!” You immediately heap his plate with several other kinds of fruit, and grab a clean glass and pour ice water from a pitcher into it. “I apologize— for. Making such an assumption.”

“No need to apologize.” He soothes and lays a hand over yours. “I’m aware of what the vast majority of the Luofu assumes my secondary gender to be. It does not bother me. If it did, I would have corrected the greater public long ago. I apologize for not telling you directly until now.”

“It’s— okay,” you reply. Perhaps a bit hurt. “I never asked. I just— I just thought. Wrong.”

(Please be kinder to yourself, he thinks. It hurts to see you saddened on my account.)

“Nonsense,” he laughs and gracefully takes the water you offer. He downs the glass down his parched throat. He— hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “No harm done. If anything, I’m grateful that you now know.”

(Regardless of how it could change your feelings toward him.)

Jing Yuan has tempered heartbreak for millenia. Another one— is not nothing, but it is manageable. Perhaps not during preheat, but he still has time to mourn.

“I’m glad too,” you tell him, and squeeze back his hand. You only scent him sometimes, always so shy about it, but now you firmly rub the scent gland in your wrist against his. His aches, and the sensation and exchange of pheromones nearly makes him wheeze. He straightens his spine.

“Was that—?” You almost pull away.

“No, it’s very welcome.”

You stare at him, intent and soft, before settling. Tentatively, you rub at the gland in gentle circles.

“You should eat,” you say after a moment. “Do you have an alpha I can call? Or— um, anything you need me to pick up for you?”

“I am fine.” Jing Yuan will text Qingzu for the essentials, rather than troubling you. “I’ll finish lunch with you, and then see myself home.”

“... No alpha to pick you up?”

“None to speak of, no.” Jing Yuan manages a smile.

(It has been— centuries since Jing Yuan had an alpha to care for and stake a claim on him. The notion of finding another has been put out of his mind since he himself had to confine Dan Feng to the Shackling Prison and exile the man Yingxing became. Even after meeting them as they are today, Jing Yuan knows they are no longer his mates.)

“Oh.”

Every one of your emotions is so clearly on your face. You look so sad for him and you squeeze his hand. He has half a mind to pull away, and remind you that he does not need your worry. However, he is in pre-heat, and by Lan, he is craving worry.

“And... heatmates?” You ask. “I don’t want to pry, but it’s hard to spend a heat alone.”

“Once again, none.” Jing Yuan replies without hesitating. The silence that follows is poignant as you study him.

“I see.” You frown again, clearly thinking. Jing Yuan can see the thoughts turning around just behind your eyes. You pile on even more fruits to his plate. “Eat, eat. You need it.”

“This much fruit will give me a stomach ache, I fear.”

“Some of it, at least!” You huff at him. “For me, please?”

Jing Yuan meets your gaze, easy and soft. There’s no threat, only the heat that matches your scent and the feel that radiates in his chest.

(You are not his alpha. You are something entirely different— something that he wants so badly to hold.)

“For you.”

...

By the end of lunch (in which, Jing Yuan does manage to eat a decent amount of the fruit you’d put on his plate), Jing Yuan’s pre-heat has begun to simmer into a more uncomfortable territory. He desperately wants to shed his uniform and armor, and slip into a robe and no bottoms. He hasn’t begun to slick yet, but he will surely start to by sundown.

Jing Yuan stands after the meal, stretching. It’s proper afternoon now, and the birds of the garden chirp eveningsong.

“Jing Yuan?” You ask as he stretches his arms above his head. His name sounds lovely in your mouth.

He hums, “Yes?”

“Do you want a heatmate?” You ask quietly.

He looks at you.

You’re fiercely meeting his gaze, even though you’re clearly struggling to. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth, and you’re fighting a frown from the crinkles on your forehead. Regardless, you stand your ground and ask a question that is surely difficult to broach, especially so directly.

“I—I am offering.” You stammer. “To clarify.”

“To be my heatmate?”

“Yes— I hate to think of you suffering alone, Jing Yuan. If I can be by your side to ease it, if only a little, I would like to be.”

“That is very brave of you to ask.” He smiles with a tilt of his head. “And bold.”

“I— I’m being honest.” You almost whine. It’s so cute. “Is that a no?”

“No, not at all.” Jing Yuan replies. “However, I wouldn’t want you to help solely for my benefit. If you wish to enter my nest exclusively to be an aid, and not out of... personal wants, I would feel guilty.”

“It’s— it’s personal wants too.”

“... Is it now?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Even though I’m not an alpha, as you thought?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain.”

“ Yes, Jing Yuan.”

“I cannot give you a knot—”

“I do not need one!” You break, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. “I am happy to be by your side, regardless of that! If anything, I’m more than happy to share a nest with you without the assurance of a limp and a potential pup.”

Jing Yuan smiles, almost unrestrained, and your cheeks heat deliciously.

You stammer, and poke at his chest, “You’re teasing me—!”

“I apologize, you must forgive me—”

“ Rude—!”

Your bury your face in his chest and nuzzle there. It’s— clearly a self soothing action, one you realize a moment too late isn’t quite proper. You stiffen, beginning to draw away, before Jing Yuan catches you by your scruff and holds you there.

“You’re alright,” He holds a wide palm there. “I apologize for teasing you. I mean so warmly.”

“... Scoundrel.” The sound muffles into his chest.

“Am I?”

You peer up at him, so warm in the cheeks and eyes... almost watery. Something in his chest feels sticky and molten.

“ Yes—” You dare to meet his eyes again. “But, one I’m very fond of.”

Jing Yuan steels himself.

You are an omega. It is not your pheromones addling his mind. There is clarity in the attraction and affection he has for you, one not influenced by the urge to be knotted and bred. Though, Jing Yuan wants that, maybe part of him needs it. There is a trunk full of toys and implements he has tucked away that will sate the urge. The feelings that he carries for you will not so easily be placated.

“I would like it very much if you were to share my heat with me,” He speaks softly, just for the two of you to hear. Not even the garden birds will know his words. “If you are still offering.”

“Yes,” You say quickly, tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. “Yes.”

He chuckles, easy and low, and presses his nose into your hair. Perhaps it’s pre-heat, making him sentimental and mushy. He usually hides out and bears it alone in his comfiest nest so these feelings typically do not get expressed in any other way other than delirious, anguished cries while a knotting toy takes the edge off.

Jing Yuan finds these are nice to indulge, as your scent envelopes him.

...

“I lied earlier,” Jing Yuan says as you enter the threshold of his estate. “I apologize sincerely.”

“Oh?” You ask with a tilt of your head, accepting a pair of house slippers eagerly. “... What about?”

“I am in pre-heat unexpectedly. Though I have been tapering suppressants for an anticipated heat, it has come far earlier than planned . Things are... not as I would like them. You’ll need to excuse me for a few moments.”

Jing Yuan, like any omega, is particular about his home and nest, especially around his heat. He knows his home and inner chambers are not to his liking and he’ll need to prepare them. Even if you aren’t an alpha entering his nest, you are a guest and companion he is very fond of. You deserve only the best.

“Of course, whatever you need,” you assure him. “Do you need me to grab anything while you do so? I don’t mind running to the market—”

Jing Yuan turns on his heel, grabbing your arm firmly, “You’re not leaving.”

“O-Oh.”

Your eyes widen, and heat rises in your cheeks. Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. Jing Yuan— were he not in pre-heat, would perhaps be a bit embarrassed by his brazeness. However, now? The idea of you leaving his home sends him reeling. You cannot leave— not until you smell like him and his nest. Not until— not until this is over.

“I sent a request to Qingzu to fetch us a few things during the walk over. She’ll be here shortly. I do, however, have a bowl of fruit that could be cut up while I get myself sorted. How does that sound?”

You nod eagerly, happy to follow instruction. Jing Yuan knows this about you and enjoys it thoroughly.

He sets you up in the kitchen with a bowl of sunsiettas, a box of meldberries, and a few bunches of perfectly ripe, round kaishen grapes. Jing Yuan leaves you to the task, which he can already tell you will do dutifully. You thrive off of praise and direction. It’s a dangerous trait of an omega to carry, even more terrifying to hold openly as you do. Jing Yuan knows it has burned you before.

However, he intends to indulge you well and kindly, as it pleases him very much.

His mind, far-too warm and itchy, yearns to spin fantasies as he locks himself in his room with a shake of his head.

He must keep it together. Just for awhile longer. His bed is— not a nest. Not the nest he wants (needs) it to be. His duvet, thick and luxurious as it is, needs a fluffing and a fresh scenting. His pillows are not arranged to his liking, and he needs to poke through his linen closet and add some extra layers as well. He needs to make sure there’s lube nearby with clean toys. Water out. His phone charged and volume on— (though, he already sent a message to Qingzu stating his heat has hit and he’ll be out for at least a week. ‘Defer to Diviner Fu :3’ , which is Jing Yuan’s payment to Lady Fu for the list of errands he had sent her.)

Jing Yuan shakes his head with a laugh. The little alpha will certainly be pleased when she hear she’ll get to play General for a while.

Pre-heat drives him forward. He sheds his many layers (without aid, which is objectively a headache and he regrets not asking you for assistance initially. However, Jing Yuan is fairly certain that if he were to be fully bare around you, regardless of his pre- heat or not, he may jump you and drag you into his nest—)

Pre-heat is also making him somewhat irrational.

He throws on his favored robe, a silken, cream-colored garment with delicate gold and red embroidery around the hems. The sleeves drape at his wrists and a sash ties it snugly around his waist. The itch that’s been rolling around just under his skin feels duller, with the less restrictive garment. The fabric crosses over his chest in a way that is... revealing. Probably too revealing, under any other circumstance, especially given that you have never seen him in anything less than his daily regalia.

The thought of looking so indecent around you has its allure to it. One that Jing Yuan lets himself entertain with a smitten smile as he works.

He is attracted to you, surely. This he knows and has known.

Jing Yuan acknowledges that this is both emotional and physical. You are dear to him, truly. In a way that is unique to any of the connections, he holds in the present. Your presence is one he thoroughly enjoys, and, more than once, (many times), has craved during his late-evening ruminations in his courtyard. He— has thought about inviting you over, if for nothing else than a chat in the moonlight and tea or wine to your preference, however—

He has always stopped himself.

Yearning, he will allow in the ways he has learned to manage it over the centuries. Small doses of longing that can be enjoyed and swallowed down, without festering. Being brazen with his wants and feelings is... slipperier. Especially concerning you, as you are dear to him, and Jing Yuan, for better or for worse, would like to share space with you for as long as he can manage.

This attraction is regardless of secondary gender.

Jing Yuan has not cared about secondary gender for a great while (since he shared a bed with a short-lived alpha and one of Long’s Scions, who, like all Vidyadhara, did not have a secondary gender at all.)

Your presentation as an omega was never a deterrent to him. If anything, it was something of a comfort. Jing Yuan was claimed long ago, and he knows that no alpha’s claim will feel the same as Yingxing’s and he wouldn’t want anyone, especially you, to attempt to emulate it. The ownership of a claim was not something he sought. Jing Yuan has had his heart broken enough for this lifetime. He is sure you could rend his heart asunder, however it would not be in the way of losing a mate that he is biologically tied to.

Statistically, Jing Yuan is lucky that such a loss did not cause him to become Mara struck five hundred years ago.

He is very content with whatever your relationship could become. If nothing else, the prospect of it allures him. Especially now that you know his presentation and clearly seem undeterred yourself. If— if anything. Your scent calmed and cooled when he’d told you on the terraces.

Another thing that Jing Yuan will have to parse when he isn’t so wet that he’s leaving puddles in his wake.

For now, Jing Yuan’s nest is satisfactory aside from a few personal items.

Now, all it’s missing is you.

...

Jing Yuan does not find you in the kitchen, but rather the foyer, wishing Qingzu a goodbye with a wave and shout.

Jing Yuan must—

(Temper his instincts because you are far too close to the door and you need to be in his nest and his teeth need to be in you and his scent on you—)

“Jing Yuan,” you say to him warmly, with a smile. There are a few canvas bags on your arms. “How are you feeling—?”

Jing Yuan can’t stop himself from dragging you away from the tall set of doors and back to the kitchen. You squawk at his firmness, but don’t reject his touch. He helps you heft the bags onto a low table. His own arms shake, with both the strain and his own heat-induced weakness.

“It’s really progressing, huh?” You tentatively raise a hand, and place it on his forearm to stroke there.

Jing Yuan practically purrs when you rub over the silken fabric, “It is. Quickly. However, my nest and appropriate supplies are ready. Did Qingzu deliver all that I asked?”

“It seems so.”

There are— three more bottles of lube. A few pearly-looking medicine pills, a specialty item from the Alchemy Commission. Several stacks of ready-made meals and electrolyte powder. There are several vials of milky-looking oils he had her grab for more scandalous purposes as Jing Yuan would like to avoid any type of friction abrasion. Lastly, there are few unmarked boxes with new toys.

“You’re so well-prepared.” Your eyes are wide as you take stock of the haul. Jing Yuan bundles things into a basket and ushers you to his nest.

“I have gone through many heats,” he chuckles. “I have learned the best tricks.”

“I-I can see.”

As you enter his bedroom, you stare at his nest with wide eyes. You jump when Jing Yuan locks the door.

“... Is that alright?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Yes, yes, of course. I just—” You swallow. “I haven’t ever helped another omega through a heat. If you have any pointers or preferences, let me know while you’re still in your full mind, please? I’d like to make this as comfortable for you as possible.”

Jing Yuan thinks for a moment. With a tilt of his head, he rests his hands on your shoulders. Your scent is spiced, a bit nervous, but also undeniably aroused. Your gaze darts down to his exposed collarbones and chest, then quickly back up to his eyes. Heat rises fiercely in your cheeks.

“Your presence will be helpful in and of itself,” he assures you with a squeeze. Carefully, he hooks his thumbs on your outer garment and pulls it down, undoing buttons and ties along the way. Your lips part, breath hot. “I’ll guide you as I need. My heats tend to be mild, though they do last a full week. There will be lulls, which I tend to be quite worn out during. I’ll need your assistance more than anything.”

You nod, taking in his response.

Jing Yuan— he’s holding it together. Slick is beginning to drip down his inner thighs and there’s an ache in his core that feels heavier and hotter by the minute. However, he does want to do this part slowly. He prides himself on his patience. Piece by piece, he takes off your day clothes and tosses them into his nest. Without them, your scent is stronger. Your neck is bare from any topical or adhesive blockers.

“During the rest of it though?” You ask, softly. “When you’re in the throes of it.”

Jing Yuan hums, letting a shaking hand rest on the curve of your waist, “I’m not certain. It’s been quite some time since I’ve shared a heat with anyone.”

“... Really?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan presses his lips to your forehead without thinking. The heat of it, of you, sinks into his own. He feels like he’s going to burn up. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You answer, and push yourself closer to his neck. Your lips part to taste his scent on the back of your tongue. “You are a catch. I know you have quite the lineup of suitors... I just assumed.“

“You also assumed I was an alpha.”

“The General is a skillful liar.”

Jing Yuan clicks his tongue, sliding a hand below your last garments. Satin, lacey things that are almost sheer. Thin. He could tear them easily, but doesn’t. His touch lingers.

“ Jing Yuan,” he reminds you. You stammer before pitching into him. He carefully walks the two of you backwards. His legs are close to giving out. “And I’d like to think of it as a skillful withholding of unnecessary information.”

“ Jing Yuan is very good with his words,” You murmur into the soft skin of his neck, lingering around one of the scent glands there. They ache, sore and unstimulated.

So carefully, you stretch up on your tiptoes to nose at one of them. Your scents bloom together and his eyes almost roll back into his head at the meld of it, the relief and rush of connection.

It’s the last push Jing Yuan needs before dragging you into his nest with a stifled moan. Coherency is shattered and all he can do is crave, crave, crave.

...

You are a good heatmate.

Astoundingly good. Attentive, kind, and so soft. It’s a relief to Jing Yuan, who’s heat-addled mind is so used to loneliness and cold. You do not have the scent or knot of an alpha, but you’re more than enough. It’s presence and comfort in a way Jing Yuan so, so missed. It’s enough in a different way— and that difference is good.

(You are not Yingxing or Dan Feng, and Jing Yuan is grateful that you aren’t.)

Jing Yuan finds himself on his back, with you wrapped around him. You let him pillow his cheek against your collarbone. His nose presses against your scent gland, and he pants against it with an open mouth and spit slicked lips. Your hand lays over his chest, cupping his breast while gently thumbing over his nipple. He’s so swollen there, aching.

He cries out as you pinch, as if it could relieve any of the pressure roiling around under his skin.

You curl closer into him with your lips against his temple. “Does that feel good?”

He can only keen and hope you understand that it’s a plea for more.

You must because a moment later you’re squeezing with your entire hand. It’s— too big of a handful for you. Your fingers are soft and your touch gentle. The visual of the plump flesh of his chest bulging out from between your fingers rewires Jing Yuan’s brain for a craving he never knew possible. A rush of slick gushes from his cunt and— it’s so much. He lurches into your neck, licking blindly at your scent gland. Vaguely, he notices you stiffen and your scent grows a little sharper.

It’s worry. Jing Yuan can’t have that.

With every ounce of his strength, Jing Yuan rolls you below him, and sits on your hips. You let him, so pliant and agreeable, and lay below him. Jing Yuan’s breath catches and drool slips to the corners of his mouth.

You are beautiful. You look debauched, and you’re not the one in heat. You’re flushed and damp with sweat, just as he is. The robe he’d draped you in is mostly open, revealing supple skin and your last bastion of modesty in the form of a cute pair of panties that Jing Yuan will fantasize about later.

You look up at him in awe, lust-hazed just like him. There’s little composure to be had as your fists ball up in the sheets around his thighs. Your gaze goes glassy as you look from his face down to where he’s seated atop you and back again.

