#it's so much longer than most of the ones i make

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[pomeraniandancer]

I am on disability, so I didn't directly deal with the health insurance aspect. I got lucky in that regard. But. When I survived getting hit by a car, the thing that disgusted me the most about the whole ordeal (even more than the inattentive driver who hit me) was the insurance company that handled my claim. (1) the experience of dealing with both the hospital who kept trying to get me to pay out of pocket even though the part not covered by my insurance would be covered by the driver's car insurance. My lawyer kept having to send them letters saying "Look, they don't have the money and they aren't responsible for paying what's not covered by insurance, that's the car insurance company's job. Stop sending them these bills." I was pretty impressed with his ability to write increasingly testy but unfailingly polite letters to the hospitals (I was at two separate hospitals, one for the initial ER and the second for surgery and initial recovery). (2) the car insurance company initially offered me an amount that didn't cover all my health bills, and considering part of that payment would go to cover lawyer expenses, would still require me to pay out of pocket after insurance. It wasn't until about a year after my accident -- by which time I was, as far as medical was concerned, fully recovered (I'll always have physical reminders of the accident).

I learned a lot about insurance companies that year. One of the things was that insurance companies don't initially deny or lowball people with the expectation that the person will accept that denial or lowball offer (although the company certainly hope they will). The goal is to delay paying out the claim as long as possible so that they can make as much money as possible out of the money they have in the bank to cover the costs *and* make a profit, before paying out the claim. Remember, this is a car insurance company, not a health insurance company. Car insurance companies jack up the costs of insurance on drivers who have been in claim-causing accidents the minute they get confirmation of such an accident. That means that in this case they were not only taking in more from that insurance holder, but making money on the interest rates, for an entire year before they gave me my final agreed-upon payout (which did allow for complete coverage of both medical bills and lawyer expenses). We're focusing on the failures and flaws of health insurance because it's so immediate; if you don't have insurance to cover you when you have appointments or treatments, then you're bust in this country. But it's not just a failure of health insurance, it's a flaw -- or, in the insurance companies' eyes, a feature -- of all insurance companies. There's a reason why a lot of insurance companies no longer covers housing built in flood-risk areas of Florida.

Health insurance is not a provider. It is a denier.

[loveemagicpeace]

🧚🏼‍♀️Astro Notes🧸

Sagittarius love holidays and are very enthusiastic about them. They like things related to fun, etc. They can also be very traditional when they believe in something. More or less their traditions come from their beliefs, but they are very open to new things.

When Leo Sun people do something they will always be like "look what I did", they want you to notice their work and effort. They are always very proud of what they do and present their work with pride. The proudest people will always be them.

Sagittarius mars - living for the moments- They will make the most of every moment and can quickly forget about their worries and just surrender to the moment. Mars in leo living for the fun, romance, pleasure, playfulness. Mars in aries living for danger, excitement. They can quickly forget the needs of others and focus on their own needs.

It is very important what aspects you have with the planet. For ex.: mars in sagittarius with trine saturn makes you very serious when it comes to intimacy, sex, and the affection of another person. Usually, for you, intimacy represents responsibility and seriousness. Even tho I do think that mars in sagittarius people are not unstable or too free. They can be very fiery and devoted to another person. Very quick to respond and driven when they really want someone. If the person match their energy , they will be very into this person. Because they're looking for someone they can connect with. They usually want the same level of energy.

Mars in Taurus is secretly possessive. Many times they appear more stable than they actually are. When it comes to their needs they are very stubborn and will also stubbornly pursue something if they really want it. Once someone fulfills their needs they become very attached to that person and find it difficult to let go of the fact that that person is no longer there. They like stable sexual partners. They have a hard time getting used to a different energy and another person's body when they are used to one (they don't like to change).

I am not a fan of venus in cancer but i think someone who has venus in cancer & mars in taurus can be very nurturing and caring person. They can give you a lot of love and are very attentive. They give love unconditionally.

Cancer moon -They are very caring and emotional. They give a lot, especially when people mean a lot to them. They will always care about the person and their needs. Their love runs very deep. A very sacrificial moon. A very intuitive moon, if a cancer moon tells you something - you should always listen, because they are always right.

People with a placements of Pisces and libra are often hopeless romantics. Many times they fall in love with the wrong people and too quickly. They often idealize people and the love they have for them. They believe in love at first sight and it often happens to them. But the love they need is the opposite of that. The love they should have found is the love they didn't look for, but it came in a completely different form than they imagined. True love will be when they build love with a person, which will come over time and through a difficult period. A love in which they will be realistic.

Capricorn in your chart shows where you are realistic, strong and go through the most challenges.

Your moon is your safe place and also the emotions you crave the most. When someone embody your moon sign for you, this is like a person emitting energy that you need. Thats why you can be much more attached to such people. You can get emotionally attached to someone who gives off your moon energy more quickly than someone who gives off your Venus energy for example.

Fire & earth mars are more connected to their physical body. There are also more into a physical touch. So when it comes to passion and intimacy and this type of stuff. They want a real touch. Both of them are also very active oriented signs. Fire mars in generals are very into actions and doing things. And also the earth mars but they are a little bit more slow when it comes to actions, because they are more focused into long term things.

When it comes to intimacy fire & earth are best together cuz both of them are focused on body. Air & water are more mental.

The sign of Gemini rules the shoulders, arms, hands, and lungs. Natives of this sign are noted for their graceful arms and beautifully shaped hands.

Aries rules the head and face. You can often spot an Aries person by his or her fine facial bone structure and a shining, healthy head of hair.

The sign of Taurus rules the throat and neck, which includes the vocal cords, palate, and tonsils. Generally, Taureans have long, expressive necks, and women of this sign have lovely skin around the throat and collarbone area.

Cancer women often have beautiful bosoms, with soft creamy skin and a curving decolletage. Men of this sign have well-shaped chests and flat stomachs.

The sign of Leo rules the spine, the back, and the heart. The heart is associated with warm emotions, the back with courage.

The sign of Virgo rules the nervous system and the intestines. The intestines assimilate food into the body. By the same token, Virgoans assimilate knowledge and turn it into practical use. They have delicate and finely tuned nervous systems, which makes them intuitive and discriminating.

The sign of Libra rules the kidneys, lumbar region (which includes the lower spine and back), and the buttocks. Libra women tend to have graceful lower spines and curvaceous buttocks, and Libra men have well-shaped, muscular backs

The sign of Scorpio rules the sexual organs. Symbolically, this part of the anatomy represents lifegiving force, and Scorpio people are renowned for their fund of energy and imagination. They have a reputation for being highly sexed, passionate, and possessive, the kind who do nothing halfway.

The sign of Sagittarius rules the hips, the thighs, and the liver. In human anatomy the hips and thighs represent locomotion and volition, and it should not be surprising that most Sagittarians are active people who love freedom, fresh air, sunshine, and the great outdoors.