“No teeth,” he assures you. It is the last coherent thought he has, if only to provide your some comfort.

You look up at him sweetly and nod, grabbing the plump flesh above his hips. “No teeth.”

(A claim wouldn’t take, anyway. Not really. Omega-to-omega pairings lack the necessary pheromones to stake a claim on each other. The most it would do would indicate that whoever has been bitten is a submissive-leaning packmate. Which— Jing Yuan actually would not mind biting you. He would like his teeth in your neck if you would ever allow him.)

He groans at the thought, lowering his head as a silver mane of hair spills around his face.

Jing Yuan is drenched and hard, leaking from the tip of his cock and seam of his cunt. It’s— filthy. You’re soaked too, with a mix of him and undoubtedly yourself too, though Jing Yuan can’t scent it over the smell of his own heat. It’s regrettable as he is sure the mix of you must be divine. Heavenly.

He wants it in his mouth.

Jing Yuan slinks down your body, licking and sucking at patches of your skin. You try to bat him off, haul him up and away from your own leaking sex, but he resists. He needs a taste or he’ll die, probably. His heat can be quelled in a number of ways, he presumes.

With his face buried in your cunt, surrounded by your scent, the ache for a knot is dulled. When you cry out on his tongue, it is almost deafened.

Jing Yuan drinks you up— he should pay more mind to your clit, probably, if he wants to get you off properly. However, he is so immensely distracted by your entrance and the essence of you that’s leaking out. There’s a rapidly widening damp spot beneath your ass. A steady flow that Jing Yuan needs in him.

He seals his mouth over your cunt, and prods his tongue inside of you. He presses so close, suffocating with his nose tight to your clit, to lap at your insides.

You— you wail above him. Your hands bury in his increasingly tangled mess of hair for any sort of leverage. Jing Yuan doesn’t let up; he doesn’t think he can. Your tone crashes into one that’s softer, more airy, begging for more. For less. Jing Yuan can’t entirely tell. He isn’t sure he cares, truthfully. All he knows is that your thighs tighten around his head with each suck and slurp.

The sound of it is heavenly.

Your thighs press around his face. Flush to his cheeks are the scent glands in the apex of your inner thighs. Not everyone has them, as they’re something of a recessive trait among all secondary genders. The scent that comes off them is your own, however muskier and deeper. It sticks to the inside of his nose and pours down his throat like a nectar. You mewl when he breaks away to lap at one, coaxing out more of the scent. He gluts himself on it.

He needs, he needs, he needs.

“Jing Yuan,” you pant above him, propping yourself up with one arm while the other blindly reaches among his nest. “Do you need it? Knot?”

He—

(He needs to be filled. He isn’t picky if that feeling is quenched with his cunt, ass, throat, or nose. The scent of you is almost enough, even if he clenches down on nothing and feels hollow in his belly. The sensations are so dull with you nearby. He feels heat incensed, but in a way that craves closeness with you and not the manic pursuit of a knot.)

It’s refreshing. Jing Yuan regrets not propositioning you for this treatment sooner.

“Are you offering?” Jing Yuan purrs. He places his thumbs over the scent glands of your inner thighs and presses down on the swell of them, just under your skin.

Your back bends off the bed and you throw your hand over your mouth. Teary eyes meet him and you nod. From the folds of the nest, you pull forth a knotting toy with a shaking grip.

It’s beautiful for a toy. It’s a model that Jing Yuan had seen in a few high-end adverts on the few social medias he moonlighted on. It’s a flesh-like plastic cock, with an inflatable knot at the base. A little, wired remote drags along the blankets of his nest as you hold the phallus out to him. The plastic of the toy is a light gold, cut with veins of blue. It looks otherworldly and unreal. Jing Yuan has never cared for much realism with his toys, though this one is human enough.

He makes a mental note to get Qingzu a bouquet for purchasing it for him on such short notice.

The head of it feels cool against his cunt. It’s a welcome sensation as it feels like his body is burning up from the insight. He lays over you, wrestling you a bit to be flat below him, with his thighs caging yours. He growls when you try to grab the toy from his hands to assist.

It makes you pause.

Your soft palms cup his cheeks, “Do you not want me to help?”

“The angle—” The angle won’t be right, Jing Yuan wants to say. His words feel lost in his throat as he slowly begins to push inside himself. He gasps and tries to duck into your neck, to like and suck at the gland there and feast on your scent.

“I can try—?”

“ No.”

Jing Yuan wants you just like this. In his nest, smelling like him and arousal and safety. The toy that’s sliding into his cunt is mostly irrelevant, as is the twitch of his cock as he slowly and methodically fucks the toy into himself. Little by little, he bullies it into his underused hole. The stretch is— is not bad. It would be far more uncomfortable if he weren’t in heat and pouring slick.

You ask more quietly, just as he bottoms out. You still haven’t let go of his face. “Are you sure?”

He is, but he can’t find the words to say so. Instead, he nods and tucks himself closer to you. You pet down the back of his neck and push on his scent glands. They ache with his heat. The pressure and direct contact makes him grunt as he adjusts to the toy in his cunt.

You hush him and nuzzle in his cheeks, “You’re doing so well. So good, Jing Yuan.”

He keens and pulls back the toy cock, only to shove it back into himself a moment later. Praise from you is a drug. He’s sure. You’re unbearably earnest and sweet and you are too kind to him. You whisper more of them into his ear as he fucks himself, deep and slow. He feels the sentiment of your words more than he hears it. Deeply affectionate and caring. If he were more lucid, he would be disarmed by you, speechless even. Perhaps he is already speechless, but he blames that on the heat haze and how the head of the toy is pressing deliciously into his sweet spot.

He narrows his focus on the spot and fucks him on the toy in earnest.

Jing Yuan will have an arm ache after this. Many aches, actually. It will be worth it. It is easiest to bear with you underneath him, tilting your hips up to grind against his dripping cock. It’s not the friction his body craves, but it’s welcome. It sends sparks down his spine and he whines into your neck.

You nip at his neck, high on the side of it, and Jing Yuan lets loose a cracking moan. It’s almost embarrassingly loud. Were Jing Yuan able to feel shame in that moment, he’d be red-faced.

Instead, he tips his head to the side, allows you room to mouth and suck marks as you desire. You catch on quickly, and hum, licking broad stripes and soaking him in your scent. Your marks. It surrounds him.

He fucks himself on the toy faster.

(It’s nothing like the heats he had while he was mated with Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not at all. They were shorter, back then. Perhaps it was his youth or the relentless pace and haze Yingxing kept that burned Jing Yuan out faster. Or, maybe it was that Dan Feng always made sure he was wrung out, despite not craving him in the same way Yingxing had. It was carnal then. It still is now, but it does not feel as manic. You are gentle without qualifiers, sweet without expectation, and happy to let him rut into you and back onto the toy as much as he pleases. Your kisses are bruising, but not bloody like Dan Feng’s. There’s a different pace, a different scent, and a different intent.)

Jing Yuan once enjoyed the desperation that Yingxing put into everything he did (including him). He had fallen in love with Dan Feng for his poetics and distanced care. You have neither of these. It is unfair, ultimately, for Jing Yuan to draw comparison.

Perhaps, he’ll feel guilty over it later. For now, his arm gives out and he falls into your chest with a keen. His back arches, hips raised, and the new angle is so, so good. You run your hands through his hair, and move your thigh, just right, so he can grind on it to his heart’s content.

He’s close; he can feel it in his belly.

What sends him over the edge is the feel of your lips against his hairline, the way your lips have curled into a soft, easy smile as you kiss him there. You stroke down his back, like how a good lover would.

You are a good lover.

He shudders as orgasm grips him. The sound that rips from his throat is shattering, as overwhelming as the heat that boils over in his guts. And you are such a good lover, that the little remote must have already been in your hand, as in the moment he comes, the knotted base of the toy begins to swell. Jing Yuan can’t— can’t chase his orgasm. He can feel his eyes growing wet while his body feels out of his control (he hates that, he really does). You, however, are a good lover and reach and stretch, matching his angle with the toy and fuck him through it yourself. The knot catches once inside him, then a second time, and with the third, it locks him and the toy together.

And with what can only be called a sob, Jing Yuan fully collapses on top of you.

He can’t keep himself upright, he realizes. His thighs tremble terribly, and his arms are the same. His eyes are filled with tears he didn’t expect and doesn’t know what to do with. It feels vulnerable. Too vulnerable, in a way that Jing Yuan has avoided for centuries now.

Before the feeling can consume him, you’re coaxing him onto his side and wrapping yourself around him. A sheet gets pulled atop the both of you and you’re nosing into him wherever you can.

“It’s okay,” You tell him. “You’re okay, I promise.”

A muffled sound that comes from your throat, followed by the low roll of a purr.

Oh.

All for him?

He shoves himself closer, skin to skin in all the spots he can reach. His tongue laves at your scent glands as his cunt flutters around the toy. He claws at your back before locking his arms around your waist.

You’re purring for him.

He can help but do the same, even chirping without meaning to as he nips at your jaw. Jing Yuan trails his lips to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You curl and laugh at his touch, and Jing Yuan steals the lovely sounds from you with a kiss. It’s something deep and consuming, and Jing Yuan needs more of the taste of you. You squirm into it, gasping and opening your mouth for him to explore as he needs. Your openness continues to undo him.

It’s all the reassurance he needs. Any poisonous feelings fall away, and Jing Yuan, for the first time in far too long, finds himself content and knotted.

...

Jing Yuan has never had a heat quite like this one.

It is certainly more mild, and certainly a bit shorter than what he was expecting. The worst of it lasts five days, followed by three days that he can’t quite call post-heat. Though the desire in him is less feverish, he still craves your presence so much it hurts, and the idea of you being out of his nests sends him into a toothy panic those days. The ‘no teeth’ rule is modified to allow some biting, as long as it doesn’t involve any scent glands.

(However, Jing Yuan still would not mind putting a claiming bite on you. He makes a note to bring this up when he’s feeling some clarity of mind and can... attempt to court you properly.)

The most intense days of his heat are spent with a knotting toy in his cunt, rutting against your soft thighs, or with your hands wrapped around his cock. He eats you out whenever he can muster up the energy to shimmy between your legs and luxuriate there. Any down time is spent dozing in the warm sun rays that his bedroom is perfectly placed to receive.

The latter days of his heat, Jing Yuan is more lucid.

It’s in those days he truly enjoys his heat. Though the burn of arousal still lays within him, it is easily tempered with your presence in his nest and your many shared bite marks. Your time awake is spent lazily kissing, speaking in low voices, and sharing laughter and cups of cool water, one after the other.

Jing Yuan, partially, did not think he would ever get to experience this type of connection again. with you or any other partner. The intimacy of the act is so deeply vulnerable, and after the spiritual loss of both Yingxing and Dan Feng, he never endeavored, or wanted to endeavor to, open himself up in that way again.

He, perhaps, convinced himself he did not need to.

(Nevermind the many nights, both heat-addled and otherwise, Jing Yuan spent craving nesting companions. Nevermind how many nights Jing Yuan lay alone, accepting his losses and mourning mates he’d never hold again. Jing Yuan could never choose to be selfish.)

It helped when Yanqing was little. He was just a small pup with golden eyes like Jing Yuan’s and a fiery spirit, even when he was so small. Jing Yuan had never considered himself maternal, however having a pup to take care of brought out latent instincts he’d spent the better part of his life pretending didn’t exist. As Yanqing aged, however, he was less receptive to such affections and connections. After presenting (far too young, poor thing, traumatized body), Yanqing wouldn’t share a nest with Jing Yuan unless he fell ill. Even then, Jing Yuan would have to coax him into it.

It quenched something in him. It allowed Jing Yuan to let himself care in the direct way he craved. With his position as General, how often does get to show care with his hands, and not with his words or stratagems? Not with sacrifice or poetry, but with his body and scent.

Jing Yuan realizes now that there truly have been so many urges and behaviors Jing Yuan simply did not indulge.

And as his heat breaks, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like to start indulging them more.

...

On the last day of his heat, you stir around nightfall. You are exhausted, Jing Yuan knows this. Though his heat has provided him with a surprising amount of stamina, you are in standard condition, and looked wrung out halfway through day two of his heat. Jing Yuan’s grateful you’re as fond of midday naps as he is.

You are cradled against his chest, your cheek pillows on his breast. He’d thrown a robe on while washing up, and hadn’t elected to remove it. The silky texture of it feels lovely against his flushed, sensitive skin. You seem to enjoy it too as you grip at the fabric of it in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

Your brow scrunches and a little sound pops from your throat as you try to burrow closer. It’s a hopelessly sweet gesture, desperate and honest. Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle and smooth a hand over your mussed-up hair.

When your eyes crack open, your voice is raw, “‘S morning?”

“No, nighttime.” Jing Yuan nods to the darkened window.

You raise yourself up just enough to look, hum, and then fall back on top of him, “Feels like it should be morning.”

“We haven’t been keeping a very consistent sleeping schedule,” Jing Yuan rarely does, but he imagines that you and your position with the Sky Faring Commission have quite a regular routine. “You can keep resting.”

“I don’t wanna’,” Though, you shove your nuzzle into his chest, smearing him with your scent. “I wanna stay up and talk to you.”

“Me?” Jing Yuan smiles, smitten. He pinches your cheek. “About anything in particular?”

“... Not yet.” Your eyes slip closed. “Maybe later. I want to say things to you, but I feel... mushy. Inside my head.”

“Pheromone drunk?”

“‘Something like that,” Your words slur. “Not that I’m complaining. You smell so good, Jing Yuan.”

When you say his name, he shudders. The hand that’s been playing with your hand slips to your nape and squeezes. You keen at the contact and tangle your legs with his. It’s an impossible amount of closeness you are seeking, but Jing Yuan must attempt to give it to you. It’s abashed and honest, and in the stillness of night, how can he not indulge?

“Do I?”

“ Mhm.”

“Like what?”

You’re falling asleep, clearly. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open even as you inhale deeply. Your lips part and you take his scent into your mouth.

“Earth after rain,” You hum. “Sunbeam and linen. Warm milk.”

He squeezes you.

(A long time ago, Yingxing had complained about his scent. ‘Complained’. His face had been flushed crimson, telling him how distracting his sweet, rich scent had been. Dan Feng thought it was the funniest thing, considering Yingxing so clearly enjoyed Jing Yuan’s scent, as did he. They’d described it similarly— “petrichor” Dan Feng had told Jing Yuan while sweeping his mane back from his neck— “the smell of sunshine” Yingxing had told Jing Yuan after berating him.)

“How complementary.” Jing Yuan purrs and pulls you closer by the waist. Your face is smushed against his chest, but you don’t complain. You keep your lips parted to enjoy his scent. “And you like it?”

“So much,” You assure him, droopy-eyed.

So good for him, so so good.

Jing Yuan presses the tip of his finger to your lips, a bit chapped from the dehydration and exertion. You chirp with it, a bit more awake.

He hushes you, and pushes his finger further into his mouth, “Sleep now, dear. You need to rest.”

“‘So do ya’,” You try to say, though it comes out garbled as Jing Yuan lays his finger on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes widen and go a bit crossed to look at his wrist, then up to his eyes.

Jing Yuan isn’t entirely sure what compels him, but something does. Gently, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. He idles there, and pets down your side.

“I’ll sleep soon, I’m sure you know.” Jing Yuan says softly. “Will you indulge me?”

(He asks to be selfish.)

Without hesitating, you nod.

(And you let him.)

Jing Yuan doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s the specific sweetness his scent must take on, or the night air in contrast to the warmth and comfort of his nest, but you understand what he wants and give it to him without so much as a word.

Your lips open a little wider and Jing Yuan slips another finger inside. You stroke your tongue on his fingers as you close your mouth, eyes going dazed and heavy-lidded. You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent into the deepest parts of your lungs. You suck on his fingers gently.

Jing Yuan watches with still, even breaths.

Later, he will analyze why this scratches so many itches in his brain. Why his post-heat mind feels more calm and sated than he thought possible. Why he wants more of this, always, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet.

For now, he is so, so content to have you this way. You are lulled back to sleep so easily, sucking on his fingers with your cheek still smushed against his breast. Even as you sleep, Jing Yuan doesn’t remove his fingers. He explores the inside of your mouth with gentle, easy pressure, so as to not wake you. It’s exploratory, more than anything.

He plays with you in such a way until he’s too drowsy to continue. Satisfied and warm, he drags you under the covers and holds you close, scenting you one last time before letting himself fall into a contented, new kind of sleep.

...

You depart suddenly, while Jing Yuan is in the kitchen deftly chopping fruits and assembling little parfaits.

You had been in his bathroom, freshening up with whatever products you’d like from his stash. Jing Yuan had left you your own robe for when you exited, quietly beaming that he’d have yet another article with your scent on it.

However, when you do leave the bathroom, you are fully dressed in the day clothes you arrived in a week ago. You stand at the doorway of his kitchen, pausing, wide-eyed.

“I n-need to go,” Your voice wavers, like you’re going to be ill.

Something squeezes in between Jing Yuan’s ribs. There are thin, transparent patches on your neck on either side. Scent blockers. Your eyes look watery. Jing Yuan immediately sets down the knife he had been working with.

“Is everything alright?” asks Jing Yuan. He knows something is wrong, even if he can’t smell you, you’re clearly distressed and disheveled.

“It’s— it’s nothing. It’ll be okay.” You tell him. Your voice trembles and you shake your head.

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“It’s— it’s really nothing. I need to leave. I-I’m really sorry.”

You look from him to the foyer that leads to his front door and back again. There’s a desperate look in your eye that Jing Yuan has never seen with such an intensity before. It makes his heart ache and his hands feel clammy. He sighs.

(And a quiet, ever-present voice in his mind says, “they all leave, eventually.”)

“Alright.” Jing Yuan gives you a smile, the best he can muster. He knows it must be sadder than intended, as your expression falls and you look like you’ve been punched.

“I’m so s-sorry.”

“It’s alright,” It isn’t. Not fully. “Handle whatever it is that you must. I’m only a call away. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath and shudder out the exhale. You’re trying not to cry and it takes everything in Jing Yuan’s being not to rush to you and attempt to mend whatever is causing you distress but—

(He can’t. He can’t do that. You have asked him to leave you be and Jing Yuan has spent his entire life honing his ability not to chase, even when he so, so badly wishes to.)

You give him one final, fleeting look, “Thank you. I— I’ll see you at our next lunch, okay? I’m sorry.”

It looks like there’s more you want to say, but you’re already out the door before you can. Jing Yuan hears it open and shut with a soft thud that vibrates throughout his home. It leaves Jing Yuan standing alone in his kitchen, frozen, while the robe he wears slips down his shoulders. He bears your marks, and reeks of your scent. His nest grows colder each minute. And though his heat has ended, the yearning for you has not.

If anything, the feeling is far stronger than it was before.

He latches onto the fact you will have your lunches. That— he will find some clarity then. That he can inspect you for damage during the next sunshine-filled meal you share, and prod to see if the last week and half did not carry the same type of... meaning for you, as it did Jing Yuan. He will need to make sure you’re well. He’ll fret until then, he knows this.

(A more dormant, possessive part of him wishes he snatched you back from his foyer and threw you back into his nest. If something was wrong, he could. If something needed fixing, he could help. If it were anything official for your work, Jing Yuan would pull any and all strings to get you out of the obligation. If you were hurt, Jing Yuan would do anything to see you better.)

Instead, Jing Yuan idles in his kitchen, feeling struck and helpless. Something in him aches, deep and low, and Jing Yuan lays a hand over his chest and squeezes it into a fist. He had thought he had become used to this type of loneliness, but it aches all the same.

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #cw omegaverse #ITS HERE... ENJOY!!#part one hehe <33

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 18 days ago

Text

Are these my hands, still? (scrubbed clean as they are?)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.6k

genre: hurt/comfort, angsty but happy ending always always always

warnings: we're back with the blood on hands analogy, this is vaguely and metaphorically about consent, love and redemption and finding yourself blah blah blah

a/n: me ?? posting a fic ?? new year miracle fr. I haven't written in,,, a long time. I'm getting back into it but guys I am kinda rlly fuckin unwell and couldn't rlly proofread so I HOPE you all enjoy it at least a bit <33

"Do you ever… miss it?" It's not often that your voice is quiet, but tonight Damian has to shut off the water in the bathroom sink and turn to you, cocking his head to the side as if to hear you better.

"Miss what, my love?" he asks gently, leaning his hip against the smooth, granite counter and watching as you stand at your own sink, scrubbing rather aggressively at the dried blood on your hands. It has been a messy patrol, to say the least, and the two of you are sort of thrumming from the adrenaline of it as you stand in the dull light of your bathroom.

"Just… well, I don't know," you mumble, and it's enough to make something that feels upsettingly close to worry begin to eat at Damian's heart. He's not used to you stumbling - not used to you sifting through words and searching so desperately. And he knows, with a fearful sort of vulnerability, that you're not used to it, either.

So he can't really stop himself from chasing after you, can't find it within himself to leave you drowning. Damian moves toward you slowly as you stare down at your hands and scrub, and you find it difficult to stop even when he covers your frantic movements with one large palm while he reaches his other hand to turn off the water. It had been hot, he realizes rather abruptly, and your skin is too warm to the touch, steam still rising from the white sink basin.

"My love," he says slowly, leaning down a bit with slouched shoulders so that he can crane his head enough to look at your downturned face. "Please talk to me. Please."

You pull your hands out from under his instead of speaking, and he turns his palm to face upward so that you can place your hands there, dried blood ground into the grooves and prints of your skin.

"How long has it been?" you ask dully. "Since our hands looked like this?" Our, you think, a sickening sort of nausea twisting within you. But his are clean these days, always always always.

"It… doesn't happen often," Damian says slowly, a frown tugging at his lips as he feels himself chasing after you - feels himself trying desperately to catch up with whatever's dragging you under right now. "But there's… never a last time for things like these. It's not up to us to know when we'll have to get our hands dirty again."

When you look up at him, then, your eyes are big and shining and open, staring with something that looks a bit less like love and a bit more like longing. It makes Damian's stomach twist, just a bit, and he reaches one arm to wrap around your waist and pull you into him while his other hand abandons yours to tangle into your hair and guide your face to his chest.

There's no space for longing here, he thinks. There is only love. There is only love here and it belongs to you. He hopes, a bit desperately, that the sound of his heart thumping in his chest is enough to say that - to remind you of that. When you press your face closer to him and tangle your bloodied hands into his shirt, he can't help the touch of relief that courses through him.

"I need you to tell me what's going on, beloved," he says softly, and in any other situation you might've laughed at him - might've poked fun at the fact that Damian Wayne is practically begging at your feet like a dog desperate for a bone.

You just sigh at his words tonight, though, tipping back and away from him as you untangle his arms from around you. He lets you, notably, his hands ever gentle and pliable under your touch. But when you spin back to the sink, turning the hot water back on with a steaming hiss, he lets one large palm cover yours again.

"Let me do it for you, please?" And there's something about the way he asks it, something about the love in his begging that makes you crumble and nod.

"You don't have to ask, you know," you say quietly as he takes your hands gently into his own over the sink and begins to scrub ever so gently at your skin. "You don't need my permission."

"You don't belong to me," Damian points out softly, but a frown tugs at his lips once more because he thought you knew that.

"No, I - I know that. I just mean…" You trail off, though, as you stare at your hands engulfed in his, the gentle motions of his fingers wiping the red from your hands over and over and over again. "I belong to myself, I know," you continue, ignoring the thick unfamiliarity of the sentiment. "But we… we've given ourselves to each other, right? You don't have to ask."

"It's not a formality," Damian muses in the quiet bathroom, the pale light reflecting down onto the two of you. "It's a promise. It's… a reminder, my love."

"Of what?"

"Of what you just said," he reminds you patiently, his eyes flickering up to you as you keep your own gaze locked on your intertwined hands. "You belong to yourself now. These hands are yours now, completely. You get to choose what to do with them. You get to choose what's done with them."

"Ah," you say flatly, Damian's words jarring in a familiar sort of way. None of it's new, but sometimes it slips away from you just a bit too much on nights like this.

Your hands, you realize sort of distantly, are clean again, and Damian's taken a towel to dry them with a gentleness that the two of you seem incapable of most days. He moves with a softness that feels learned rather than inherited and it makes something that feels dangerously like hope flutter through your chest.

You don't speak through the rest of it, content to stare down at your clean palms as he smoothes his fingers over your skin and throws the wet, used towel onto the counter. As your eyes flicker to track the movement, watching as it splats onto the solid granite with a dull, muffled flop, you find your gaze searching for the red that you're sure should be there. You find yourself looking for the blood that must've been scrubbed from your hands - that must've seeped into the white fabric and stained the towel into something unusable.

"You cleaned them enough on your own, you know," Damian muses gently, smoothing a stray hair away from your face as he wedges himself between you and the counter to block your view from the towel. "You didn't really need me to do it for you."

"Didn't I?" you say haltingly. "Why did I - why did you do it, then?"

"Do you remember when we were children?" he asks in lieu of answering, a confused look scrunching over your face at his words. "The first time we really fought - the first time you cut me with your sword."

"Yes," you snap just a bit, and you find yourself balling your hands into fists so that you can't stare at your palms any longer.

"I remember it, too," Damian muses further, and you look up at him with furrowed brows while he smiles - something soft and sweet and loving beaming down toward you. "I remember feeling it."

"…What?"

"It's so human to bleed, isn't it? So human to be beaten." Your face morphs into bewilderment at his rambling, at the sweet reminiscence that passes through his voice. He takes your hands into his with a gentleness that wasn't supposed to belong to him, and as he smoothes his thumb over your knuckles you can't help but wonder if there was ever anything really wrong with your hands at all.

"Why are you bringing this up right now?" you ask quietly, and he flips your hands over in his hold so that your palms are facing up, staring back at you as you glare down at them.

"Because I was always human. I just needed you to remind me of it. Sometimes we need to be reminded, beloved. That's all." He says it simply, of course, like the words haven't ripped the ground from underneath you. But they have - and you both know it, you both feel it as you teeter on your feet.

"They don't look like my hands when they're clean like this," you offer hollowly, your voice swallowed by the dim light of the bathroom, shrouded by the love that pours from Damian as he lifts your hands to press kisses to each one of your fingertips. "These aren't my hands anymore."

"But they are, aren't they?" he says simply. "They're yours now more than ever before."

"What am I…" you falter. Damian waits - ever patient, ever solid under your touch. "What do I do with them?"

"Whatever you'd like."

"Should I…" you trail off, staring up at him first and then down to your palms again, his hands tangled with yours. "Should I do something good with them?"

"Do you want to?"

"Always," you answer quickly. "Yes, I - you know I do."

"Well, then," Damian shrugs - like loving you is easy, like knowing you is something he was born to do, "I suppose it's inevitable that you will."

#smsn.writes #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne fic #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne dc #damian wayne imagine #damian x reader #damian al ghul #robin x reader #robin imagine #robin x you

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ellstersmash · 3 months ago

Note

Prompt time! Solas and Athi discuss at length if the other would love them as a worm. Please and thank you 🙏

rare and marvelous

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan Rating: G for General now illustrated :')

“Are you comfortable in that form?”

Athi’s voice cuts into the quiet of the Fade and Solas’ own silent musings, the path they’re currently on less twisting, and therefore less mentally demanding, than most.

“This form?” he responds. “Or do you refer to another?”

“You know, most people don’t have to specify that.”

“I believe we can agree that I am not most people.”

Athi’s features scrunch together in amusement as she most certainly prepares to tease him—her favorite pastime, not that the Fade provides much of a variety from which to choose. “So true,” she says, the sing-song notes of it echoing in the shifting emptiness around them. “You’re very special.”

“Your approval of my circumstances is paramount,” he states dryly. “Which form are you currently curious about?”

“Your new—or, well, old—spirit form. It’s very… tendrily.”

Solas chuckles. “I can say with great confidence that I have never before been accused of being ‘tendrily.’”

“Love that we’re still finding firsts. Don’t you?” Athi nudges him with an elbow. The self-satisfied smile on her face makes its own light, her playfulness a beacon in the dull dark of this domain.

“You are right,” he says, “and I should hardly be surprised that you are still able to surprise me.”

“Or maybe you should be surprised by my surprising you, otherwise it’s not much of a surprise, is it? But back to my question: do you like to hang around as your tendrily spirit-self?”

“It is not so dissimilar to this one.”

“It floats.”

“Well, yes.”

“And you don’t have hands.”

Solas chuckles. “But many tendrils, as I’ve been recently informed. Besides, one does not need appendages to affect the Fade; only a capable mind and sufficient will.”

“Well, you need appendages to affect me,” Athi mumbles.

Solas grins over at her then, waiting until he catches her eye to lean closer, lower his voice, and ask, “Do I?”

She’s not the only one with the power to tease. It has the intended effect, of course: her eyes widen and unfocus for a few long moments, the air thickening with desire before she shakes it off.

“So is that a yes, then?” she asks.

“Yes, I am comfortable in that form, as I am comfortable in this one.”

“But not the wolf.”

This is not something he’s considered, and he takes his time answering. “The Dread Wolf was born of a specific need to threaten the evanuris and as a show of power and protection for those who would escape or oppose them. And, as you know, it takes a great deal of energy to maintain. I would not call it ‘comfortable’ by any stretch of the definition.”

“Cute, though.”

Solas rolls his eyes at her flippancy. “I refuse to dignify that statement with a response.”

“That is a response.” But she takes his hand and squeezes, warmth diffusing into Solas’ chest as her affection washes over him in gentle waves.

Some time later, it occurs to him to wonder why she brought this subject up in the first place. “Are you comfortable with my spirit form, Athi?”

“I mean, sure. It’s just new. And it is different, at least to me. Not as solid.”

“Different in a bad way?”

“No. I mean, yes in some ways. Harder to kiss you, for one thing.” She squeezes his hand again. “Also I’m never really sure which eyes to look into.”

“In truth, that form does not have eyes, or even sight in the way you’d experience it.”

Athi looks up at him, a vacant expression which he can only classify as bewilderment on her face.

“There are other senses which allow me to perceive the world,” he continues. “Ones which are very difficult to explain to someone who cannot experience them, but rest assured that I know where you are and what you are doing, whether in spirit form or this one.”

“That clears things up less than I think you think it does.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps you might simply choose your favorite ‘eye’ with which to maintain contact as we converse.”

“Right, I’ll give that a go.”

“Does it truly bother you? Does it change your opinion of me?”

Athi stops short, her hand still clasped in his tugging him to a halt in turn. “What? No, it doesn’t ‘bother’ me. It’s just different. And I have to be different with it.”

“But I am still…” He is unsure how to ask the right question, but feels it imperative that he discover the answer. “I am still Solas, to you? Even when I wear that form?”

“Who else would you be?”

“Does it change how you feel about me? Your—” It is still so hard for him to accept the concept that even forming the word is a challenge. “Your love for me?”

“Oh.” Athi’s whole being relaxes on a sigh and a soft smile. She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses two of his knuckles. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing can change that.”

“Well. That is a relief. Thank you.”

They continue along their path, but the quiet hardly has time to settle back in when Athi speaks again.

“Solas?”

He hums an acknowledgement.

“If I were in a different form, would you still love me?”

The answer is obvious, but he entertains the subject. “Temporarily?”

“No, I think permanently.”

“Of course I would. It is your spirit that I adore—though I am fond of your form as well.”

She laughs brightly. “Good answer! But what if it was really different? Like a fish? Or a worm? What if you woke up one day and I was a worm?”

“Is your spirit intact within this worm?”

“Let’s say yes.”

“Then yes, I would still love you. And I would learn to love your worm form in time.”

“Okay.” She’s silent long enough that he thinks the matter dropped, then: “But what if my spirit was changed, too? What if I had a worm spirit now?”

“That would be an impossibility.” Even more impossible than the premise, but he keeps that to himself. “If your spirit was no longer yours, but a worm’s, then there would be no you within it. I would cherish your memory into eternity, and leave the worm to live out its life.”

Athi gasps and stops again, dropping his hand to match her other one on her hip. “You would leave me?!”

“It would not be you, vhenan. It would be a worm.”

“But I would be the worm!”

“You’re not the worm. Without your spirit, the worm is just a worm.”

“What if I was always the worm?”

She appears genuinely distressed, and Solas isn’t sure he can reason his way out of a conversation this ridiculous. “Then we likely would never have met. You would not love me either.”

“You don’t know that!”

Solas sighs heavily, cradling his temples in one hand. “I fear we’ve stepped out of the incredibly hypothetical discussion we began and into a deeper one.”

Athi starts ahead without him. “You’ve certainly stepped into something.”

#ellster writes #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dav spoilers #solas #solavellan #athi lavellan #solathi #this is so stupid. thank you for making me do it #and for being absolutely right about this

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 7 months ago

Text

Heaven Spent

℣ Pairing: Vox X angelic!reader

℣ Summary: A naïve angel descends to Hell looking for Vagina. Finds Vox instead.

℣ Content notes: Voyeurism, first time for everything, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, guided masturbation, Vox being Vox, pet names: mostly sweetheart, babydoll and baby, reader is a girl, reader has a pussy and tits, reader has a name and it's a fucking stupid one.

Now has a sequel: Hell 2 Pay!

You weren’t a real exorcist, not really. You didn’t pass the wingspan requirement for a start, or, as the Lieutenant never ceased to remind you, the strength requirements. You were never getting selected into one of the lucky squads who got to go down to Hell and do battle with demons. But you had begged to join, and everyone needed someone to sweep the floors and do laundry, and so, that was you, swooping through the exorcist barracks with a mop and bucket while everyone around you trained in combat.

Most of the exorcists didn’t even acknowledge your existence. You were invisible, inaudible, the help. The big exception to the rule was Lieutenant’s strongest soldier, Vagina. You would see her training tirelessly, on the practice grounds after all the others had left, and bring her a fresh towel and a pitcher of iced lemonade. She would smile at you. She knew your name. When you started talking about something that interested you, she didn’t tell you to go away or walk off.

In all of Heaven, Vagina was the closest thing you had to a friend.

And then, one day, the squads had come back from their battles with the forces of Hell, and she had been gone. No-one had wanted to look you in the eye, no-one even mentioned her name. Gone. Dead? No, Vagina was Heaven’s strongest soldier, you’d heard Adam say as much. There was no way she could be dead.

Had they left her behind? Every day your thoughts were plagued by thoughts of Vagina stuck behind enemy lines, Hell’s forces doing terrible things to her. And of course the Lieutenant wouldn’t send more exorcists after her; how could she risk Heaven’s forces for the wellbeing of a single soldier? But you? You were disposable. You were no asset to Adam’s forces, your wings so malformed that you could barely fly, and with Vagina gone there wasn’t anyone who would miss you on a personal level.

With your access to the exorcists’ laundry, it was easy to assemble a makeshift uniform for yourself, a spare sword strapped to your waist as you lined up with the departing squads. The masks disguised everyone’s faces, so no-one looked twice at you. You filtered out the chatter of the exorcists around you as you watched the portal to Hell open, a glowing circle with a core of deep red.

You would find Vagina, and return to Heaven with her, useful at last. Maybe the Lieutenant would be so impressed that she would make you a full exorcist.