The sign of Capricorn rules the bones, joints, knees, and teeth. Capricorns are known for their beautiful bone structure and stately carriage. Capricorn women often have a striking angular beauty, especially in their facial bones, which makes them very photogenic. Both men and women have strong constitutions, vigorous and enduring, capable of withstanding stress and illness.

The sign of Aquarius rules the circulatory system and the shins, calves, and ankles. The lower leg represents active locomotion, and Aquarius people are characterized as progressive and forward-thinking.

The sign of Pisces rules the feet and toes and the mucous membranes. Pisceans are noted for their graceful, well-shaped feet, and many become excellent dancers .

-Rebekah🌌🧜🏼‍♀️🪐

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[lunajay33]

My Princess

•🪽🦇💙•

Summary: You are Feyres sister and have always been shy but when everything happens and you and your sisters become Fae, you find yourself falling in love with the mysterious shadow brother

Pairing: Azriel x Feyres sister

Content: Sneaking around, fluff, smut, getting caught

•Masterlist•

I never thought much about how my life would turn out, living in a run down home with my three sisters and father gave me no hope for what could come, I thought I would die young of either illness or starvation, I always tried to help Feyre when I could just to help and get away from Nesta and Elain, they never liked me much, I am I second youngest and they liked to point out every flaw of mine

But then one day everything changed when we were kidnapped and thrown into a cauldron changing out forms, from human to far, Nesta took an immense amount of power, Elain could feel the future and me, well I haven’t shown anyone what I’ve discovered, I can morphe into the shadows, dissapear whenever I want, it came in hand when Nesta would get in one of her fits with who ever dared step up to her

But then one night as I was slipping into the shadows I met the most adorable little tendrils of shadow that seemed were alive, they were all over me swirling around with what I assumed was joy as they led me to Azriel, he was quiet like me and I found comfort in that silence but never had the never to approach him until the shadows brought me right into his room, as I’m in the shadow of his book shelf

Noticing him straighten up and peer around as his shadows spoke to him

“I know you’re here” my heart leapt, I shifted back into my fae solid form and stood before him nervously

“So you are gifted after all” he stood infront of me, shirtless showing his broad shoulders and ripped body

“Ummm yeah, please don’t tell the others”

“And why not?” I shrugged unsure of why I had to explain my reasonings only making him smirk

“You’re not like your sisters, you’re…….different”

“Different bad?”

“No different good, you’re intriguing and mysterious, you don’t put everyone out there”

•

From that day forward we kept our nightly meetings between eachother and it was sooooo easy, sneaking through the shadows right to his room, we started just talking and getting to know eachother but along the way I fell for him, how could I not he’s so beautiful inside and out and one night when all the others were busy getting drunk at a bar I felt my soul meld with his and his mine

That night we accepted the bond and we haven’t been able to stop, it’s been a week and our hunger for eachother hasn’t been quenched and it’s getting harder to hide this relationship

“Do you think we should tell the others?” I ask him as we catch our breathes, my head resting in his shoulder, his hand dragging up and down my back

“If that’s what you want my angel, but I can’t say sneaking around doesn’t make things more hot” he smirks as he grips my hip

“Maybe just a little longer” I giggle as I turn and straddle his legs laying forward on his chest

“Ready for more already?” His voice got deeper sending shivers down my spine

“Are you able to” I love to tease him knowing he has taken me multiple times in one night

“Please woman” he grabs my hips and grinds them up and down his hardening dick, I’ve heard about the girls talking about the comparison between wingspans but there is absolutely no way Rhys or Cassian could be bigger than my man, he nearly splits me apart

“I love you Azriel” I moan as he slowly stretches me out

“Not as much as I love you Angel, fuck you feel so good” at this angle he was just hitting every part just right it was impossible to keep quiet

“Oh god more I want more” I scream when he thrusts up into me faster and faster

“OH AZRIEL YES RIGHT THERE” I scream not even caring right now who here’s

“So good, mother above I’ll never get enough of you” right as I’m about to be in heaven the door bursts open and everyone in the group is standing there wide eyed and mouths hanging

“Ummmm what the hell is going on” Nesta shouts anger written all over her face

Azriel sits up and holds me closer covering my body

“Can we have a moment to get decent” he groans his shadows pushing the others out and slamming the door

“I’m nervous, did you see the way Nesta and Elain were looking at me?” He pulled out and helped put his shirt on me as he pulled on his own sweatpants

“Don’t worry it’ll be fine come on!” He took my hand and led me downstairs to where everyone was sat around in the living room

“Congrats brother!” Cassian congratulated Azriel patting him on the back

“How long has this been going on?” Feyre asks with a little smile as she sat next to Rhys

“Well we’ve been talking for a while at night but then last week our mating bond happened and we accepted immediately” I say holding his hand tighter

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rhys asked

“Obviously she knows she’s not good enough to be with him I mean look at her” Nesta laughed, I hung my head low before Azriel pulled me in at the waist

“Watch your mouth, don’t think I can’t destroy your life just because you’re the high ladies sister

“She’s not wrong” Elain whispered but we all heard

“That’s enough they had their reasons and it’s their relationship, Nesta and Elain you need to leave her alone I’ve had enough of you two always bashing on her just because you know she’s better than you, I’m happy for you sister” Feyre smiles

“You can go to the family cabin if you wish while still in your mating faze” Rhys adds looking happy for his brother the next instant in standing in the cabin Azriel holding me tight from behind

“You know they’re not right, your as pretty as the stars” he says placing kisses up my neck

“Thank you Az, now how about we get back to what we started”

“Don’t have to ask me twice”

[thedandeliongarden]

I actually have to disagree with your conclusions.

Have you ever fought against flexible weapons?

Back when I was doing HEMA, I sparred against training versions of a 2 handed flail, and let me tell you, they are genuinely a right bastard of a weapon, chiefly in the fact that you cannot defend against them normally:

if you intercept a strike via the head it may flip around and you get clonked by the pole and/or the head, not uncommonly in the face.

If you intercept the pole, the head may swing around your guard and slap you in the head

Additionally “rock on a rope” is a historical and historically effective weapon. I personally know it from a specific german husband vs wife trial by combat (it’s a whole thing that shows up in the combat manuals, don’t ask) but it pops up elsewhere (usually earlier on in history iirc) and making said rock sharp metal is hardly going to make it less effective

So let me address your points, such as they are:

Firstly, all “wunderwaffe” in the original context of the word were ineffective money-sinks that harmed the nazi war effort, helping the allies close out the war faster. So it’s kind of odd to mock a historical (if unusual) weapon that did see actual use (the chinese ones were mostly a performance art, but 10 minutes on Wikipedia and you can find several weapons of the type (or at least, that were used specifically because of features you mocked) that were used in warfare) in the same vein as what I can only describe as the most famous set of failures in military science.

The next thing of note is that it’s entirely idiotic to claim a weapon could only ever be effective against a target simulator. Your various criticisms sound like someone whose just been told about plumbata and goes on a rant about how superior throwing axes are by comparison - you’re kind of just ignoring any benefits, somehow completely missing the actual downsides, and concluding that someone who just absolutely nailed 3 targets in a row couldn’t do that to your face because you’d totally move out the way.