Vox slurped his kale and spirulina smoothie as he watched the descending horde of angels through fifteen distinct drone feeds. This year’s purge was uncharacteristically quiet in the Vee tower; Valentino was doing some sort of romantic make-up dinner with one of his sluts and Velvette was organizing some sort of augmented reality event where sinners ran the length of the city taking selfies without getting killed by exorcists, which left Vox holding down the fort.

One of the systems gave a beep as it picked up an anomaly. Now that, that was interesting. It looked like the pack had a straggler this year. Vox picked a drone to fly closer, opening a channel to Velvette as he did so.

“-you better not be taking the piss, Vox. I’m sort of a tiny bit busy here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Hear me out, this could be big,” said Vox, and Velvette gave a snort but went quiet. “Any of your fuckheads out near the west side of the pentagram?”

One of your wings was bigger than the other. That was just how it was, just a little defect that made it difficult to fly, and almost impossible to fly long distances. When you had asked about it, Saint Peter had patted you on the shoulder and told you that everyone was special in different ways. And you had accepted that. Some people got beautiful singing voices, or brains that could do mathematics faster than anyone else’s, and you got one wing that was smaller than the other, primary feathers growing in with a slight curl that meant your flight was wobbly and exhausting.

And that was just part of God’s plan.

What was not part of God’s plan, it seemed, was for you to keep up with the squads of exorcists descending to Hell. They sped up as they passed through the portal, the pack quickly speeding up to a pace that your wings could no longer carry you at. You found yourself drifting behind, panting as you beat your wings to correct your uneven path.

Strangely, you didn’t see the forces of Hell rising to do battle, but you supposed you were inexperienced in this sort of thing. The last time you’d even swung a sword had been at the exorcist tryouts. Giving up on catching up with the pack, you hung back, your wingbeats slowing as you surveyed the city below from your wobbly vantage point. You should find somewhere to hide, you reasoned, until the battle was over and you could look for Vagina safely.

Finding Vagina in Hell was harder than you would have guessed. Even after you shed your exorcist disguise and folded your wings away, people didn’t really want to talk to you, and when you started asking about Vagina, faces turned covetous, and people started asking for money. Which, of course, you didn’t have. You didn’t need money in Heaven, why would people want it in Hell? But everywhere you asked, the answer was the same. If you wanted to know about Vagina, you needed money. And if you wanted money, well, you needed a job.

That's how you found yourself in a line of sinners three miles long, for an open audition for a spokesperson for something called Angelic Security, a subdivision of something called VoxTek. You weren’t going for the audition itself, but a sinner had offered you money to queue for them, and queuing was a pretty morally decent, angel-appropriate act. You knew how to queue. You could queue for days.

You were queuing when a fish demon with a VoxTek nametag walked past, on a video call with someone important, the other side of the conversation blaring out the speakers of his tablet as he held it up to his face.

“Listen, do you have any idea how fucking busy I am today? Whose crackpot idea was this anyway? No, don't answer that, I don't fucking care. Just pick the three at the front and, uh, that one, no, the hot one with the gray skin.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The fish demon glanced over his shoulder at you, making a beckoning gesture as the man on the other end cut the call.

You pointed to your chest with a silent me? and the fish demon nodded, walking on without a backwards look as you trailed along after him.

“Actually, I was holding a spot in the line for someone else, they were going to pay me money, if you could let me borrow a phone, I could -” you scurried to keep up. “-you know I don't think it's really fair that someone’s paid me to keep their place and now I'm going in with you, isn't that against the rules?”

“Look, lady.” The fish demon held out a hand as he waved the other candidates over, to grumbling from the other people in the line. “I'm not paid enough to deal with your drama shit, save it for the casting director.”

“Are you really going to leave all those people out there?” you asked quietly as the assistant let you through the security gate at the front of the building. “Some of them have been waiting for days. It doesn’t seem fair.”

The man shrugged. “What can I say? Welcome to Hell.”

Out of a lingering sense of guilt, you let the three women who had been in the front of the line go into the audition first, so that when you were called up, no-one was waiting. The casting director turned out to be the tall demon in the shirtsleeves and sweater vest that the dour fish had been talking to on his tablet. He had a large, rectangular head, and was handsome, in a striking sort of way.

He was sat on a bench against the wall of the audition room, elbows on his knees, and he looked up as you came in, watching you walk, an eyebrow raised.

“H-hey.” You gave a little wave. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You see, I was saving a space in the line for someone else, but the assistant told me to come in here, and, you see, I was hoping that maybe I could phone the person, and, um, maybe they could do the audition?”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The television headed demon gave you a sidelong grin.

“I'm really sorry, but I don't.” You bit your lip, mentally preparing for a lie. “You see, I'm kind of new here.”

“Oh yeah? How long since you, y'know?” He made a vague hand gesture, getting to his feet.

Oh, darn. You had no idea what a good number would be here. You furrowed your brow. So if the universe was about ten thousand years old, and the average human lived to one hundred and twenty years old… a reasonable amount of time for a newcomer to have been in Hell was…

“Oh, not long. Only about three hundred years.” You plastered a big smile over your face, hoping Mr Television bought your deception.

“Oh, only three hundred you say? Wow, you are new, huh.” He smiled back at you, and you did a quick internal fist pump. Success! You were a natural liar! At this rate, you'd be able to find Vagina and be out of Hell in no time flat.

“My name's Vox, by the way. Like the company.” He snapped his fingers, and the tagline VOXTEK: TRUST US scrolled across the big screen on the wall of the audition room. He tilted his head. “What's yours?”

“My name?” You blinked. It had been a very long time since you'd had to introduce yourself to anyone not already aware of your name, and everybody in Hell just seemed to enjoy making up rude epithets for you, so you hadn't bothered with introductions. “My name's, uh, Areola. Like the -” you paused, unbuttoning your shirt.

Vox stared at you, frozen for a second before he raised a hand to cover yours, halting your struggling fingers. “You don't need to whip them out, dollface. I know what a boob is.”

“Y-you do?” you stammered, part of you thankful and a smaller, more sinful part disappointed, the touch of his fingertips on your hand like fire against your nerves. He was probably down here for one of the carnal sins, the sins of the flesh Chastity was always warning the younger angels about. “Of-of course you do, silly me.”

“Can I call you Ari?”

You’d always hoped the other angels would give you a nickname like that. Like Vagina was called Vaggie by her squadmates. But everyone in Heaven who called you by any name at all called you Areola, even Vagina did. To have Vox just give you a nickname like this, apropos of nothing, seemed too good to be true.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that. A lot, actually.” You swallowed. “You’re the first person who’s been nice to me here,” you admitted.

Vox shrugged. “I’m a nice guy, most of the time. I can afford to be. You want the job?”

“What?” You blinked. “B-but I didn’t audition. I w-wasn’t even in the line.”

“It’s not a hard job, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Vox, holding out his hand. “You take a few photos, record a few infomercials, and bam, you’re done! You won’t even have to run your own social media profiles. And the money-”

“I’m really sorry, Vox, I-I can’t.” You took a step backwards, hands raised. “I-I should go. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

You ran.

You ran without thinking, heart in your throat, past the security doors, away. Taking something that wasn’t yours was stealing, even if someone offered it to you. You should never have gone inside. Hell was terrible and confusing, and you wished that Vagina was here. She would know what to do. She would have said something tough, and made Vox do the right thing. She wouldn’t have run away. You stopped, panting for breath, and realized you had no idea where you were. You were down an alley, a crowd of curious sinners behind you.

“Hey, it’s that bitch who cut the line.”

“Thinks she’s better than us.”

Oh, this was bad. You took a step back, reaching for your angelic sword with a trembling hand.

Velvette’s face looked down at Vox from the big screen on the wall where the tagline had scrolled, thirty feet wide. “That’s seriously who you’re gonna hire as the new Angelic Security mascot? You have to be fucking shitting me.”

Vox rolled his eyes. “Velvette, she is a real, literal fucking angel. I challenge you to think of a more appropriate pick.”

“It’s your subsidiary, so whatever.” Velvette pursed her lips. “I just hope you know that I’m not costuming her dumpy arse.”

“Your concerns are duly noted,” said Vox, redirecting his attention from the call to his nearby drones. “Now pipe down. I need to focus.”

Vox gave a small sigh as he transferred a small portion of his conscious mind to the drone that hung in the air over the dispersing line of would-be auditions, looking for your face. He flitted from security camera to security camera, searching for a telltale flash of white and grey.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected you to be so naive. Exorcists, from what data he had on them, were hardened killers, who regarded sinners as scum to be cleaned up.

Vox hadn’t spent a lot of time with exorcists, but he had spent a lot of time with killers, and his guts told him you weren’t one. Which was weird, but he could work with that. He just needed to make sure that no-one else got to you before he did.

“Alleyway behind the old munitions factory,” said Velvette from above him, sounding bored. “There’s three pissed off old slags about to shiv your new pet; someone’s streaming it.”

Fuck. Vox grimaced, switching his attention to the feed. Sure enough, there you were, fear on your face as three taller sinners made you back up against a wall, your hands out, pleading. “I’m gonna cut the signal. Make sure nothing goes viral.”

Travel by lightning was fast, but it wasn’t instantaneous. Vox manifested in a flash of ozone to see two dead sinners, you with your sword through the guts of a third. Your eyes were glowing gold, unseeing and dangerous, a splatter of blood across your face.

“Ari?” Vox ventured, keeping his voice as low and calming as he could.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh-” You yanked the sword from the guts of the woman who’d been about to stab you, and oh goodness that was a lot of blood that was gushing out of her. You looked in horror at Vox. “I didn’t-” you started, then stopped. The one person in this place who had been kind to you, and he had to see you like this? These sinners weren’t even soldiers; they just looked like regular people, and granted they had tried to murder you, but that didn’t mean they deserved to die.

“Hey, babydoll. Easy, now.” Vox approached you his hands out, calming.

You were a murderer now; the police would catch you and you’d have to go to Hell jail. You didn’t want to go to Hell jail; the food was probably terrible and you’d never be able to find Vagina. The back of your throat hurt at the hopelessness of it all. You stared at Vox, your vision wobbling as tears formed.

“You’ll be okay, shit, uh, let’s get that big knife out of your hand-” Vox’s blue talons were on your fingers, prying them from the hilt of your sword as he moved in, and you resisted for a second before his coaxing moved you and you let go, surrendering the sword into Vox’s grasp as his other arm wrapped around you. “You’re gonna be okay, I got you.”

Pressing your face into the fuzzy material of Vox’s sweatervest, you gave a big, ugly sob. You clung to him as you cried, vaguely aware of his arm around you, his claws petting your hair. Oh, you’d ruined everything now. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled against his chest. “Y-you should probably hand me over to the police now, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Excuse me?” Vox’s tone was incredulous.

You sniffed, blinking more tears from your eyes. “You know, the police? Since I committed three murders?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vox breathed, looking down at you, his claws carding through your hair. “There aren’t any police in Hell. Well, there are lots of cops in Hell, sure, but no police force.”

“B-but I just, I just-” you motioned to the bodies in the alleyway behind you. “How will I be punished?”

“Oh, fuck me, you’re adorable.” Vox covered his face with a hand. “You’ve had a long day, babydoll. Let me take you home, and you can have a bath, and a change of clothes, and maybe then we can talk about your problems, yeah? I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

No-one had ever been this nice to you, even in Heaven. Part of you wondered whether Vox was in Hell by mistake, and you nodded, slowly, face against his chest again as his hand moved to the small of your back.

“You’re bringing a fucking exorcist to our fucking living quarters?” Valentino’s eyebrow raised above the frames of his pink glasses. “Are you fucking stupid? Or just thinking with your dick?”

“Look, I’ve just gotta win her trust, okay” Vox leaned back, analyzing Valentino’s surroundings through the videofeed. He was in his studio, which was a good thing. There was also a visible lovebite on the exposed skin above Val’s second set of arms. Which was good; it meant Valentino and his on-off squeeze were on talking terms.

“So you can fuck her?” Valentino took a drag on his cigarette, pink smoke briefly clouding the lens of the camera.

“Uh, so she’ll fucking work with us.” Vox sighed heavily. “You have a one track fucking mind sometimes Val, I swear.”

“But you are gonna fuck her, aren’t you?” There was a gleam in Val’s eye now.

“First of all,” said Vox, holding up a finger, careful with his volume so that his words didn’t travel to you ensconced in your bubble bath in the next room. “I don’t recall putting you in charge of where I put my dick. And secondly, fuck you.”

Valentino laughed, good-natured. “Alright, papito.” He grinned, gold tooth flashing. “I’ll take my Angel out somewhere else tonight, you have fun with yours.”

They compared calendars before Vox closed the call, grumbling to himself. All things considered, it could have gone much worse- if Valentino hadn’t been in a good mood, he might have decided to be jealous and that would have been a pain in the ass. Valentino’s instincts weren’t wrong, either; the big moth had been around Vox for too long to not have picked up on his preferences. The combination of dangerous power and lack of worldliness just did something for him. And then there was your body.

Vox chanced a peek through the security cameras as you climbed out of the bath, a sneak preview, he told himself, growing hard in his pants as he took in the soft lines of your thighs, the crest of downy feathers that covered your pudenda, snowy white to match your hair. Fuck, but you looked soft all over, as if his hands would sink right into you. Vox cut the feed with a groan; if he kept on watching there was a good chance you’d walk in on him jacking off over the video, and that wasn’t really the impression he wanted to make. No, he needed to be trustworthy, a good guy, someone you felt you could work for. Someone you’d trust your soul to.

And Vox might be a voyeur, but he could keep it in his pants if he needed to. Business before pleasure.

Vox was right; the bath did help. Warm water cradled your body, the panic that had wracked you flowing out of you. You added bath salts, and bubbles, and stayed in there much longer than you really needed to, feeling the dirt that had accumulated on you since your descent into Hell float away. Vox’s tower was the only place you’d visited in Hell so far that had been clean, all shining chrome and expensive polished black granite. Finally, you climbed out, even your conscience feeling cleaner than it had when you had started, and grabbed a towel so fluffy that felt like it had been imported from Heaven.

The outfit that Vox had left for you was modest and well-fitting, a soft wool cardigan with a camisole and blouse to go underneath and a pleated a-line skirt that reached your mid-calf, all in eggshell colors that complemented your grey skin. Even the underwear was perfectly sized, and you tried not to think too hard about it- you were pretty sure that one of VoxTek’s subsidiaries was a fashion company of some sort, and Vox had probably guessed.

“Hey, Ari.” Vox gave you a smile as you stepped out, and you found yourself smiling back at him. “You feeling better? I ordered us Dim Sum.”

“I, uh, yeah. Thank you.” You pushed your hair behind your ear. “For everything.”

Vox’s smile only grew. Your plan had been to thank him for his help and leave, but he’d gone to the trouble of organizing you food already and leaving would be rude and the little steamed buns he was offering you smelled very good, so you found yourself sitting with him, listening to him talk about the food as he piled different items onto your plate. All of it was delicious.

“-and you need to try this one, it’s got the spicy shrimp paste, I don’t know how you are with spice, so it might come on a bit strong for you, but it’s worth it, trust me.”

You nodded, your reflexive oh no, I couldn’t dying on your lips as you smelled the bun, the delicate scent of the shrimp coupled with a dark, sweet undercurrent. You bit in, the gummy texture of the outer dumpling giving way to something coarser and more savory; perfectly cooked crustacean flesh that leaked juices when broken, in the paste that Vox had described, which imbued a richness and a sweetness both at once. It had a spice that began as an ache on the back of your tongue, and built and built upon itself, until you were salivating almost painfully and yet somehow wanting more. You closed your eyes, your jaw stopping to prolong the moment.

“So.” Vox picked his moment to lean in, face perilously close to yours. “What do you want, Ari?”

You, was your embarrassing, gut instinct response, thankfully stymied by your mouth full of dumpling. You chewed and swallowed, which gave you time to think. Vox was trustworthy. He’d been nothing but kind to you. He wanted to help. “I had- have a friend,” you said, feeling your pulse quicken. It was a risk, telling Vox. If he figured out that you were an angel, you’d be in big trouble. “She’s in Hell, somewhere. I’m looking for her.”

“I’m pretty good at finding people,” said Vox, his expression sympathetic. “Maybe I could help?”

You shook your head, the taste of the dumpling still lingering on your tongue. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much, and I’ve got no way to repay you. I don’t even have money.”

“I’m sure there’s a way we could help each other,” said Vox, unperturbed. “Money isn’t everything, after all. Let’s think about it, see what we come up with, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed Vox, nodding slowly. “You’re really nice to me,” you added, with a small frown.

“And is that a bad thing?” Vox asked, his screen tilting. He picked up the second of the shrimp paste dumplings with his chopsticks.

“No,” you admitted, quietly.

“Then,” said Vox, holding the dumpling out to you, not to your plate this time, but to your face. “You should accept it, yeah?”

Your face flushed from grey to white as you came to the realization that Vox’s intention was to hand feed you, a warm sensation in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Cupping your hands under the dumpling to ensure none spilled, you opened your mouth. Again the outer shell of the dumpling was gummy against your lips, and you held it gently between your teeth so that Vox could withdraw his chopsticks. He looked happy as you chewed, and you told yourself this was nothing untoward, simply the demon being a good host.

“We should watch a movie,” he said, chin in his hand as he watched you chew. “I’ll let you pick.”

Hell, it turned out, or at least Vox, had a much wider selection of titles than were available in Heaven, and you hesitated to pick. In the end, Vox quizzed you on what you’d seen and what your favorites were, and picked something out. His earlier demand, of accept it, let me be nice to you, stuck in your head, overriding doubts that you might have expressed. You’d been warned, in Heaven, about the dangers of fraternization. How two people, watching a movie together alone, could fall into sin. But you’d never done anything like that, and Vox seemed nice.

When Vox patted the sofa next to him, you hesitated, and so Vox grabbed the bucket of popcorn he’d made and placed it by his thigh, a barrier between you.

“Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You looked at the popcorn. “It won’t stop us kissing,” you joked, a small smile.

“You can kiss me, if you like,” Vox returned your grin. “I won’t mind.”

He wasn’t joking, you realized, a surge of warmth through your core that caught you unguarded. “Isn’t that a sin?”

“Kissing?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “I’ve read like five, six versions of the bible and I don’t think any of them said shit about kissing.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, feeling your face turn from gray to white in a blush.

Vox didn’t do more than to open the possibility for you, but that possibility remained, playing at the periphery of your mind as you watched the movie with him, his arm looped easy round your shoulders, the bucket of popcorn the only chaperone stopping your hips from touching his. You could lean over, and just kiss him.

Waiting until he was engrossed in the film, his slim side profile showing to you, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the plastic of his screen’s casing. The material was smooth, the edges angular, and strangely warm.

“Heyy. What was that?” Vox tilted his head to you, an amused cast to his lips. When you didn’t answer his grin widened. “Did you just kiss me? In the middle of the movie?”

You tore your gaze from his, embarrassed. “Y-you said I could,” you protested, adding a belated, “sorry.”

“But kissing is usually a two-way thing,” said Vox, leaning in.

“I didn’t kiss your face,” you said, very factually.

“You didn’t,” agreed Vox, pushing a strand of hair back from your ear, the sharp edge of his talon tracing over sensitive skin. “So I won’t either.”

Vox leaned in, the bucket of popcorn chaperoning you threatening to topple as he drew his lips to your ear. The close proximity of his screen was enough to make your skin tingle, and you drew in a breath and held it, an uncomfortable pulse building between your legs as he took his time, breath hot over your neck and the shell of your ear. You didn’t dare tell him to hurry up, didn’t dare tell him to stop, not with how his mere proximity had you quivering, until at last you felt his lips, ghosting over your earlobe, teasing the soft flesh between them. Was it still a kiss, if his lips were now wrapped around a part of you, and sucking. Oh, Heavens. You bit back a noise, warmth pooling in your core as Vox’s tongue teased the circumference of your ear.

“Vox!” you squeaked, and he let you go, grinning.

“Try kissing my face next time. Or not, your choice.”

You went back to the movie, trying to tamp down the sinful thoughts that were spinning through your head. He didn’t deserve to be thought of lustfully like this. He was a really good guy- he was just trying to watch a movie with you and you were thinking lewd thoughts about him. You were an angel, for crying out loud: you were meant to be better than this!

His lips had felt so good, his tongue even better, a crackling spark that licked against your nerves. What would kissing his lips feel like? What would that tongue feel like, inside your mouth? Vox’s arm was back over your shoulders, his blue claws bright against the white of your blouse. You could touch his hand. Holding hands wasn’t sinful. People in Heaven held hands all the time. Hesitantly, you reached for his hand, your fingertips stroking from his wrist and over the back of his hand to his knuckles.

“You gonna kiss my hand next, babydoll?” asked Vox, his voice low and teasing.

“N-no,” you squeaked again, voice rising in pitch as your throat constricted.

Vox exhaled, glancing over at you, his thumb catching your exploring hand and stroking along your index finger. “Something the matter?”

Oh, all you could think about were the possibilities. Oh his lips on yours, his hand skating down over your shirt to encompass your breast. “I’m having sinful thoughts about you,” you confessed.

“Ohh?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “Lustful thoughts?”

Slowly, you nodded, shamefaced. “I’m really sorry. I know you’re just being a good host, and you don’t deserve me objectifying you…” you trailed off.

Vox just smiled. “I think I deserve to know exactly what lustful thoughts you were having, don’t you?”

“I was thinking about your fingers in my mouth,” you breathed out, though that was the least of your inner debauchery.

“Like this?” Vox asked, trailing blue talons up the side of your neck, over your jaw, and over your lips. You opened your mouth reflexively, and Vox slipped two fingers inside. Oh, fudge. Your eyes fluttered closed, a noise in your throat as Vox’s fingers explored, gentle as anything against the surface of your tongue, your cheek. “Were you thinking about them anywhere else?”

Face hot, you nodded, Vox’s fingers still inside your mouth, pulling at your lower lip slightly as he rocked his wrist back and forth.

“You gonna show me?” Vox asked, his voice still teasing, and with a shaking hand, you gestured to your own breasts, cupping them through the fabric of your blouse. The heat in your core was almost unbearable now, an embarrassing wetness pooling in the gusset of your panties.

“Get in my lap, babydoll,” said Vox, his voice soft as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a string of spittle trailing from your lower lip as he did. “I wanna do all the things you were fantasizing about me doing.”

Oh, you wanted this, you wanted this. So badly that it was a pulsing ache, an insistent drumbeat between your thighs. “Th-this is definitely sinful,” you said, hesitating.

Vox made no move to force you, sitting back a little on the couch. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone going from sultry to playful again. “We’re both damned, after all.”

“R-right.” You swallowed, cursing yourself for your earlier lie. He waited, quiet, the movie playing forgotten on the big screen in front of you, until you moved the popcorn bucket to the floor and climbed onto his lap, your skirt bunching up around your knees as you straddled his legs.

“Well, heyy there beautiful,” growled Vox, looking at you, a finger pushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you felt your face break into a smile. He crossed his legs, one over the other, so that his top thigh was flush with the gusset of your panties, smirking at you when his leg made contact. “Sitting comfortably?”

“Your leg… feels nice…” you managed, lamely, struggling for words. The pressure felt exquisite, the folds of your labia squashing together in a way that made you profoundly aware of the pulsing between your legs.

“Oh yeah?” Vox didn’t tease, and you were grateful. “You wanna stay like that? You maybe wanna rock back and forth a bit?” As if to demonstrate, he pushed his thigh up between your legs, against your gusset, and moved it side to side. You found yourself giving a soft whimper at the sensation. “It’s okay, baby,” said Vox, his voice soft and coaxing. “You can rub against me.”

You shouldn’t, you knew. You knew you should climb out of Vox’s lap, leave the feeling of his thigh between your legs behind, ignore the slick pooling in your panties. You should apologize for taking advantage of his generosity as a host, for even thinking about using his body in such a sordid way. You didn’t, though. Instead you canted your hips back, grinding your sex against the tensed muscle of his leg, finding warmth and friction and pleasure.

A shameful little whimper escaped your lips, and you felt Vox’s eyes on you, intent. “You don’t mind?”

Vox looked pleased with himself. “I invited you here, didn’t I?” He reached to your chest, tracing the lines you had traced when you had cupped your own breasts, the sensation of his claws through the fabric of your shirt leaving a tingling in its wake. You rocked your hips again, finding a slow rhythm, the sensations seeming to layer one atop the other, Vox’s talons moving up again, circling first one of your nipples and then the other, bringing each one to a sensitive point. “Do you wanna get them out for me?” he asked, voice low and gentle.

He withdrew his hands and your skin seemed to ache at the lack of him. “Will you touch them, if I do?” you asked, your voice small.

“If you ask me to,” said Vox, hands smoothing over the fabric of your skirt, over your thighs. “Otherwise if you want, I can enjoy the show. You want me to touch them, Ari?”

He used your name, not an epithet, his eyes on yours, and you felt the flush that bloomed on your cheeks, the flutter in your chest joining the pulse between your thighs as you continued to pleasure yourself on Vox’s thigh, each slow movement of your hips grinding the juices that soaked your panties into Vox’s slacks. Fingers trembling, you unbuttoned your blouse to your navel, then unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, leaving your breasts exposed, nipples peeking over the lacy edge of your camisole. “Please,” you answered, feeling very exposed considering how little you were showing.

Vox pulled down the edge of your camisole with one talon, admiring his handiwork with a grin before his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs tracing soft circles around your namesake, your areolae. You made a noise in your throat, grinding hard against Vox’s thigh, and Vox gave an answering growl.

“Is that a good noise, babydoll?” Vox asked, gravel in his voice now. “You like having me squeeze your tits as you rub your pussy on my leg, huh?”

Shamefaced, you nodded, and Vox leaned in, a shift in his grip on your breasts pulling a moan from you. You froze, uncertain, as Vox lowered his wide rectangular head to your chest. As he had with your ear, he paused before his lips touched the skin, already tender and puckered from his fingers.

You whimpered, heat pooling in your core as you ground yourself wantonly against his leg, wet fabric against wet fabric, and Vox groaned, his breath hot over your breast. “Good girl,” he murmured, taking your nipple between his lips and sucking.

No amount of Heavenly chastity infomercials could have prepared you for how your next moments felt; Vox’s mouth first on one breast, then the other, the gentle tug of his teeth, the electrical lash of his tongue, all of that competing with the feel of him between your legs as you rode his thigh, your rhythm ascending from steady grind to desperate canter as sensation built and built. You found yourself pleading, losing rhythm as you jerked against Vox’s thigh, answering moans from Vox vibrating through your flesh as he suckled at you, your world narrowing to that scant handful of sensations. You cried out, feeling something inside you seize, and your eyes fluttered closed, your hips stilling.

“Vox,” you squeaked, uncertain.

“Heyy. Hey hey hey.” Vox lifted his face from your breasts, pulling your torso flush with his, his arms around you, his legs uncrossing. “I’ve got you.”

As before, his embrace was a comfort, and you found yourself pressing your body against his, your eyes squeezing shut. “There’s something inside me, it just twitched, it’s still-”

You felt Vox’s body tense against yours, and he tilted his screen to look at you, an error message flashing up that he hastily dismissed. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You, uh, you mean to tell me that you don’t know what an orgasm feels like?”

Your eyes snapped open, your core still throbbing. “That was an orgasm?”

“Well, uh, your heart rate spiked, and your pupils are dilated and your blood pressure is dropping now,” said Vox. “So yeah, seems likely.”

“I’ve never-” You sank against Vox, feeling weak.

“You’re making me feel like a real piece of shit, you know that?” Vox pressed his palm against your back, rubbing circles. “Your first orgasm and I didn’t even fuckin' kiss you first.”

“You could kiss me now,” you said, peering up at him, shy.

Vox gave a bark of laughter, a grin creeping back onto his face. “That a request, babydoll?”

His tongue in your mouth felt as good as you’d feared it might.

Click here to read the sequel

#vox x you #vox x reader #vox x reader smut #vox smut #no antlers tho #hazbin x reader

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idyllic-affections · 2 years ago

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general friendship headcanons (sumeru).

summary. what is it like being friends with some of sumeru's citizens?

trigger & content warnings. brief & hypothetical mentions of people being creepy towards you.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. alhaitham & reader, collei & reader, cyno & reader, kaveh & reader, nahida & reader, nilou & reader, wanderer & reader, tighnari & reader. 0.9k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's notes. just a lil filler post while i continue working on requests <3 should i make this into a series? i think i will HSKDHDLD sometimes i need things to post in between requests, especially when i get a wave of longer requests.

alhaitham is the kind of friend you can just... sit in the silence with. it's not uncomfortable silence whatsoever—it's, on the contrary, rather comforting and calming. he'll let you sit right up against him if you so please as he reads a book of his. you want to take a nap on him? go for it, he doesn't mind. i like to think that alhaitham finds the weight and pressure to be soothing (neurodivergent alhaitham my beloved...). you want to read your own book? that's fine. maybe you're doing something else—crocheting, knitting, drawing, writing... he really doesn't mind. whatever it is you choose to do, you're welcome to curl up against his side while you do it.

collei is another one you can sit in comforting silence with. she finds it nice just to spend time with her friend! if either of you aren't really interested in doing anything in particular, or if one or both of you aren't feeling great mentally or physically, she's totally cool with sitting in the calm quiet and cloud-gazing together. if you do want to do something, however, she's up for that too! she would also take you on patrol with her, i think, even if you need special accommodations. she'll figure it out. if you want to go with her, she'll find a way c: she's also the kind of friend that would enjoy trading easy & convenient recipes with you.

cyno is definitely the card game friend. you will learn to play tcg. you have no choice. it is your fate. /lh but i also like to think he's a considerably protective friend! he's the one to ask all the questions if you let him know you're planning on going out. he wants to know all the details. are you going with someone? yes? who is it? where are you planning on going? he literally just wants you to be safe, so sometimes it might come off as overbearing or infantilizing, but he really doesn't mean it that way! he genuinely just wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to you that he could have prevented.

kaveh is the kind of friend you could stay up until atrocious hours of the night talking to. also 100% the gossip friend. he'll sit there doing your hair, makeup, nails, or skincare routine—regardless of your gender, whatever you're comfortable with! kaveh genuinely doesn't care as long as you're happy and content—and tell you all of the terrible awful drama he overhears. he's also somewhat protective, but not to cyno's level. he'll inquire about your plans and will then tell you to be safe and have fun! he would feel really bad if something happened, though. really bad. will definitely, 100%, without a doubt tell off any creeps bothering you. he can pretend to be your brother or your boyfriend, whatever you need. he'll do it.

nahida is the therapist friend, in a way. she doesn't completely understand human emotions and thought processes, but she is totally happy to listen to whatever you need to get off your chest! it helps her understand you and other people better, and it (hopefully) helps you feel better. her advice is a little difficult to understand, admittedly... she tries her best though! if you don't understand, feel free to tell her. she'll try to be clearer. it may or may not work, and she has a chance of making her point even more confusing, but she really does try.

nilou is the kind of friend who's happy to do activities with you. she's happy to do anything as long as it's with her friend! she'll take you out to the shopping (only for you two to inevitably return with a ridiculous amount of free gifts for nilou, namely from the grand bazaar vendors...) if you'd like, or she can get you guys tickets to some of her favorite performances! she'd also love to teach you her style of dance if you'd be willing to and are able to learn. if you're not able, though, that's okay! she really doesn't mind. i like to think she'd also be super supportive of you and all your pursuits.

the wanderer is, quite simply, the begrudging friend. he will NOT admit that he cares about you and will claim the exact opposite. he'll say that he absolutely does not care whatsoever (but will then, in the same sentence, berate someone for so much as glancing at you in a way he deems to be wrong). he's a bit emotionally inarticulate—and rightfully so—but he really does care. his ways of showing it are just a little odd and unconventional. he acts like every display of affection ever is such a terrible burden that should not have been put on his shoulders, but secretly really loves holding your hand or giving you a hug. also really likes being held. like. he would die before admitting that but he... he just needs to be held, you know?

tighnari is the kind of friend who tells you all sorts of things—he shares his knowledge so freely with you, it's sort of like a love language. he'll tell you all about the local flora, explaining what plants you could eat in the case of an emergency and what ones you should never even touch. also as his friend you are allowed to touch his ears and tail. imagine habitually fidgeting with them while tighnari doesn't even flinch because, as long as you're always careful and gentle, he trusts you enough for that kind of thing. i bet he is very soft. anyway, i can't explain it, but i just know his hugs are warm and comforting and protective. he definitely gives really good hugs.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion brainrots 🌸#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #collei x reader #cyno x reader #kaveh x reader #nahida x reader #nilou x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #tighnari x reader

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dreamer1084 · 4 months ago

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Spoilers of Natsuyuu Ch.132

Not a summary, just something I think interesting.

Spoilers under cut.

Sensei didn't want to believe the "ugly doll" was actually Natsume LOL

Natsume screamed when he realized he had turned into a doll.

Cute.

I really like the scene where Sensei kept tsukkomu.

"Although the length of the hands and feet are subtly different and difficult to use, it is quite comfortable to possess."

"For me, whether you return to your normal self or keep trapped into this ugly thing, yuujinchou will be handed over to me one day. So it doesn't make any difference. Maybe if you keep possessing to an object like this, you will live longer." Then Natsume smiled. "Even if you say so, I can't return the names with this kind of body. That's your aim, right? Sensei. No. I will definitely change back."

Natsume seemed to be giving orders with authority(?) and then let Sensei do all the work LOL

"It (Makatoki/まかとき) always escapes to empty houses or abandoned factorys. Although it seems difficult to find, those kind of places can be easily distinguished as long as it goes back in time. The more desolate and obsolete it is, the easier to find it in those places. In the gray scenery, You can see the colors blooming like flowers. As long as you see the lively time, the time that is always full of light── Than you can tell where it is.

As for the houses inhabited by humans like this, It's dazzling everywhere. Is the quiet side the present? Is the warm side the past? It's really impossible for me to tell."

I think the person Natsume saw was Touko-san, who was sewing dolls. (Touko-san seemed sleepy during the tea party with her friends.)

Wow.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #spoilers #natsume takashi #natsuyuu

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darsynia · 8 months ago

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The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back?

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say.

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity?

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality.

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire.

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame.