So let me cover some actual ground here

the main benefit of “throwing weapon on a string” is that you can retrieve it after you throw it and throw it again - will it be worse on an individual throw? Maybe, but you can throw it again

For the major offensive benefit as a melee weapon, I refer you to my earlier commentary on how fucking annoying it is to try and defend against flexible weapons. I imagine the exact physics works out differently for a weight on a rope than what is fundamentally a long stick attached to a shorter stick, but either way this can absolutely can wrap around your defence in unpredictable/unintuitive ways

You really need to account for the continuous force going into the rope from the wielder. It’s not a limp noodle when it’s being put under tension the whole time, and it won’t behave like a whip from indiana jones

Ok so I think that broadly covers the odd set of criticisms you had, so what about the actual disadvantages of the weapon? Why didn’t it see more widespread use?

Formations and collateral. The bow supplanted the sling because you could put more soldiers in the same area if you used bows. Skirmishers are a little different (and afaik did retain slingers for longer) but main formations wanted to be as dense as possible for most of the history of warfare. And uh. yeah. look it doesn’t take a genius to see how much space you need to use a rope dart to its maximum potential

Skill requirements. There’s a reason it was a performance art, that shit’s impressive - and takes a long time to learn. Much like dual wielding in the sense of two similar sized swords, even though there genuinely are advantages in some situations, learning to do it to a baseline level of competence (i.e without hitting yourself) is dramatically more difficult with flexible weapons than with literally anything else. And so you will only very rarely see this as an army level weapon for the same reason crossbows supplanted regular archery - it just costs more to train the soldiers (english/welsh archery is a notable exception to this rule achieved by a country-wide law prohibiting other sports on sundays, which is kind of insane behaviour but it did work).

Armour. This one’s more of a hunch, but I suspect this is one of the weapon types (like cut-centric swords, clubs, and really any number of weapons) that are disproportionately countered by armour. I think some actual testing would need to be done to confirm, and I cannot stress enough that for most of history that level of armour was not a factor

So yeah. Sure, not a common weapon, and not one commonly used in warfare (at least in china) but until you have actually done some sparring with someone with baseline competence in rope darts, please don’t show your ass by claiming they must be totally useless

Oh, and before I forget - nunchucks were a way around weapon prohibition laws. It’s wrong to compare them to weapons of war, you have to compare them to other concealable civilian weapons like knuckledusters. You have to tune out modern ninja mythos if you want to have useful opinions on weapons involved in it

Demonstrating the rope dart (繩標; sheng2biao1)

[eng by me]

[bewaryofpity]

jack's sooooo clingy he follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, especially after a long day of not seeing you.

jack has been following you around since you came back from work, yapping about anything and everything that has happened to him since you left this morning. and you’re not surprised because he has the habit of lingering close to you when you’ve been gone for a while, especially on his rare days off. today is no different.

he does follow you everywhere like a very grown and very loyal puppy, today more than ever as he followed you to the bathroom where you're trying to get ready for your night routine. he’s sitting on top of the toilet seat, babbling about his day out with nico that obviously consisted of hockey related things.

you snicker to yourself when jack doesn't realize that you're taking longer than usual to get unready, or that he’s talking for this long, but you know how much he hates boredom so you let him be. it’s just that you weren’t expecting this.

it’s cute, yes, but now you’re more interested in seeing how long he’ll yap for or rather how long he’ll stay here with you. so you finish taking your makeup off before pulling the shower curtain back and twisting the knob to turn on the water and adjusting it to the right temperature. the idea that he could easily stalk you into the shower makes you smile so you play along to his not so little rant.

“and then nico lured me to the rink because apparently the kids were practicing and he wanted to surprise them. not that i didn’t like that but then their coach didn’t look too pleased, the kids were distracted for the rest of the practice, obviously.”

you hum, “is it because they took nico’s attention off you?”

“Uh, n-no. i mean i was the one hanging out with him first, so.” he mumbles “but that’s not the point!”

jack huffs, changing into a criss cross position on top of the toilet. and it’s taking everything in you to not laugh at him because he looks like a child, pout on his lips and looking so small in this position.

“well then, was it fun at least?”

“duh, baby.” hands flailing around him. “the kids loved it, they kept asking us questions and some didn’t make sense –they were like four years old, you know– and like, we had to stop for even longer because they wanted us to sign some of their stuff.”

that must be why he also took longer to text you throughout his day.

“i bet, love.” you nod along, pulling your hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get wet in the shower, finally at the right hot temperature. “i’ll shower now if you don’t mind.”

“oh, now?” eyes wide like you told a child you’ll leave him in the parking lot.

“i mean, we’re in the bathroom, and i’m in a towel, and it’s been a long day. so yes, now.”

and jack’s cheeks have a faint pink tint as he shamelessly watches you unravel your towel and step in the shower. totally not because he saw you naked for a split second, it’s just the steam from the really hot shower, right?

“uh yeah, okay” he says as he stand up. “i’ll get unready too before i go then.”

you hum in reply as you go on about your shower, but you’re actually simply standing under the water, trying to keep an ear out for his movements and words.

suddenly he’s taking his sweet time to wash his face and you think he might start brushing his teeth soon too for the hell of it.

but his talking doesn’t stop at all. he blurts out random thoughts in between before going on to ramble about some hockey plays he’s been looking over, asks you what you had for lunch. he even asks you which body wash you’re currently using –which is none yet because trying not to laugh is revealing to be harder than you thought. he’s truly finding the most random topics to fill the silence.

and the talking does finally stop, but it’s replaced by jack’s whistling, clearly out of things to say. yet you know your boyfriend better than he thinks so you know very well what he’s thinking about.

“you still there, jacky?” you call wittingly. you can see his blurry figure through the shower curtain, an excited nod coming from his silhouette.

and you bite your lip as one of his hands reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. “i guess i’ll go now. uhm… i’ll wait for you to come out. i’ll get us take out, anything you’re craving? because if you want there’s a new italian place down the street that luke suggested to me and he says it's really good, so i think maybe–”

omg he’s so cute.

you pull the curtain back, just with your head peeping out to find jack with one hand hovering the door handle, still lingering around.

“jacky?”

“yeah baby, what’s up?”

“do you want to shower with me?”

and like a kid opening presents on christmas morning, his eyes light up so quickly. his head shakes with an overly enthusiastic nod, and he’s already clumsy in pulling off his clothes that he almost trips getting his sweatpants off. you’re not surprised at all, the lack of grace and coordination are not exclusive to when he’s on the ice.

a stupid, wide, boyish grin spreads over his lips when he finally steps into the shower in front of you. 

“hi, baby,” he grins, leaning forward to hold your face in his hands and peck your nose.

“you know, if you wanted to join me, you could’ve just asked.” your smile now matching his. jack squishes your cheeks between his palms, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

[enchantedflameandflower]

Billy Butcher x you oneshot!

Billy knows how to really take care of you when you need it most…

18+ only smut, piv, cock warming, creampie

Merry Christmas! 😘

~*~*~

It was getting late. Butcher was watching a movie on the couch, but you were sitting at the table, finishing up some work.

When you were finally done, you gave a huge sigh of relief and checked your email one last time.

"Fuck," you groaned as you opened the 5th message from your boss that night asking you for a report on one of your projects. Frustration and tension and anxiety surged inside of you like the tide, and for a moment all you could do was sit there and stare at the screen.

Butcher had paused halfway through his movie as he got up to get a drink and seemed to sense what was happening. Honestly, you were stressed a lot these days. Most of the time he wouldn't notice, or at least would just let you be but right now you felt like you were at your tipping point.

"C'mere doll," he said from behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to tell him you were busy, but the fierce look in his eyes told you he was not going to take no for an answer.

You sighed when you stood up and went over to him but all you were thinking was 'he noticed.'

Butcher slid his hands around your waist, tugging you against him. "You've been workin' too hard."

All of the breath in your lungs seemed to escape in one big whoosh. "It's just how it is this time of year.

I just have one more report to work on. And I need to do my laundry. And it's Thursday."

Butcher leaned back, lifting his eyebrow at you.

"Dusting day," you explained meekly.

Billy gave you a look. "I'll do yer laundry with mine and dustin' can wait. What can I do tonight to make ya sit still for a while and let yerself go?"

You leaned forward wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek against his broad chest. He was right, you felt like you were about to collapse but there was still so much to do...

"Maybe just hold me," you said softly.

"I'd be chuffed, love, but yer mind would still be whirlin' wouldn't it. Need somethin' to distract that pretty head o' yours too."

He rubbed your back for a moment as he thought and a soft, but tired, little sound escaped your throat. He knew you, and he knew it had to be something different to truly get your mind off of your worries right now.

He glanced at the tv where the movie was paused, then back to you. "Up for a little playin', love? I've got an idea."

The look in his eye told you it was something interesting and you couldn't help immediately being intrigued. "Maybe...what would I have to do?"

"Nothin' love. Go and change inta somethin' comfy. Just a shirt, nothin' else, then come back out and sit with me."

"Ok." You gave him a kiss before you retreated into your shared bedroom.

When you came back out he was sitting on the couch and he groaned as soon as he saw you.

"Fuck me," he muttered.

You grinned at him, pleased. You'd changed into one of his shirts, and you'd left it unbuttoned, though it was pulled around you at the moment. It was soft and it barely came to the tops of your thighs.

"Well c'mon," he husked, patting his lap and letting his heated gaze roam over you.

You climbed into his lap kneeling over him and sitting back on his thighs. "If your idea is to fuck me..." you deadpanned.

He smirked wickedly, his hands sliding to your hips. "Nah it ain't that. You know you'd be comin' in minutes, love, then you'd be right back to your troubles again wouldn't ya? Need somethin' to relax yer brain fer a lot longer than that. Besides I need t'finish me film."

Well...he wasn't wrong.

For a moment you met his eyes, gleaming with mischief, and you could feel his cock swelling beneath you...and then you realized what he wanted to do. A surprising pulse of lust surged through your veins and you knew you were immediately wet for him. It wasn't something you'd ever thought of before but now that you did...now that you did you were more than eager to try. That might actually work.

His hazel eyes glinted with desire even as they darkened. "Be a good girl and get me cock out, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding your head and sliding back off his lap. He gave you a look and you obeyed instantly, working his belt free and opening his jeans. He shifted his hips so you could tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and ready for you.

"How do you want me?" you whispered.

"Facin' the telly, yeah? Wouldn't want you to miss the rest o' the film."

You hadn't really seen the first half as you'd been working at the same time, but you had a feeling that didn't matter. And maybe it would help to have something to watch to help distract you from his...distracting.

You stood up and turned around as he slid one big hand around the base of his cock to steady it, and gripped your hip with the other.

"Ready, doll," he murmured low, and you moved to sit on him slowly, his hand positioning you with a tight grip.

When you felt the head of his cock at your entrance, a little moan left your lips but he kept guiding you down without pause.

"Fuck..." you breathed. Without much preparation, the fit was tight and he stretched you almost uncomfortably but you knew your body would adjust.

"Fuckin' hell, love, your gushin'," he groaned. "Must've liked this idea more than I realized."

You wanted to argue but a broken moan was all that left your lips. You took a breath as you took him all way, you ass quickly pressing flush against his thighs. "Oh my god..." you whimpered. Syrupy pleasure flooded through your body, making your clit throb and your cunt flutter around his length as you thought about staying like this.

Billy gripped your hips hard with both hands and you felt another gush of wetness around his cock. "Easy now. Take a deep breath fer me, love. Yer gonna have to calm down if you yer gonna be a good girl and let me keep ya on me cock till I'm done watchin'."

"Oh fuck," you moaned breathily, closing your eyes and biting your lip hard. Breathe.

His hands rubbed soothingly over your hips and outer thighs and you took a slow deep breath and licked your lips, focusing on the tv in front of you. You caught sight of the time bar and you almost groaned at the amount of time that was left, just a little less than an hour. Breathe.

He felt so thick inside of you, the size of him alone lighting up every nerve ending you had. But you had a long way to go so you took another deep breath, and finally your body let go of some of the tension, just a little.

That's my girl," Billy murmured low from behind you. He slid one arm around you and urged you to lean back against his chest. "Just rest here for a bit, filled up with me cock, not thinkin' 'bout nothin' else."

Your only answer was another whimper and he gave a low chuckle.

Starting the movie again, he moved a pillow to your side, and another on his shoulder so you could rest your head against it and still watch the movie. Your bare legs were draped over his jean clad thighs and you had to be careful not to let his open zipper scrape across your inner thighs or worse. Incentive not to move, you supposed.

You swallowed again, trying hard not to clench around him, but you couldn't help the little flutters of your cunt anytime his cock twitched or he shifted even the tiniest bit.

How he was keeping his own control so easily, you had no idea. Probably had a wank in the shower earlier, you sighed to yourself.

His chest was warm against your back and his big hand was rubbing your thigh. You really tried to watch the movie, but fuck, he was so deep like this. His cock was fiery hot inside of you and you swore you could feel the veins that ran the length of it. You felt every inch af him.

Minutes ticked by slowly, and you did your best for almost 15 of them, but as pleasure continued to pool in your center, and your body adjusted to his size, relaxing and taking him deeper, all you could think about was getting relief. You were dripping and you were sure he could feel it, but still he seemed as relaxed as ever, lazily stroking your thigh as he watched the tv.

Then before you could try to stop yourself, your hips rocked on top of his lap and a soft little cry escaped as bliss erupted inside you, making your whole body tense and buzz, making your fingertips tingle.

Billy rumbled and caught your hips with both hands, gripping hard, holding you still. "No movin', doll."