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #angst #romance #smut #post-apocalyptic AU #bucky barnes imagine #building up enough bucky fic to make him his own masterlist!#ARGH TUMBLR DO NOT REMOVE MY CUT WHEN I EDIT WTF

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blueberrybeomgyu · 17 days ago

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Perhaps more prince sungho pls? 🥺

may be typos, srry <3

prince sungho thinks you're beautiful, especially when you're worn out. he loves sending you on useless tasks just to see you all frazzled and out of breath. he thinks you'd look similar on top of him, if he ever becomes lucky enough to fall into bed with you.

you've only been assigned to him for a few years, but it's getting increasingly difficult for him to send you away at night. he fantasizes sometimes about how it would be to have you in that way, how you'd touch him if he had no say in the matter. he bosses you around but secretly wishes you'd take control.

he loves to fantasize about that the most, you pushing him down and telling him how you're going to please him tonight. sometimes, when he's been extra snarky that day, he sees the flash of irritation you have to blink away. he's slowly finding your buttons, and pushing them more and more every day to see when you'll snap, if ever. he respects your ability to remain professional despite the things he's asked you to do, but he wishes you were a little more perverted, at least as much as he is, and maybe you'd notice the advances he's been making toward you. after all, there are plenty of servants assigned to him. he could ask any of them for help, but you're the one he always calls on.

he likes to imagine that you'd bind his wrists with pink silk, that you'd rub oil on your fingers before using them to pinch his nipple. maybe you'll pinch a little harder than he typically asks for. the touch will be experimental at first, but he'll make a quiet, pitiful noise, and you'll pinch it again, both of them, even, harsher.

maybe you'd trail your hand down to where his cock is already flushed and standing, and you'll apply more oil to your hand before wrapping it around his length. he'll jerk, and he'll probably mumble something like let me go, lamely requesting power that he doesn't really want.

maybe you'll quirk an eyebrow at him in challenge, the expression making him hot all over. better yet, maybe you'll ignore him entirely in favor of doing what you'd like to do, massaging his tip and coating his member in precum when he leaks. that'd be new for him, he's so used to getting what he wants when he wants it, but he'd like the denial.

maybe when he's close, you'll pull your hand away and go back to flicking his nipples, and he'll complain again, embarrassed about his breathy noises, and you'll coo at him, telling him it's time he learned not to be so spoiled.

and after denying him the sixth time, he's quivering and sensitive to every little touch you give him, and his cock is drooling uselessly while he's already covered in his own precum. his brain will feel so hazy and it'll be so pleasant to relinquish control for a little while, to be nothing but a pretty doll for you.

you'll tell him he did a good job for the first lesson, and his skin will buzz with the promise of more lessons to come. you'll bring him to an orgasm that has his rolling his eyes back as he tries to muffle his loud, desperate gasps.

he dreams about it all the time, that just maybe he could get you to that point. all he has to do is push a little bit harder.

#hello it's me not doing homework 👋#i'm trying my best #i swear #blueberrybeomgyu #fruit basket 𐙚🧺#basket 𐙚🧺: sungho 🐈#sungho hard hours #boynextdoor hard hours #boynextdoor hard thoughts #sungho hard thoughts #favorite things ◡̈

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moronkombat · 1 year ago

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Hiii!

Can you pretty please do some hcs for my beloved Shang Tsung?

I thought about these themes:

- his reaction when you ask for one of his rings, to remember him when apart from each other

- Him proposing (🥹)

- Waking up with him

But also can be anything no your mind, i love your writing!!! And I’m too damn obsessed with Shangy ✨, i just need to consume ANYTHING about him.

Thank you!! 🥰 And I’m sorry about the lenght of the ask 🥲

No worries about the length! I love writing about Shang Tsung!

You knew Shang Tsung before he ever encountered Damashi. In fact, you were one of the first people to know him

You've known him since childhood but you were not close until you both grew a little older as your childhoods were very different

He lived in poverty but you did not. You were not wealthy but your family had enough and tended to stay away from those less fortunate

Your meeting was by chance but both of you were grateful to have met each other

The two of you grow close, meeting each other often in secret to avoid detection from those who would keep you apart

Eventually a friendship blossoms and then a flower blooms with a connection far deeper but this flower is doomed. It cannot grow in the different soils that you're from

Shang Tsung knows this and he also knows he will never be worth anything if he stays in a place where people know his face

He decides he must leave and you cannot go with him. You both know this but it is difficult to accept

You know when he is going to leave. He tells you his plan to go and travel. He will make something more of himself and when he does, he will come back for you

You want to believe, you really do but you worry this may be the last time you ever see him

You feel bold then, eyes falling to one of those rings he wears. It one of the only nice treasures he owns. He notices your gaze and his finger would twitch

"I will miss you" Are all the words you can find, while eyes of tears look at the tarnished silver.

There's a moment of conflict then but slowly he would remove one and present it to you. You're stunned and open your mouth to refuse but there is a pause. You decide, to say nothing, and to accept his gift with a nod

You're not there to wish him a goodbye. He leaves without you knowing where he's gone and when he's left. It better this way though. You both so keenly aware that if you happened upon his leaving, you'd try to stop him

Years would go by and there is no word from him and the people of your village don't even seem to notice his absence. You do though, you're painfully aware

Over those long years you reject many who would have your hand. You are faithful to Shang Tsung's promise to return for you. There are times when the hope is almost lost but it takes but a look at the ring he has given you and the hope blooms again

Your family is frustrated, however, they want you to marry and settle down. Such is the way of things but you refuse and people see you as foolish but you don't care

It is a seemingly quiet day when he returns. A day like any other and when he finds you, all he had to do is say your name and your heart stops beating. He kept his promise

He does not come empty handed and soon after you have embraced, he is presenting something small to you. It is but a small box but inside it carries the greatest gift

"I've gotten you a far better one than the last, don't you think? Would you wear it for me?" Is all he has to ask. You know what this question truly means and your heart flies out of your chest. You are his and he is yours

Your family doesn't even remember Shang Tsung so when this stranger proposed to their favored child, they are quick to put up a fuss. You have none of it

The two of you marry privately and you return the ring he had given to you all that time ago. You don't need it anymore, after all

He is usually first to rise in the mornings and so you do not often wake up next to him. When Shang Tsung awakes he is swift to begin his day. He has done this for many years now. However, in those rare beginnings of sunlight, your eyes open first and you see him sleeping next to you.

Those moments are your favorite. He is completely unguarded and raw. There is no better way to see him than this

Your fingers dance so very carefully over his features and everything feels right. This is how things are meant to be and you will never let this change. Not ever

Thank you for requesting Shang Tsung! I see him as either soft or possessive. There is no in between LOL

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mk1 #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader

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pollymorgan · 8 months ago

Text

Coach Negan Part 2

Warnings: Negan beeing Negan, hot table sex

Okay, I did it again! Have fun with the second part! 🤭

When I wake up, I briefly think I had a pretty intense dream. But when I see the phone lying next to me on the pillow, I realize that unfortunately, it was real.

Oh man, I've started some pretty weird actions lately. Somehow, my life seems to have gone a little off track. But phone sex with my daughter's hated gym teacher pretty much tops it all.

At least I didn't oversleep, not even once this week! Who knows, maybe I'll still be "Mother of the Year."

Feeling a bit off-kilter, I shuffle to the bathroom to freshen up.

With the toothbrush in hand, I let my thoughts wander. Okay, the whole phone call was a bit sexy. Well, actually, pretty hot. My cheeks start to flush as I think about Negan's voice and how dominant he was.

Damn, the whole thing was more erotic than anything I've experienced in the last 5 years. At least! Although that's not saying much....

Suddenly Negan's last words come to mind.

"Okay, I'll expect you tomorrow at 3:30 pm for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and without panties.. Good night!"

Fuck! My ex-husband is picking up the kids today. At least, that's the last I heard. From experience, I can say that can change at any time. Anyway, I absolutely must not run into Negan at this time, preferably never again. But that will probably be a bit difficult...

The morning goes by thankfully without any major catastrophes. A few arguments, two forgotten homework assignments, and spilled milk later, I've dropped off my three kids at kindergarten and school on time.

Feeling somewhat relieved, I return home. There's chaos in every room, but it's quiet in the house. After calmly drinking a coffee, I decide it's really time to start filling my social media channel with content again. After all, it's become my job, albeit somewhat involuntarily. I'll make a post about a nutritious, quick meal for stressed out mothers. At least I don't have to go shopping again. I have all the necessary ingredients in the fridge, and it's not too time-consuming.

Just as I'm preparing everything, my phone vibrates. Assuming it's a message from my ex, canceling the meeting with his kids for some flimsy reason, I open the message annoyed.

"Be on time today, otherwise it's detention! 😉 Negan."

Oh God, I had hoped this whole thing would just fizzle out. Feeling a bit nervous, I set the phone aside and try to focus on what I actually had planned. But that's not so easy! I keep staring at my phone, afraid of receiving the next text or out of desire? I can't even define it myself.

Screw it! I was married for 19 years and I've based my whole life on this man. Taken care of the kids and the household and always put myself last. Only to be left. So, what's wrong with having a bit of fun?

I quickly grab my phone and reply.

"Just detention? 😯 I expected a more creative punishment! 🙈"

I hesitate for a moment, but then I send the text. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I see the two checkmarks next to the message. It only takes a few seconds before I receive a reply.

"You naughty girl, don't challenge me ...".

I can't help but grin.

Quickly I type, "As they say, 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go on the teacher's desk' or something like that ...😉"

"I can't wait ... Room 319, in the big gymnasium," I receive as a reply.

I look at the clock. It's just after 12 pm. I quickly finish my Instagram post to have enough time to get ready.

After a thorough shower, I stand somewhat desperate in front of my closet. I absolutely must not show up too sexy at Peggy's school. But my obligatory gray jeans and a plain t-shirt that has been my wardrobe staple lately won't do either.

I'm as excited as before a first date, and in a very strange way, that's what it is.

In the depths of my closet, I find a royal blue knee-length pencil skirt and a matching white blouse with large dots in the same color, with the price tag still attached. I put it on and critically examine myself in the mirror. I've always been slim, but the impending divorce has cost me at least another five kilos.

I loosely tie up my hair and apply light makeup. Then I put on my favorite scent, a mix of vanilla and cherry that I've worn far too rarely lately, afraid the bottle might run out.

Now there's no time for doubts. Determined, I go to the car, start the engine, take a quick look in the rearview mirror to remove mascara smudges under my eyes, and head towards the school.

There are only a few students left on the grounds. Most have already finished, just like my daughter. Thankfully! He actually managed to pick her up. Miracles do happen after all!

I have the terrible feeling that everyone is watching me and knows exactly what I'm up to, although that's obviously nonsense.

Feeling a bit nervous and with a pretty strong flutter in my stomach, I go to the big gymnasium. Disoriented, I roam the narrow corridors and then stop in front of room 319. Okay, so I'm really going to go through with this.

The door isn't closed, just ajar. I take a deep breath and then push it open further. Negan is sitting at the desk, focused, with some papers in hand, and suddenly startles. As he catches sight of me, he begins to grin, his perfect teeth shining through.

Oh man, has he always looked so damn good? He's wearing a khaki jacket over his jeans shirt and glasses with a dark rim. Determinedly, he stands up and walks directly towards me, while I remain rooted to the spot, staring at him.

He stops right in front of me and leans against the door frame with one arm. I have to look up at him because he easily towers over me. The woody, masculine scent of his cologne envelops me and literally clouds my senses.

"Never heard of knocking?" he smiles at me and then lightly licks his lower lip with his tongue.

Finally, I find my words again. "Well, I seem to be a really naughty girl, but at least I'm on time...".

Dramatically, he looks at his golden wristwatch. "Right on time..." he states curtly and gestures for me to come in, before immediately locking the door. At the sound of the lock, my heart gives another heavy thump.

So, I'm really here now.

I quickly glance around the room, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.

"Sit down!" he commands and goes back to his desk. Just as I'm about to take a seat on one of the two chairs in front of it, he protests.

"No, here..." He taps the table clearly and sits on his chair, never taking his eyes off me. After a brief hesitation, I sit down, as ordered, directly opposite him on the table, crossing my legs. As confidently as possible, I look down at him. When our eyes meet, small electric shocks run through my entire body, seemingly converging in my lower abdomen. His gaze continues to roam over my body, to my legs and back up. We remain silent for a moment, but then he breaks the silence with the sentence, "And did you remember not to wear any panties?".

My cheeks blush even more intensely, I have to swallow hard before I can respond. "Yes."

"Okay, then show me..."

Slightly confused, I try to think. This man hasn't even touched me, let alone kissed me yet, and I'm supposed to present my most intimate parts on a desk to him?

"Come on, don't be shy..." he adds demandingly, noticing my hesitation.

As if on command, I jump off the table in one go, pulling up my tight skirt until it barely covers my butt. I then brace myself on the desk with both hands, ready to jump up and slightly spread my legs in front of him. Negan leans further forward and stares unabashedly at me. He grasps my knees to open my legs a little more.

It's the first time I feel his warm hands on my bare skin.

"And shaved just for me, that wasn't necessary..." he states, satisfied and self-assured.

His hands slowly continue to my thighs, then he lightly rests on them and positions himself directly between my legs. His face is only a few centimeters away from mine, and I feel his breath just as heavy as mine. I examine every pore and every small scar thoroughly until my gaze falls on his lips. Without thinking further, my arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

Finally, our lips meet. The kiss is immediately wild and without any restraint. Full of desire, our lips press against each other, and our tongues immediately explore each other.

All I can think about is how good all of this - how good he - feels.

Negan firmly grips my butt with both hands and dominantly pushes my pelvis closer to him. The fabric of his jeans presses against my bare skin. I feel how hard and big he already is. I can clearly feel him, right at the spot that yearns for him the most. I softly moan into the kiss.

"Damn, that's the sound I wanted to hear! I haven't been able to think of anything else since last night..." he exclaims excitedly.

Then he swiftly takes off his jacket and starts to slowly unbutton my blouse. My black lace bra is revealed. Before he kisses me again, he looks down at me.

"Fuck, look at you...you're so incredibly beautiful," he says softly.

My hands move confidently to his pants, feeling for his belt.

"Not so fast...first, I want to taste you...every damn inch of your perfect body!"

He grins at me, and I immediately do nothing but eagerly wait to see what he has in store next.

Negan slowly takes off my unbuttoned blouse and skillfully unclasps my bra. He immediately grasps my breasts firmly with his large, warm hands and plants delicate kisses on my sternum. His beard scratches against my delicate skin, giving me goosebumps. His mouth moves to my right breast, and I let my head fall back. I thoroughly enjoy the feeling of his tongue on my sensitive nipple. His hand firmly grips my left shoulder and pushes me down. Now I'm completely lying on the desk, while his kisses travel deeper and deeper.

Without hesitation, he grabs my knees and presses my legs firmly against my body. Then I feel his warm breath on my wet vulva. Automatically, I press my pelvis further towards him, and he starts kissing along my inner thighs, while I eagerly await feeling his lips on my pulsating clitoris finally.

My whole body is tense as he continues to tease me, his mouth gently returning to my thigh.

Impatiently, I slide back and forth on the desk.

He releases his firm grip from my knees and gives me a light slap on the butt.

"Damn, it's sexy how turned on you are... I could continue like this all day..." he remarks with a grin, unbuttoning his jeans shirt as his dark chest hair is revealed. I prop myself up on my forearms, looking at him expectantly.

"Okay, okay... Who can resist such a look and such a sweet pussy..." he says, leaning back between my legs to finally touch me where I need it the most.

Skillfully, his tongue wanders to my most sensitive spots, applying just the right pressure and perfect tempo.

I moan in relief and lean back again. He softly sucks on my swollen clit, and my legs start to tremble. I grab his hair and hold onto it tightly because I feel like I need that support. The orgasm hits me unexpectedly. I never thought I could reach the peak so quickly.

Negan grabs my wrists and swiftly pulls my upper body back up. Breathing heavily and utterly exhausted, I look at him, and he smiles contentedly, his lips moistened with my wetness.

"Wow, okay..." he says.

"Wow, okay..." I reply and pull him closer to kiss him.

"Now I want to fuck that perfect pussy..." he whispers in a deep voice into my ear, opening his pants with one hand. Then he briefly separates from me to open the drawer of his desk and retrieve a condom.

I watch him, and suddenly I seem to be able to think clearly again. At least, I can imagine how many times he has done this before. How many lonely, abandoned mothers he has already screwed on this desk, that he even keeps condoms in his drawer.

Without saying anything, he seems to notice my gaze very precisely and knows how to interpret it.

He grabs my chin between his index finger and thumb and turns my head decisively towards him.

"Hey, don't even think about it, okay? ...I only placed it there today, in the slight hope that you would seriously consider my nice offer..."

He lets me go to put on the condom without breaking eye contact.

My eyes wander between his dark ones, and I get lost in them.

I nod hesitantly and flinch slightly as I feel his tip pressing against my entrance.

Negan runs his thumb over my mouth. My lips feel dry and sensitive.

"Don't close your eyes now, look at me as I enter you..." he says unequivocally.

I already feel him slowly pushing deeper and deeper into me. When he is all the way in, he places his burning hot forehead against mine. His mouth is slightly open, and his breath is heavy. I enclose his lower lip with my lips. It is an incredibly intense feeling to be so full. I feel my lower abdomen contract repeatedly as he slowly starts moving inside me. It doesn't take long for his thrusts to become faster and harder. I realize he is close to coming.

"Sit on the chair, I want to be on top of you!" I say, trying to gain some control and at least once have the upper hand.

"Okay, whatever you want... really anything!" he says, breathing heavily, and sits back on the chair behind him.

He looks incredibly sexy. With those piercing eyes, his slightly swollen lips from the intense kisses, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his slim hairy chest, and his large hard penis that I immediately want inside me again.

I jump off the table and climb onto his lap. With my right hand, I grasp his pulsating cock and let him glide into me. Negan holds onto my hips, and I place my hands on his shoulders to support myself. Slowly, I begin to move, and he penetrates deeper into me.

"Damn, you're finding spots in me that I didn't even know..." I smile and then bite my lower lip in concentration. I mean it literally. I have never felt anything like this before. My movements become faster, and I feel the tension running through Negan's body.

"Let's come together..." I whisper softly to him.

"Okay, baby..." he says decisively, and his hand moves purposefully between my legs. Quickly and with quite a bit of pressure, he circles my hypersensitive clit with his thumb.

I feel like I can hardly breathe from excitement. My lower abdomen almost cramps painfully.

I manage to groan "Now..." just before another intense orgasm floods my body. But not only me, I also feel how Negan is coming intensely. Exhausted, I collapse on his lap. His arms embrace me and press me firmly against his bare chest. For a moment, all you can hear is our exhausted breathing, then he whispers softly while still deeply inside me.

"That was insane. When can we do this again?"

I grin at him contentedly. "I have the whole weekend free from the kids... so I'd be happy to do it again tomorrow..."

Then I kiss a bead of sweat off his forehead.

He pouts, "Why wait until tomorrow? ...How about tonight and then the whole night... Believe me, I want to explore a few other spots in you..."

#jeffrey dean morgan #jdm fic #jeffreydeanmorgan #twd smut #twd negan #negan fanfic #negan smith #negan x you #negan smut #negan x reader #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan #the walking dead negan #negan imagine

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mystic-writings · 10 months ago

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remember the nights | chapter fourteen — a rom-com happy ending

WORD COUNT — 2,841

WARNINGS — pure fluff, weddings

NOTES — i can't believe it's already over :( well, not really bc this series will always live in my head, way into their college years, but for now this is the end <3

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Ever since your Uncle Mark started staying in the guest room and wedding prep picked up even more, your house was never quiet. Between final food tastings, organizing the tables and stationary, plus the horrendous amount of extra schoolwork you were dealing with due to a new semester starting up, life never slowed down.

Things at school got better, so long as you ignored Newt in any way, and focused on your college applications and spending time with Brenda. Plus, your uncle Mark made sure to spend all his extra time with you, since you hadn’t seen him in two years.

He and Maggie’s brothers got along well, and made the house extra vibrant as everyone got to know one another over game nights and dinners. The very first night you’d met them — Maggie’s brothers, George and Dean — they embraced you lovingly, claiming that Maggie had always wanted a daughter.

Valentine’s Day started with a bright dawn and a calm air, and you could tell even with the cold that it was a beautiful day for a wedding. The day started early, at around 5am, with Maggie shaking you awake, offering you a toasted waffle and travel mug of coffee. The house was void of men and instead filled with the women of the bridal party, all running around and getting ready in different parts of the house in order to have things done on time.

Everyone had their dresses in different places, and you and a woman named Sarah did each other’s makeup in your bedroom by the desk before taking turns getting dressed and finding your purses, accessories, and proper coats.

Maggie was already on her way to the church in just her makeup by the time everyone was ready, leaving you to lock up the house and pile into one of the three cars occupying the driveway. You texted with Brenda, Harriet, and Sonya on the car ride, talking about the reception happening later on.

You and Thomas were allowed to bring your friends to the reception (with Brenda and Jorge being the exception, as they were invited to the ceremony), something that your parents agreed upon not long after they told you about the proposal. Since the bonfire, though, the group was shattered, and you really only talked to the girls for now. Thomas was inviting everyone else who wanted to come, though, so you’d see everyone there, anyway.

One thing you did notice, through the bustle and stress of the wedding and finals, was that your friends had been acting odd, to say the least. Thomas was the same, but every one of your friends were exchanging an unsettling amount of smiles and glances — not just the girls, but Gally and Minho, too. You’d even asked them about it one day, but they all refused to give you an answer.

You shook the thoughts from your head and texted the girls to update them on where you were. They were all excited for the wedding, and you were, too. Everything about this day had felt spectacular so far, and you couldn’t wait to actually see Maggie and your dad get married.

The church was empty for now, but you and the girls all filed into the bridal suite, where Maggie sat, pinning up her hair into the most elegant style you’d seen. Since her hair was neck length and wavy, it was difficult to get her hair into a style that looked nice. However, she managed to take some strands from the front to frame her face, while still having the majority of the upper half of her hair pinned back with pearl beaded pins, her waves still flowing free.

You almost cried at how wonderful she looked, before realizing it was up to you and two other bridesmaids to help her into her dress.

If you hadn’t been emotional before, you definitely were now.

Maggie looked like she’d stepped right out of a fairytale. Her bodice and sleeves were mesh, patterned with intricate lace, her skirt made of silk with a slight volume to it and lots of movement. The lace pattern bled into the skirt, blending well with the silk and forming it into a cohesive piece.

Everyone’s compliments overlapped as you took her hands in yours, the both of you smiling widely at one another.

With a gentle squeeze of your hands, and a knock on the door from her brothers, ready to walk her down the aisle, Maggie sighed. “Well, ladies, I think it’s just about time I got married, don’t you think?”

The ceremony was, to say the least, perfect.

Out of the entire bridal party, you were the last to walk down the aisle, with Chuck and Thomas on either arm, all three of you beaming like sunshine.

Your dad, along with everyone in the church, welled with tears upon Maggie’s entrance, both of her brothers on her arm. Everything went without a hitch, and you must have ran through a pack or two of pocket kleenex. You’d never be able to replicate the joy in your heart when your dad finally called Maggie his wife.

To no one’s surprise, the reception started strong and continued to stay that way. The hall looked absolutely amazing, with round tables and white wicker chairs, beautiful flower centerpieces. In the few-hour long break between the ceremony and the reception, Sonya, Harriet, and Brenda’s attitudes have kicked up in suspicion, but all things considered, you simply brushed it off. You had a lot more to worry about today than their behavior, and one of those things was your speech.

All of your friends sat at a table near the front, watching your uncle wrap up his speech. Thomas and Chuck were going to do one as the best men, but didn’t quite know what to say, so they passed that duty onto Mark. One of Maggie’s friends offered to do the same for you, but you had already started with an idea, and this was too important to pass off.

With shaking hands and messily written index cards, you stepped up to the microphone next to your parents table, smiling at the people around you. You kept your eyes on Maggie and your dad, though, for the most part.

Clearing your throat, you leaned into the mic and began your speech. “I know that there’s a lot of people here who might not exactly know who I am, but I’m very glad to be here to share this day with all of you. I’m the daughter of the groom, and my name is Y/n. I want to start by congratulating my dad and Maggie, who I can say, deep in my heart, I know were meant to be together. Sure, it took them a while, but I guess finding ‘The One’ takes time, right?” You took a deep breath, adjusting the cards in your hands, finding that you didn’t need them any more. “I’ve only known Maggie for about four years, but she’s one of the greatest people I’ve ever met. I’ll forever be grateful for all of the things she’s helped me and my dad through, and for always being there. Maggie, you and your boys have changed everything in our lives, and there won’t be a day that I won’t be thankful for that. You showed my dad how to love again, and you didn’t hesitate for a second to share that love with me, too.”

You were only looking at Maggie, now, eyes wet with tears and a smile stretching your face. “And it’s because of that love and dedication that I am proud to be here today, with all our friends and family, and be able to call you my mom.”

You watched the emotions change on your parents faces and laughed lightly. “I can only finish this off by saying that I hope that everything the both of you want out of life comes to you, and to tell you that I love you both to the moon and back.”

Quietly, you stepped away from the microphone and walked over to an already standing Maggie, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I love you so much, honey,” she whispered, kissing the side of your head.

You squeezed her tight, tucking your face into her neck. “I love you, too, mom.”

After you let go and sat down, you glanced over at your dad to find him trying his best to hide his tears. He hadn’t been doing so well, considering you could see the shine of tears building on his waterline.

Dinner and cake came after the speeches finished, both of which were delicious — you made a mental note to personally tell Jorge how good the cake was — and made you heavily consider taking seconds, despite knowing you would pay for it later with a stomach ache.

Soon enough, the dance floor filled with people, and you searched out your friends to spend more time with them.

You found them easily, the seven of them clumped into one corner of the room, just by the hall’s main entrance. They greeted you warmly, talking over one another about the food and the speeches. You told them everything about your day so far, and how proud and elated you were that the wedding finally happened. It was only when you were getting into how hectic things had been at the house that Gally’s phone rang, and suddenly the whole group went quiet.

He stepped away, answering the phone and nodding like the person on the other line could see him. Everyone was looking at him, cheeky smiles on their faces as Gally came back, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his slacks.

“What was that all about?” You asked him.

Gally smiled at you, something he didn’t do all that often, a playful gleam in his eye. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“Why?” Your brows cinched as you dragged out your question, glancing between everyone as a slight chill ran up your spine.

“He’s got a surprise for you, that’s why.” Brenda nudged you. “Just go, I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You looked between everyone wearily before following Gally out to his car, not bothering to grab your coat. Your heart was racing with every step, the anticipation and confusion building in your head. Brenda said it was worth the trip, but you just didn’t know what was going on. Not to mention everyone’s odd behavior…

After driving around for a few minutes, Gally pulled into the school parking lot. A light flurry of snow had begun to fall, dusting the grass and pavement, and slightly impairing your vision as you looked around from the passenger’s seat. “Gally, why are we at the school?”

The boy looked up from his phone with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

Not a moment after he finished his sentence, your phone pinged from your dress pocket. Your heart stopped when you pulled it out, reading the new message in your notifications. ‘Come to the willow tree’

It was from Newt.

You looked up at Gally, who’s smile widened as he nodded toward the field.

“He’s waiting for you,” Gally said, and you had to remember how to breathe.

With one final, reassuring nod, you exited the car, bracing against the cold as you raced to the willow tree. Through the flurries, you made out Newt’s figure by the tree, and stopped yourself from running any further.

Once you were able to move your legs again, you took it slower, walking through the thin layer of accumulating snow, picking up your dress to make it less likely for you to trip. With every step, you could make out Newt’s figure a little clearly, and it made the ache in your chest grow larger.

You came to a stop under the tree’s canopy of dead leaves, providing some protection from the snow. Newt was wearing a black suit, and you couldn’t deny how great he looked in it. He was still staring at his shoes and picking at his fingernail when you stopped walking, almost as though he hadn’t heard you approaching him.

Gripping the sides of your dress, you found the courage to speak up. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

Newt looked up from his shoes with a smile. “I lied.”

“But that’s what you said, isn’t it? On Christmas. When you slammed the door in my face.”

“I know what I said, and I’m sorry,” Newt sighed, stepping a bit closer. “I was a prick for saying it, too. I never should’ve done what I did, you didn’t deserve it.” He took a breath, running a hand through his hair and tucking a hand into one of his pockets. “Ever since the party, Sonya’s been telling me every day how upset you were. Hell, everyone was, and it’s been driving me mad ever since, because I hurt you, and I’ve never wanted to do that.”

Teary-eyed, you opened your mouth to speak, but Newt continued.

“I don’t care what Tommy thinks about us being together anymore. But I want us to be together. Hell, the only thing that kept me quiet about how I felt for so long — that stopped me from asking you out when we hung out together on our own for the first time — was how I thought he would react, or if he would disapprove of it. But I don’t care anymore. I love you, Y/n. More than anything. Staying away from you for so long has been killing me, and I can’t stand it anymore.” He stepped closer again, leaving only a few inches of space between you. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to follow you outside when you came to Mickey’s with Brenda. To apologize for what I said, for leaving you that night. To—” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “—to kiss you bloody senseless.”

You stared up at the boy before you, the one you never thought would talk to you again, in awe of his words. After the bonfire, you never believed that Newt would say something like that to you, let alone plan something as intimate as this was. You blinked away tears for the fourth time that day and realized there was only one thing you could say at the moment.

“So do it. Kiss me.”

Newt closed the distance between your bodies, pulling you into him by the waist and pressing his lips to yours. Elation filled every inch of your body as you wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him as close as you were able, pouring all your love into the kiss. You felt one of Newt’s hands snake up your neck, palm splayed over your jaw as he tried in vain to pull you closer into his body.

You wished you didn’t need air to breathe when you were forced to pull back, lipstick smeared on Newt’s swollen lips, and likely on your own, as well. But you still had one question to ask.

“Why now?” You asked, smoothing the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I mean, after everything, why now? You spent two months pretending to hate me, so what changed?”

“The jacket.” Newt told you. “Sonya practically forced it into my hands after you left, and then she yelled at me for half an hour about how big of an idiot I was being, and how wrong it was for me to keep treating you the way I had been. After that… I sat on my bed for a while, holding the jacket and thinking about how right she was. About how much I missed you. After that, I knew I had to do something, so…”

“So you planned all this?” You said, a coy smile spreading on your lips. “Just for me?”

Newt smiled wide, laughter bubbling in his throat. “Just for you, darling.” The nickname made your heart skip a beat, and your smile widened. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. You saw what I did for you in New York. Making elaborate plans to see you happy isn’t anything new.”

Without another word, you pulled his head down to kiss him again. You couldn’t fight the smile on your lips as you kissed Newt, reveling in how amazing it felt to finally be able to kiss him. Just as you were pulling away, a thought crossed your mind. “Wait. What about Thomas? And our friends?”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?” Newt laughed. “I don’t give a damn what Tommy thinks. I only care about you. And our friends have been in on it for the past week, love.”

You smiled bright at the boy holding you, pulling him back into another searing kiss.

Under the canopy of the willow tree, on the greatest day of your life so far, you got your movie-screen happy ending; and everything that happened to get it was entirely worth it.

series taglist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine @yes-fangirl-things (open!)

#remember the nights #newt x reader #newt tmr x reader #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt series #newt tmr series #newt angst #newt fluff #the maze runner fanfiction #the maze runner x reader #au fic #high school au

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atimeofyourlife · 6 months ago

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I tried to hold back, but you drew me in

wc: 1787| rated: t| tw: referenced domestic violence, mentioned vomiting| read on AO3

Buck starts at the 118 before Tommy leaves. Tommy tries to keep his distance from Buck, but they eventually become friends and something more. Set pre- s1e1 First in a series of one shots of different times Buck and Tommy could have met.

Tommy wasn't surprised that they were getting a new probie, after all they'd been running a man down since Sal had been transferred out. He told himself he wouldn't get attached, they would only be working with each other for a few months, just until everything for Tommy's transfer to airops was finalized. He knew he wouldn't still be at the 118 to see the end of the probationary year.

But then he met the kid. Evan Buckley. 25 years old. Legs that went on forever, an ass that didn't quit, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that lit up the room like sunshine on a rainy day. And that adorable birthmark that Tommy just wanted to kiss.

And sure, there was the cocky facade that so many young men had when they'd made it through the academy. Evan Buckley was hot, and he knew it, showing off and flirting with anything that moved. But under that facade was a heart of gold, a kid who would try to see the best in everyone, who would try to connect with everyone. Tommy was falling, and falling hard.

Tommy tried to push it away, to forget about it, but with every shift, Evan made that harder and harder. With how hot he was when harnessed up to do a rope rescue, or in his turnouts all covered in soot after a fire. With how gentle he was with kids, a unique ability to keep them calm no matter the scene ("I think it's because they know he's one of them." Hen had joked after a call to an injury at a playground, where Evan had efficiently distracted all the other kids from their injured friend.) How he would listen to the little old ladies that became frequent fliers due to falls or issues with their medications. His ability to comfort people, no matter how bad the scene had been.

But he was still determined to keep Evan at arms length. He wasn't being hostile, just cautious. Tommy did everything he had to as Evan's training partner, answering any and all questions he had about the job, wanting to set him up to be a good heavy rescue asset. During downtime at the station, he'd make friendly small talk, and talk to Evan as part of the group, but he kept it superficial. Never opening up for anything deeper.

The call that made him reach out more, extend an olive branch more, was a difficult one for anyone. A DV call where the wife was beaten so badly, she was barely recognizable. Evan managed to hold it together just long enough for the woman to be loaded into the back of the ambulance before he was turning to throw up in the bushes at the edge of the property. He really felt for the kid, because he'd had a similar reaction on his first DV call. Evan was quiet all the way back to the station, and disappeared off alone the moment the engine pulled in. Tommy left him, knowing that sometimes after a hard call being alone was needed.

But then he didn't reappear. He would come out when there was a call, but kept to himself on the way there and at the scene. Only speaking when necessary. Then keeping himself away from everyone else when they were back. When it was nearing the end of the shift, Tommy decided to do something about it. He extracted himself from where he was watching Howie and Hen trying to beat each other at whatever videogame they'd started playing, and went looking for Evan. It didn't take him long, finding him in the locker room, his back to the glass. Tommy pushed the door open quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"It's just. It reminded me of you. Can you please call me back or something, I just need to know that you're okay, that you're safe. I love you." Evan's voice was soft, but thick, as if he'd been crying.

"Evan? Are you okay?" Tommy asked softly as he entered, moving to sit next to Evan on the bench.

"I'm fine." Evan straightened up and wiped his face, putting his phone back into his pocket. "If you're here to make comments about what happened-"

"Any first responder that tries to claim that they have never lost their lunch, or at least been close to it, at a scene, or because of a scene, they're either lying or it's just not been their turn yet. I've been doing this job for over a decade, I've seen it happen to almost everyone I've worked with." Tommy replied.

"Ever happened to you?" Evan asked after a moment.

"More than once. First time was because of a scene a lot like the one we were on today." Tommy admitted. "I always find DV scenes difficult. Some people find them harder than others."

"It made me think-" Evan started, but cut himself off. Tommy wondered if it had anything to do with who he had been trying to call.

"DV calls are so hard for me because they remind me too much of my mom." Tommy said quickly, something he'd only told Howie and his therapist. "She was too scared to leave, she never got out. Is. Is there someone it made you think of?"

"My sister, Maddie." Evan said quietly. "I think her husband hurts her. He's always been a controlling asshole, and I think it's got worse. But I don't have proof. I haven't seen her since I was nineteen, she was supposed to leave Pennsylvania with me. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think he stopped her. Did something to her to keep her from leaving. I call her and leave voicemails, and I send postcards to the hospital where she works so she knows where I am and he can't get hold of them. But she stopped responding. I haven't heard from her in over two years. I don't even know if she's-"

Evan cut himself off, but Tommy knew what he was implying. He didn't know if his sister was alive, or if her husband had killed her.

"What about your parents? Surely they would let you know if anything had happened?" Tommy asked.

"I don't really have a relationship with them. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've spoken to them since I left home. And they pretty much abandoned Maddie when she married Doug."

"That's awful, Evan." Tommy said, unsure how else he was supposed to respond. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Tommy." Evan whispered, managing a small smile.