Your clit throbbed helplessly, completely neglected and you had to bite your lip to keep from whining pathetically, clenching your hands on your thighs.

"Breathe," he murmured, his beard tickling the curve of your neck as he leaned forward. You took a gulp of air, and then another, not even realizing you'd stopped.

Breathe.

Finally, you caught your breath and your lust lowered back to a simmer.

"That's a good girl fer me," Billy said, kneading your hips in reward but all you could do was groan at his praise and it made your cunt flutter around him again.

"Don't say that," you whimpered.

He gave a quiet laugh and patted your leg. "We'll have to keep practicin' this," he said low against the shell of your ear, then went back to watching the movie.

You slumped back against his broad chest again and his arm came around you. Instead of thinking about the way his cock was filling you, you tried to focus on letting your palm play over the little hairs on his forearm. After another 15 minutes, a hazy-sweet fog started to drift over your mind, some combination of dazed and still wildly turned on.

Anytime he moved it sent a jolt of pleasure through you but you were starting to get used to it, learning to let it soften into your body, banking it for later. After a while you couldn't even tell where he ended and you began, he was just a part of you.

At some point you must have completely spaced out, because you suddenly realized the tv was off. Billy was smoothing his hands slowly over your stomach and your thighs and your hips, still thick and big inside of you.

"Did I do it?" you murmured languidly.

Billy leaned closer, kissing the side of your neck, his mustache and his beard scratching sensitive skin spectacularly. "You did it. Such a good girl. My girl..."

You made a lilting, blissful sound and wrapped your fingers around his forearms, desperately needing to hold on to something.

"Think you can come for me now, pet?" His voice was gravelly and rough in your ear.

"Mmmm...mmhmm..." You gripped his arm tighter, unable to get your mind to even form another word. Every single worry was completely gone and you couldn't care less about anything except this right here.

Billy shifted underneath you, pushing his jeans further down his thighs and the movement made him thrust up into you.

You cried out, trembling with need, and he made a low sound to soothe you. "I've got ya, love. I'll take care now..."

It was too much to hold yourself up so you fell back against him and he rumbled approvingly. The vibration in his chest only added to your pleasure.

He pulled the edges of his shirt that you were wearing apart so you were totally exposed and tugged it down so your shoulders were bare but didn't bother taking it all the way off. Then he wrapped his hands around your bare waist and began to thrust up into you. "Fuck," he groaned. "Wasn't gonna last much longer either, love."

One of his big hands slid up to engulf your breast, kneading the weight of it in his palm then pinching your tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your heart stuttered as you gasped for breath, every nerve lighting up. Billy knew how to make your body sing.

Lifting one arm, you curled it around him to thread your fingers through his hair and let your eyes flutter closed, just feeling him.

Every single thrust hit the right spot and made you whimper or moan or cry. Pleasure seemed to only crest higher and higher inside you, no limit in sight.

Within moments, as he had predicted earlier, you were on the brink of orgasm, but you wanted more, needed it. Grabbing at his hand on your waist, you pushed it down, guiding his fingers to where you were joined.

Billy moaned, his lips brushing the nape of your neck. "Mmmm, needy little thing, ain't ya..." he teased, but he deftly nestled two fingertips right over your swollen clit.

The second he started to circle over the throbbing nub your bliss heightened ten-fold...it had been left ignored for too long.

Your cries now were so much that you vaguely wondered if the neighbors would be concerned but there was nothing you could do, and Billy didn't seem to care at all.

His fingers slowed when he sensed you were almost there and he used his free hand to move your knees to the outside of his so he could push your legs farther apart with his own, wide open for him, and stuffed full.

Then his fingertips returned to their fast, slick circles with haste.

The eruption of your climax happened immediately. Your entire body tensed in pleasure, wave after wave crashed through you in relentless pulses as he continued to stroke your clit.

The growl Billy let loose against your shoulder in response was earth-shaking. You had never felt an orgasm this intense before and you could tell your thighs and his fingers and his cock were drenched.

"Fuckin' "ell," he groaned. He moved to grip your hips with both hands one last time, the fingers on one hand still slick with you, and he bucked up into you, rough and erratic as his own orgasm began.

Burying his face against the curve of your neck, he bit down, moaning, low and gruff.

Broken whimpers and unintelligible words fell from your lips as every sensation continued to bounce and ping through your body like a pinball machine.

You could feel his come, hot and thick, spurting deep inside you. It felt just as good as everything else this night.

By the end of it you were completely expended, weak in his lap. You wouldn't be able to move even if the apartment caught on fire.

Billy was slumped into the couch now too, but his arms were around you and he was still inside you.

You had no idea how long the two of you lazed there, but eventually Billy regained his strength.

You whimpered as he finally slid out of you then gathered you up in his arms.

Your own strength was long gone and it was not coming back. He carried you into the bathroom and you were too fucked out to even care he stayed. After he cleaned both of you up, he scooped you up again and set you on the bed. He found your favorite, softest long t-shirt to sleep in and tucked you in. In the next minute he was sliding under the blankets too and he hauled you against his chest.

"Alright love?" he murmured.

"Mmmmmm. Mmmhmmmm." You were nestled in his arms, his skin warm beneath you and your face pressed to his shoulder. You wanted to say thank you but you were pretty sure only a mumble of half-formed words came out. His hand rubbed soothingly over your back and you felt him nuzzle the top of your head only seconds before you were out.

You couldn't go to work the next day, much to Butcher's smug amusement.

~*~*~

thank you for reading 🥹 thank you for all the inspiration to write this ❤️

(post tags are not working for this so doing my best to figure out what the issue is, and tagged people instead, I’m so sorry bleh tumblr)

@chocolategiverzombie @kus-babygirl @jynx15 @cassiopeia-grimm @karlurbanism

@weallhaveadestiny @violent-darkness @norman-b @fenyxhawthorn @smallsadjellyfish

@butchersboobs @shirley-girly @bobabilbil @galaxyshifting @angelically-yours

@burntsaltsblog @multifandomqueen199032 @waerwena @rebelled-angel @spikycritter

karl urban masterlist

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.8  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.11

p.10

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

AN: can I make it up to you with a slightly longer chapter? please? sorry if this is a bit wordy, but enjoy. the next few chapters will have more momentum and movement. I'm still debating how messed up I want this story to be-- i tend to lean into the dark fic lines. i have a rough outline but....

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), hints at inappropriate thoughts, toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

thoughts and time changes

Lately, you’ve found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Toji. 

There’s a subtle… warmth in him now that wasn’t there before, though he still remains quiet, never prying—and it all started after you returned from your clan house battered and bruised. When he was surprisingly gentle as he wordlessly patched you up. Yet, despite this newfound…what? fondness?—his frequent absences still plagued the house, never lingering longer than necessary, and more often than not, It was still just you and Megumi.

Megumi returned home for the summers—with that first one standing out as particularly difficult to navigate. 

The two of you fell back into that familiar closeness, as if the strained conversation from before had never happened. As if he hadn't ever avoided you in the first place. He never spoke about it, opting to steer clear from any conversation that seemed too personal. Yet, this left you with a lingering uncertainty that seemed to hang over every interaction—never knowing if he might suddenly pull away or how his mood might change—keeping you constantly on edge around him.

And how could you bring it up? No, you’d much rather keep things peaceful—safe, between the two of you. 

Despite all of your “concerns”, he slipped back into his touchy, almost affectionate habits—perhaps even more so than before, seemingly fine for the most part. The anger and blatant irritation that once defined him, present in his every interaction with Toji, had given way to a stoic calmness—a neutrality that left you feeling a bit happier. He changed so much, yet felt so familiar in so many ways.

And it was that same composure that made him so hard to read, leaving you endlessly guessing at what he didn't say. You definitely can't say you knew him as well as you did before.

Megumi’s thoughts drifted back to his first year at Jujutsu High.

A plethora of new faces and challenges—meeting his classmates had been, to put it mildly, eventful. There was Gojo Satoru, for one. His arrogant and self-absorbed teacher, who seemed far too amused by his own power and status as the strongest sorcerer. Easily the most skilled, he pushed Megumi all year to become a better version of himself, taking an interest in his background with the Zenin Clan. Annoying as it was, Megumi had to admit—thanks to the blue eyed freak, he understood his potential far better than he ever had before. 

Then there was Yuji Itadori. The reckless idiot who, in a moment of pure desperation and absolute insanity, swallowed one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. Even now, Megumi couldn’t shake the guilt. If only he’d been faster, stronger—he might’ve stopped it. Might’ve saved Yuji from a path that tore his life apart.

Yet, despite it all, he became what Megumi would consider a friend. Easily the biggest doof he'd ever met—somehow managing to be both absurdly reckless and irritatingly good-hearted, resembling you in a weird way. Despite knowing him for such a short time, they’d already faced more together than most do in a lifetime.

And meeting Nobara Kugasaki. A girl he initially thought of as only loud and annoying, proved to be more than capable in more ways than one. Somehow, she managed to grow on him, though not without constantly provoking his every last nerve. Even worse than Toji did—a feat he hadn't thought possible.

He’d been careful not to tell you too much, as hard as it was when he saw your face waiting for him the moment he walked through that front door—a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. His first year had been chaotic, after all, but he hadn’t lied to you… just carefully sidestepped the truths. You poked and prodded for answers, but he remained evasive, selectively sharing only what he thought was safe for someone as precious as you.

Those text messages you sent? He couldn’t bring himself to respond much—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of making you worry. Your messages were always so short, almost hesitant—yet somehow, impossibly cute. Strangely endearing in a way that made him smile without meaning to. And they had him staring at his phone far longer than he’d ever admit. Long enough for Yuji to notice, of course, grinning as he tried to snatch the phone from Megumi’s hands, teasing him mercilessly about some "mysterious girlfriend."

There was no way in hell he’d let Sukuna’s vessel or his creepy teacher know about you—let alone meet you. Gojo probably had some inkling about your presence in his life—after all, who in Jujutsu society wasn’t at least vaguely aware of an arranged marriage? Especially one involving someone he had only recently discovered was as much of a social pariah as his father. But even if Gojo knew, Megumi was certain it was only through word of mouth alone, and he intended to keep it that way. You were a part of his life that he refused to let this chaos touch.

But they were good people—people who made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. What kind of person did he want to become? What kind of lives did he want to protect? The answer always circled back to you. You were his constant, the standard by which he measured everything. Someone who deserved better, someone who had endured far more than anyone should, and someone he would never stop trying to be worthy of.

He hated the unfairness of it all. Despised it—the sheer injustice of everything you had endured. The crushing expectations your clan had forced upon you, the suffocating marriage to his father, the unrelenting sense of entrapment that shadowed your every step. None of it was right. And the more he learned from Gojo, the angrier he became. A power system designed to crush those deemed weak or inferior, wielded to maintain a twisted hierarchy.

The true difference between you and Megumi was your golden heart—your unwavering care and strength, even in the face of how he knew you were likely treated within your clan. And yet, it was him who was being praised, lauded for qualities he wasn’t sure he deserved credit for.

That first year had taught him plenty. He’d solidified his choices, made his intentions clear, fully understanding what he was stepping into. And Megumi wasn’t just reflecting on these wrongs—he was determined to set them right, no matter the cost.

To him, you didn’t belong to anyone else—least of all his father. You were his. The very thought of you leaving, of slipping beyond his reach, sent a sharp, desperate ache through his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He’d free you—not just from the chains of your family or his father, but so you could truly be free. Free to choose him. To stay by his side. Always. Forever. Exactly where you belonged.

All he needed was for you to wait for him. Just a little longer.

After that long, grueling first year at school, Megumi finally got to see your beautiful face again. The way your smile lit up the room, the teasing lilt in your voice as you poked fun at him—it was enough to completely unravel him inside. It quietly reassured him that you still cared, easing the self-consciousness that had lingered since the day he left. Somehow, despite everything, it still felt the same. Like nothing had changed. Like home.

He had to restrain himself when he came back—the overwhelming urge to pull you close, to kiss you like he’d always dreamt of, nearly getting the better of him. But no—he wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t scare you away, not when having you near again felt like the only thing keeping him steady.

And he didn’t want you worrying about him, either. The probing questions you had? He’d place those on the backburner for now. Maybe even forever. That wasn’t what he needed from you. The thought of seeing your broken expression, your worry etched into every line of your face, was enough to haunt him. You were his light, his solace—and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Since coming back, Megumi had been careful—deliberate—in carving out his place in your life. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was measured and planned, more so than ever before. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, he had begun reshaping the way you saw him. He dropped small, seemingly innocent comments here and there, gently steering your attention toward him and away from anyone else—especially his father. Subtlety was key, he figured.

Every look, every gesture, was a calculated effort to blur the boundaries between you, to shift the nature of your relationship without you even realizing it. He wasn’t content with simply being part of your life—he was determined to make himself the center of it.

He worked tirelessly. 

He regretted pulling away before, but if school had taught him anything, it was to cherish these fleeting moments with you. And each day, it seemed his efforts were paying off. You turned to him more often now, seeking his presence, his reassurance. Every question you asked, every flash of that radiant smile, felt like a step closer to what he wanted—to what he needed.

But it still wasn’t enough. He could tell you didn’t see him the way he saw you, didn’t feel the same pull that consumed him. The way he craved you. It ate away at him, the frustration building with every stolen glance, every moment he found himself aching for more. More than your smile, more than your laughter—he wanted all of you, and the thought of waiting drove him mad. He wanted your everything.

At least your eyes were still on him. At least you still cared. For now, that would have to be enough. 

But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. You’d realize it eventually—you had to. And when you did, he’d be there, ready to claim the place in your heart that was always meant for him.