After that, Tommy found himself actually becoming friends with Evan. It was easy, chatting and joking around on shift, Tommy lookimg forward to when the team would go out for drinks after work. Wanting the opportunity to spend more time with Evan. And he knew he was going to miss Evan endlessly when his transfer came up. He hoped he could stay friends with Evan, and Hen and Howie, but he had seen, and knew from experience how hard it could be to keep in touch. Different shift schedules, and busy personal lives taking up too much time to have anything more than the occasional catch up text.

For his last shift, he was expecting something. Likely something small, but at least a goodbye, maybe drinks after work. He wasn't expecting the house to be taken offline for the last hour of the shift, with Hen and Howie jumping out the back of the ambulance with balloons and streamers, or getting shoved face first into a cake. He didn't expect the cards and little gifts, the kind and friendly words. The tight hug from Evan as he said how much he would miss working with Tommy.

The evening out for drinks that lasted a lot longer than usual. People drifting out as they needed to get home for their responsibilities, wives, girlfriends, kids. Leaving Tommy and Evan alone together at the end of the night. They headed out at the same time, waiting outside the bar together for their Ubers. Evan kept up a stream of chatter as they waited.

"At first I thought you didn't like me much. Like, you did your job and taught me everything you needed to, and answered all of my questions about it, no matter how weird or repetitive they got. But other than that, you wrre almost cold." Evan said, and Tommy hated that he'd made Evan feel like that.

"I was worried about getting too attached, knowing I'd be leaving after a few months. I've had it too many times before when friends have moved on, we've said we'll keep up, still make time for each other, but life gets in the way. And soon, at the most it's texts at birthdays and Christmas. Maybe a check in if we've been on the same scene. I didn't want that to happen again." Tommy replied, baring himself to Evan. "But you're. You draw people in, Evan. You drew me in."

"I hope that doesn't happen to us. You're so easy to be around, Tommy. I feel like I can be myself around you, that I don't have to hide parts of me." Evan admitted.

Tommy saw his chance, the liquid courage pushing him to do something he never would sober. He tucked his fingers under Evan's chin, pulling him into a kiss. He could feel Evan's surprise, and nearly pulled back, hoping that he hadn't ruined their budding friendship. But after a moment, Evan kissed back. It was a little hesitant, but became more sure. Tommy kept his eyes closed for a moment after he pulled back, wanting to savor the moment. When he opened them, he could see the almost dazed look on his face. It was Tommy's first time seeing the other man speechless.

"Like that?" Tommy said softly. "You make me want to not hide this part of myself any more."

"I. Yeah. It works." Evan stumbled over his words.

"So that was okay?"

"Better than okay." Evan's smile widened, and Tommy wanted to see it everyday for the rest of his life.

"What are you doing Saturday?"

"Uh, Saturday?"

"I was thinking we could do something. You free?" Tommy asked as a car pulled up.

"Yes. I. I am free." Evan replied

"If you text me your addresss, I'll pick you up around eight?"

"Yeah. Eight's great."

"Great. I'll see you Saturday." Tommy climbed into the car, looking back at Evan.

"Yeah. Saturday." Evan replied, a soft smile still on his face as Tommy pulled the car door shut behind him.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 fic #911 abc #the times we missed each other one shots #atimeofyourwrites

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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years ago

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"Cleaved In Twain." Danny Jonson/DBD Ghostface X AFAB! Reader.

SO it was Lottie or the amazing @lucifers-horror-harem birthday yesterday! And I wrote her a lovely little Danny fic, she has a more personalized version but you lovely people get a reader insert version to enjoy! I hope you all love it! Let's get into it!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.2K. Danny Johnson/DBD Ghostface X AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Obsessive Danny. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Voyeurism. Chase. Predator/Prey. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Fucked Up Praise. Rope Play. Restrained Punishment. Spanking. Reader. ManHandling. Knife Play. Threats Of Harm. Actual Harm. Blood Play. Spanking. Punishment. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Unprotected Sex. Dub-Con. Threat Of Death. Actual Death. Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

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Love is a funny thing isn’t it?

There are movies and tv shows, books and podcasts, and tons and tons of songs, stories and more about the subject spanning back as long as human history has, and part of that is because trying to capture that feeling and articulate it to others is difficult as hell. The person to person experience of it is so varied, the differences can be vast or minute but all of them are there and valid, and yet, even with all these clearly laid out examples of what the conceptual idea of “love” is, he is damn sure he has never experienced it in any of the ways people have claimed that they have.

Danny doesn’t think he is capable of feeling it, not like he thinks he is missing out on anything, not when he has other things to fulfil him.

It isn’t like he doesn’t feel anything though, you make him feel some pretty big things, just ones that weren’t conventionally or typically appropriate. He got those intense feelings from a job well done, and from a victim well stalked and eventually skinned. He loved the thrill of being able to sneak around and view every sordid detail of a person’s life without them being the slightest bit aware of his existence. The getting to know you stage was always a total joy, finding all the little quirks that make a person unique, nailing down schedule, habits, before really going in, revealing himself and going in for the kill.

He has been watching you for, God, months. The window placement you have going on makes his job very easy.

You aren’t the only one he has been watching however, he normally has multiple irons in the fire while narrowing down who was worthy of his attention and who he really wanted to fuck with. You were interesting in how unassuming you were, the way you behaved at home, so quiet and looking so domestic, he couldn’t help how the thought got him so excited. He would get thoroughly amped up to choose a night, one that you would think is any other evening, and then come in and tear your whole life apart, end it, slash and cut until you are unrecognisable and that sad little life you called yours would be no more. Learning all he could about a life before he ended it made it all the sweeter.

Months of build up and tonight is the night, boots laced, hood up and knife sheathed and he was ready for an evening of fun ahead. He’d planned his way in over a month ago, found the easiest way one afternoon when you were out of the house.

It was late, after midnight, he was inside and ready as he will ever be to strike, he doesn’t think he is a nervous guy, a little too prepared and confident to have that kind of petty thing holding him back. Nerves are what the person on the end of the knife feels, not the one brandishing it.

Now, sometimes, no matter how much planning is put in, how much care is taken and how well he gets to know a victim, at times, they can be unpredictable.

He didn’t count on you getting up to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen and you and he staring at each other from across the hall. Him about to go to your bedroom and you standing just outside your door, hand still on the knob. You were just slightly shocked to see the strange man, over six feet tall and clad in black and leather and a mask and holy shit what were you going to do?

A beat and then you did something he wasn’t counting on tonight, you ran.

He wasn’t planning on a chase, he was planning on tying you to your bed while you were still passed out, and just ripping into you, cutting you from- Well it doesn’t matter because right now you were fucking booking it and he wasn’t going to let a small deviation like this stop him from being able to salvage his night and your murder.

As he started after you he thought it would be easy.

Ten minutes later when he still didn’t have a hold on you he thought otherwise, where the fuck did you learn to run like that? And that mouth of yours! You actually threw a few choice insults his way when you had locked yourself in the bathroom, he managed to get the door open but you still got around him, he wasn’t expecting any of this from meek little you and frankly it was pissing him off.

Well, not just pissing him off, you catching him so off guard, being so different than he was anticipating, than what he thought he knew you to be, it was, annoyingly hot.

He finally got you in the kitchen, cornered you, had you on the tiled floor on your back, his knees to your shoulders, holding you down firmly. Slight uptick in his breathing just as yours had from all the exertion, but now he’s got you.

Eyes locked up on that ghostly white mask and true while you felt fear, there was another feeling brewing inside of you.

The struggle in you stopped in short order when he forced his knees down harder and you groaned, your head tipping back against the floor and he said with a strong point, “You,-” A shake of his head with a breathy laugh he said your name and then, “- are a hard one to get a hold of.”

He sighed, “I wasn’t counting on that.”

A hard swallow and you asked, “How do you know my name?”

“That’s your biggest concern? Not how did the big scary man get into my house?” He asked and you had to give it up, he had a good fucking point. He spoke before you could, “I learned your name a while ago, been getting to know you, watching a while.”

“Watching?” You asked and he hummed, he sounded amused as he pulled out the coiled rope he brought,, “I like to watch, what can I say? I know what I like.”

A creepy, stalker with a voyuer kink, you really lucked out, didn’t you? When it rains it pours.

He reached down, began to secure and tie your hands together, movements practised and confident, “I had the whole thing figured out but then you just had to give me the run around. Do you know how fucking annoying that shit is?”

He tightened the ropes and you winced at the bite of them into your wrists, he didn’t stop, his tone was sharp, venom practically dripping from every syllable, “I didn’t think you had it in you! I thought I had you all fucking figured out but you managed to really surprise me. But, funny thing about me that you’d have no way of knowing-”

He leaned down and said the last part, his mask almost an inch away from your face, “-I don’t like surprises.”

He was angry, legitimately pissed off but still, very into this, he didn't want to let on to it, the last thing you needed was to know that small tidbit, he was hard as hell and as soon as you felt that it might just give it away. He pulled back, finished tying up your hands and he was still talking, “Who the fuck do you think you are that you think you can get away with acting like this? Fucking up MY night?”

“YOUR night?” You asked incredulously and he said, “Yes! My night! I’ve been planning this for you don’t even want to know how long and you are acting like a fucking brat and ruining this, your body, this body-”

He reached out, a leather glove clad hand reached out and gripped your throat, your whole body tensed under him, your breath caught and his other hand latched onto the blade’s handle. He unsheathed the blade and brought it down, “-is merely where I am putting my fucking knife, a vessel for my art and for my entertainment, it is not actually about you but what YOU, give to ME in this exchange.-” The knife was pressed right under your jaw as he squeezed your throat and he gritted out, “Stop being selfish and making your murder all about you.”

He stopped, he was so focused on how angry he was, on verbally berating you that he was only just now focusing on your expression and more importantly how it had shifted. You were flush, pupils dilated, panting and you were squirming, thighs rubbing together and it struck him, he tested it. He squeezed your throat and your eyes rolled back with a moan and he laughed, “Holy shit you are into this!”

A very nervous laugh spilled out, you rushed to defend yourself, “Ha! What? No! God, no-”

He pressed the blade closer and you whine pitifully and he accuses, “You are!” You try to protest more but he talked right over you, “Oh my fucking God, and here I thought I knew you! What else are you hiding from me, hmm? I’m gonna have to figure it out for myself because you are clearly no help.”

He moved off of you and he let go of your throat, he started to manhandle you and paw at your body to manoeuvre you, he knew it hurt, he wasn’t being anything near gentle but you were loving it, leaning closer. He said it in this fascinating combination of delighted and mocking, “Freak, you are a total fucking mess.”

He sighed and when he looked up, seeing something that gave him an idea, “You know, I’m still annoyed from before, I think you deserve some serious consequences.”

A questioning sound leaving you and his hand came down, a hard hit on your ass, a barely held back moan from you and he said, “Shut up, idiot.”

He got up and said firmly, “Stay slut.”

Like you could go anywhere even if you wanted to when he forced you face down ass up with your wrists tied, you were exhausted from the chase earlier too so even if you were unencumbered and in a better pose, any chance at escape was nil.

You heard him get something from off the kitchen counter and then he was back on his knees beside you, he put whatever he got down and then both hands were yanking your thin pyjama bottoms down over the curve of your ass. Another laugh rings out, his fingers hooked in your panties and he tugged, you feel his thumb rub over the crotch he had to practically peel off of you, “You’re fucking drenched-” He sing songed out the last part, reminding you again of the obvious, “-you love this.”

He was right. Your cheek was resting on your forearm, face burning with shame, you did fucking love this. How he chased you, talked to you, taunted you verbally and with his knife, spanking you, somehow he managed to tick all your boxes without even realising it at first. You feel the smooth leather of his glove on your ass after he let go of your panties, and another hard hit, another jolt of pain, “So! What else are you into?”

You keep your mouth shut and he tsk’d, “You could hardly shut up when I was chasing you and now you clam up. Shame. I guess I’ll have to figure it out all on my own…”

A pause, tension inside you builds and he says, “I did notice you seem to enjoy my knife, so I got to thinking, and it’s not always true but in the case I think that maybe bigger-”

You now know what he got from your counter. He stole the meat cleaver from your knife block and was now holding it in your line of vision, “-is better.”

A shiver ran through you before the whisper of, “Wha-what are you gonna do with that?”

He laughs, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The cleaver is pulled back and true to his word you weren’t left in the dark for long about what he had planned with it. You feel a hand resting on your lower back, and then feel it, the large plane of ice cold steel meeting your bare ass cheek and you yelp in pain and shock. Another hit and then another and the pained sounds change, shift, and yep, you are into it and it is obvious and you are totally fucked. He is using the cleaver as a makeshift paddle to punish you, it was extremely painful, unrelenting, covered a ton of surface area in one hit, he was strong and could put a lot of power behind it too.

“You’re dripping down your thigh.” You feel him wipe some of it up, “Maybe you have more potential than I thought, disgusting thing that you are, I wonder what else you’d be into.”

Another hit and a much bigger shock of pain to your system, the edge caught you when he pulled back, he cut the back of your thigh, right before the meat of your ass started and you hissed, a suck of your teeth as tears welled up, voice wavering, “Did you cut me?”

You asked it without thinking and he laughed, “Oops.”

Another hit and you moaned, fingers curl, you wish you had something to hold onto and he didn’t fucking stop. The guy clearly had experience with knives, you are sure the cuts that he continues to give you are all on purpose, the pretending they were an accident was part of the bit.

Between your legs, the backs of your thighs were a total fucking wreck, slick and sweat and blood, you were crying into your forearm’s sleeve and he hadn’t stopped with the creative insults, and you were loving every fucked up second of it.

“How many hits was that?” He asked and you were still crying into damp fabric and he repeated himself, louder, “I asked you a question, whore.”

You were supposed to be counting this whole time? You sniffed, lifting your head slightly, “I-I wasn’t-I-”

“You didn’t keep count?” A hard hit, you cried out in pain and he admonished you further, “Fuck. You are totally useless.”

He brought the cleaver down, hard, right next to your head, he cracked the tile in the process, the sound and action made you jump. “Awe, scared?”

Not wanting to piss him off further, you say, “Yes.”

His response was only one word but it’s all he needed. “Good.”

Hands were back on you, “Look at all this.” His fingers trailed through the dripping blood he drew from you earlier, and then he managed to do something to surprise you, glove covered fingers dragged up through your folds and you gasped in shock. After so much pain the sudden rush of pleasure hit you like a ton of bricks and stole all the breath from your lungs.

A moan crosses your lips as his fingers dropped back down, he rubbed your clit, the slickness of your blood acting as lube as he touched, you leaned back, closer to him and he said, “You’d never guess how depraved you are just by looking at you.”

His digits slide back up, two fingers delve inside and he starts to finger your own blood into you, a loud moan tears out, your head falls forward as he hooks his fingers and finds that sweet spot inside that makes you gasp. He sounds very amused as he teases, “Too easy.”

And you feel him press his hips forward and you feel how hard he is, “You feel what you’re doing to me by acting like such a little nympho? Taking all this with an arch and a moan, you are so fucked-”

He continued to rock his fingers inside of you, focusing on that same spot and you are taken by all of this, head nearly spinning from how tonight has gone, the lingering pain, the searing pleasure, weak, you felt very weak. Fingers fucking in and out, his thumb stroking tight circles around your clit making your writhe.

His fingers leave you rather unceremoniously and you whine, another hit on your already bruised ass and you sob, he spits out, “Stop bitching.”

You hear his pants opening and then feel him press to you, hard and unbelievably hot. “Got any cute comments or complaints?”

A weak shake of your head and he asked, “You want it?”

You did, you nod with a bite of your bottom lip and he said, sickeningly saccharine, “Course you do.”

Thankfully he didn’t make you beg but he seemed pretty riled up too. His hips slam forward, making you take him all at once and you cry out against the floor, the sudden burn and stretch overtakes but there is no time to linger, his hips move, no time for you to adjust.

“Fuckkk-you act like such a slut but you don’t feel like one.” His hands gripping your hips, he started to really take, fucking into you quicker, harder. It’s disgusting, filthy, you feel like it too, he was your stalker, he broke in here to kill you for Christ’s sake and you are getting fucked dumb by him and you were…

Living for it, loving it, of course you were.

You have given up any pretence of pretending that you aren’t into it, not like you can hide it, he can feel you clenching on him, hear you moaning, feel you moving back onto him. “You are so stupid-”

You agree, unthinking, just concerned with the pleasure coursing through you, steadily building, the mix of it with the pain from every slam of his hips into your ass, aggravating the cuts, making them weep more blood was doing everything for you. “M’ so stupid-”

“You wanna know why?” He asked, another thrust punctuated with a moan and you bite, “Yea-yeah, God, yeah.”

“Because you think I’m still not gonna kill you-”

You gasp, dragged ever closer to the edge and a loud moan is pulled from him, followed by a laugh, “Fuck! You just clenched THAT hard from the threat of death. It’s got me wondering something-”

He reached out, he picked up the cleaver and leans over, his chest to your back, his hand comes around, he holds the cleaver to your throat and he says, “I wonder how hard you’d squeeze me if I cut your fucking throat right now.”

He pressed harder and you couldn't stop it, eyes squeezed shut, you can barely hear it through the haze as your orgasm overtook, positive it might be the last thing you ever do, him taking you cumming as consent, he asks the obvious, your body has already sealed your fate, “You wanna find out?”

Again, Danny doesn’t think love is for him, doesn’t think he can feel it. But swinging that cleaver with a little force, slashing into your throat, causing it to break open before you’ve come down from your orgasm. Blood pouring out over the blade, over his wrist and down onto the tile, your cunt still twitching and then seizing impossibly tight on his dick while he is buried balls deep, making him unable to pull out, is pretty fucking close to what he imagines love feels like for “normal people.”

Cumming in a victim at the moment of death is the ultimate high, he thinks he might just never top it. If you were still alive or conscious or able to hear him he’d thank you.

#BHF writing #Happy birthday Lottttie #Danny Johnson x reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #Enjoy the filth

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