Before you knew it, Megumi was heading back to school, leaving the house quieter than usual. You’d been bracing yourself for another inevitable summons from your clan, surprised by their unusual silence. It was an uncharacteristic delay, one that left you both relieved and unsettled.

When the message finally arrived, it was as if the air grew heavier around you. Steeling yourself, you went, prepared for the worst, knowing all too well the weight that came with their demands. The possibility for retaliation. No. the absolute for retaliation. 

As expected, you were met with the same barrage of insults, the words slicing through you with their usual sharpness. But this time, there were no lashings, no physical punishment to endure. The absence of that particular cruelty felt like a small, bittersweet victory. You carried the weight of their scorn on your way home but couldn’t help feeling a tinge of relief that it hadn’t been worse.

Toji was home that day—a surprise that caught you off guard, especially since you’d texted him earlier about your meeting with the clan. He’d mentioned being tied up on another one of his long-winded trips, at least for the next few days. Yet here he was.

He greeted you with his usual detached demeanor, but his eyes betrayed him, scanning you with unnerving precision—a deliberate, assessing once-over that made your stomach twist. Before you could fully process it, he stepped closer, his presence effortlessly commanding the space between you. Instinctively, you recoiled in surprise, but it didn’t deter him.

Without a word, his hand moved with an almost lazy confidence, slipping under the back of your shirt. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you, heat rushing to your cheeks as the intimacy of the gesture froze you in place. You couldn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his boldness, the casual intensity of his touch leaving you breathless and unsure of what to say.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt coloring his voice. His fingers trailed lightly across your skin, as though searching for something. It didn’t take long for him to pause, clearly not finding what he was looking for. With a quiet chuckle, he pulled his hand back, a smirk curving his lips as his eyes locked onto yours.

“Clean this time, huh? Guess they decided to play nice.”

You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to mock or comfort, but the way his eyes lingered on you left your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat. He stepped back, the teasing edge in his demeanor—his gaze, softening ever so slightly before he turned away, leaving you rooted to the spot.

The warmth of his palm still clung to your skin, your mind spinning, cheeks burning a vivid red. He’d never been this handsy before, but you knew exactly what he was searching for. What you couldn’t quite grasp was why it seemed to matter to him. Then again, when had Toji ever made sense to you? 

You and Megumi had been exchanging texts more frequently than ever. It wasn’t something you had expected, but it started after he seemed to notice how upset his silence left you. The habit picked up when he returned to school for his second year. Whether it was guilt or something else driving his newfound consistency, you couldn’t deny the quiet relief that warmed your chest each time your phone pinged with his name.

Megumi’s birthday came and went, and for the first time, you felt comfortable enough to text him without hesitation, inviting him home for a small celebration. "Bring your new friends!" you added hopefully, sprinkling in an emoji or two to lighten the tone.

His reply came swiftly, cutting through your excitement—though, deep down, you should’ve expected it.

"I can’t. I have a mission coming up. I won’t be able to make it."

The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, but you tried not to push. The memory of his last birthday lingered in your mind, making you wonder if he avoided these moments on purpose. Megumi was never the social type, but you couldn’t help wanting to meet his friends, to see the people he spent so much of his time with. And, if you were honest, you missed him. The house always felt quieter, emptier, without him around.

Later that evening, however, your phone buzzed with an unexpected surprise. A picture.

It was Megumi, his expression as stoic and neutral as ever. Standing beside him was a pink-haired boy who couldn’t have been more of a contrast—wide-eyed, grinning ear to ear, brimming with an energy that practically leapt off the screen. The backdrop was lively, vibrant, a fleeting glimpse into the life Megumi was living far away from you. 

You lingered on the photo, your fingers brushing lightly over the screen. For all your probing and insistence on wanting to meet his friends, wanting to see him again, you were surprised he’d sent anything at all. Megumi had always been evasive, but this felt like a compromise—his way of meeting you halfway.

He looked… different. He had been looking different for a while now—since arriving at that school. Once again, as always when you saw him, you couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown. He wasn’t just older; he was changing. Growing up. Making friends. Breaking free from his shell. Enjoying his life in a way you hadn’t seen before.

For a fleeting moment, pride swelled in your chest—warm and undeniable—only to be chased by a bittersweet ache. He was different, and though you were happy for him, the realization of how little he shared with you felt suffocatingly lonely.

And you couldn't help but feel a little…jealous. 

The next summer passes much the same, uneventful but filled with moments of quiet reflection. Your clan has kept their distance physically, but their questions have grown intense, more persistent. They never hit you again, though the threat was always there. Prodding for details you refuse to give, their subtle questions suggesting they have something more planned—something you can’t quite decipher yet.

When Megumi returns, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed toward you. At seventeen now, he towers over you—maybe even reaching Toji’s height. His lean frame is noticeably stronger, and his presence feels heavier, more grounded. He still leans on you in his quiet, familiar way—that same energy that had always lingered between you stubbornly remained. But now, it felt… different. A little harder to ignore. A little harder to navigate.

It catches you off guard sometimes, especially when his eyes seem to linger on you just a bit too long. You’d always shrugged it off—those previous years, Toji’s words, even Megumi’s actions. A crush. That’s all it was. A fleeting, innocent crush. One you never addressed, one you assumed he’d outgrow. He’d figure out soon enough where you stood in his life.

But there was something unspoken in his gaze now, something that left your heart uneasy and your thoughts spiraling. You couldn’t help but think back to his bedroom, the night before he first left for school—the way the air had felt heavy, the unspoken tension hanging there ever since. His promise to protect you. That anger of you dismissing him. 

That third summer at home felt different—unsettlingly so. The reminder of how much he’d grown. The uncomfortable realization of how much you’d come to lean on him in return. But most of all, the subtle shift in how he acted around you, how he spoke to you, how his presence seemed to take up more space.

Your relationship with him had already felt off before. What could you even do about it now? Especially when he wasn't going to talk about it first?

Yes, that summer was a strange one.

Megumi was determined to win you over.

He was close—so close. With just one more year left until graduation, his plans were nearly complete. All that remained was you.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

So he made sure you noticed. Made sure you saw just how much he’d grown.

He began wearing less clothing around the house, casually shirtless as he passed you in the hall, his lean, sculpted frame brushing just close enough for you to feel him. Bare skin ghosting against yours in fleeting touches that lingered in your mind. His voice dipped lower in the mornings, rich and deep as he greeted you, leaning in just a little too close as he reached for one thing or another. The subtle pink that crept into your cheeks didn’t escape him—and he enjoyed every second of it.

His touches grew more deliberate, yet always subtle enough to avoid suspicion. Fingers grazing your waist as he passed, lingering just a beat too long on your arm, or a hand ghosting over the nape of your neck in what seemed like an accident. But none of it was accidental.

It was all calculated—every movement, every look, designed to pull your attention, to fluster you, to shift how you saw him. Like a predator circling its prey, he was patient, methodical, and utterly focused. 

And you… you were quite the prize. Every day, he admired you, every glance fueling the fire that burned inside him. The more he pushed, the more flustered you seemed to get, each reaction feeding his obsession. But no matter how carefully he set his traps, how hard he tried to shift the dynamic, you remained painfully oblivious.

If you noticed the changes in him, you didn’t let on—offering only the small, well-meaning comments of someone watching a child grow. But Megumi couldn’t ignore the cracks in your composure, the way your voice faltered or how your cheeks burned when he walked around shirtless. Because really—what mother blushes that much when her stepkid walks by?

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But Megumi wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As the summer wore on, his patience began to wane. Subtlety had carried him far, but now it felt too slow, too restrained. His tactics shifted, his determination sharpening. He wanted something more, something that would bring him closer to you—something impossible to ignore.

p.9

p.11

come home

[cometconmain]

Just gonna point out here (targeted in the direction of anyone calling the CEO shooter a terrorist) that this constant slapping of 'terrorism' on shit that isn't by people in power who want to delegitimise acts of measured violence against specific people in power who actively caused the suffering and death this was about are making people stop treating that term seriously and I think that's a really big problem.

Nobody else died. Whoever did definitely kill the CEO didn't blow up an entire building to get to one guy. He didn't do a mass shooting of the building to get to the one guy. He didn't target random civillians and hold them hostage and sexually assault and slaughter them while planning killing as many people as possible regardless of what they've done or not done as individuals. He didn't attack a concert to get one guy. His only political statement with the murder was 'these people have been murdering us in the tens of thousands for decades and it's time they understood we've had enough through the only language they seem to understand because they ignored us when we were talking peacefully and went on killing us anyway because due process was never going to stop them when they have the game rigged in their favour.' And he made sure only the person responsible for these acts of horrific fatal negligence against innocent people was the one who died and no one else. That's not terrorism. At most it's assassination and we can argue about whether or not that's a helpful mindset to be accepting in the long term as much as people like but for fuck's sake people HAVE TO STOP labelling shit terrorism that isn't. It's watering the term down and people who are rightfully angry at being shut down at every turn when they do things that can't be swept under the rug (which applies to all kinds of non-fatal activism so don't come at me on that) are starting to ignore actual terrorism when it happens because their experience is that anyone using that word is just trying to remove the last shred of power a group has to stand up to their oppressors.

Do we have to just also make sure we consciously don't let ourselves redefine that term in either direction? Yes. But it's a two way street and everyone else misusing that word in the first place need to meet us in the middle in not waving it around slapping anyone and any activism they're made uncomfortable by like it's a wet noodle regardless of what the people they're slapping are ACTUALLY doing or not doing.

If we decide terrorism is bad (and obviously actual terrorism genuinely is!!), and then decide anything involving any form of violent resistance in the face of increasingly violent oppression is now terrorism, what kind of message do we send to all the people who are basically being told they're not allowed to resist that oppression now even if the situation isn't changing enough from the peaceful measures because every time they come with an olive branch they're met by a policeman/soldier's baton/tear gas/taser or even bullet?

The longer we go without listening to people when they ARE talking, and shutting down all other avenues to reach change except for the violence we also condemn as blanketly wrong regardless of circumstance, the more enraged and violent those people will get. It's basic psychology and easy enough for people not experiencing that inescapable oppression to say kindergarten level shit like 'violence is bad; killing is wrong.' If someone tries to kill you in the street and necessary escalation to stop them results in their dying, is that wrong? But they were trying to kill you. Were you supposed to limit yourself and increase your chances of death because they had a family? What about your family?

There have to be nuances to this because the world is more complicated than the play room where all the toddlers who can't handle that nuance are. Little Tommy isn't stopping little Johnny from talking to him because he doesn't have that kind of power. An adult can step in and resolve the child-level issue and make Tommy listen to Johnny and teach them to handle conflict peacefully and respectfully.

That doesn't apply to the adult-level capitalist world where money over millions of people's lives is the norm and intricately rigged and enforced so it never changes through peaceful resolution (we can keep chipping away and we do make things more bearable than the rich people want to give us, but it's a constant and exhausting battle while in the meantime everyone we love is either dead, dying or at risk of dying around us every day this goes without being properly fixed). In a world where a homeless man can be murdered in cold blood on a subway train after the attack stopped, but a CEO who has killed a horrific number of people in cold blood himself gets shot and his killer made an example of to the angry populace who see this discrepancy and understand that the powerful are only trying to maintain their status quo, there is only so much saying "Please pretty please stop killing us. We're human beings. We've justified to you over and over again why what you're doing is wrong and you still kill us with no consequences and no end in sight but maybe if we just keep talking and expecting a different result it'll happen" can do to stop the status quo that is constantly being propped up by corporate and governmental interests.

No one actually wants to be in a civil war. Most of us don't want to kill people. Bringing the rich and powerful who have killed so many to justice through due process and a proper trial is always going to be better and healthier for our society than walking up to them and shooting them.

But if you give people no other choice because you will never see that proper trial by your own design...

What else are those suffering and dying meant to do? Just keep suffering and dying quietly? Accept this constant violence toward them only to have their desperate violence called unacceptable and wrong and terrorism while yours is quietly swept under the rug?

Never target innocents. Never try to wipe out an entire group of people for the actions of a few. That IS terrorism and unjust and unacceptable because it's unnecessary force against random innocent people. But if the few who are doing those horrific actions aren't being stopped by normal societal methods of dealing with them peacefully and they continue shutting down every avenue you try to take to make them face justice non-violently and you actively make sure only to target them that's not terrorism. That's being pushed to the brink and finally breaking the way everyone will eventually under that type of oppressive violence and then making sure only the people actually committing that violence against you receive violence in return. That's self defence.

This literally is the only course left in a truly dystopian system where there truly is no end in sight except through making it clear people can't take it anymore, because they don't let people express that peacefully either. What else are those people supposed to do when you will never go to trial and ALSO refuse to let due process and proper trials happen to those you want silenced?

Terrorism stopped sounding like a bad thing to us when people made it mean anything they didn't like. And that's seriously fucked up because actual terrorism where people are targeted indiscriminately for a political or religious statement really is wrong and fucked up and unnecessary and has to stop. It's never necessary to do that even if it's about fighting the status quo and increasingly violent oppression. You can do that without killing or even risking innocents. The guy who shot the CEO proved that. There's a middle line to walk here and we have to make sure we don't let people flopping labels around like wet noodles make us think that terrorism is just ok now because it's been applied so frequently to defence of the public both violent and peaceful in a system where they shut down all other methods of change they would have to listen to otherwise.

And the people treating it like a wet noodle only to go on to committing acts of violence and aggression to terrorise the public with no repercussions themselves have to stop doing all of that and all the shit this is about in the first place. We know what the authorities are doing with this public spectacle and all it's doing is making people angrier and happier to commit more violence. This is how you get more and actual terrorism, not less of it, because people with less care for those nuances are going to see you doing this shit and decide that makes it necessary to expand the crosshairs. (Again, people need to know the difference and choose not to do that; but you know these assholes will jump on that the second it happens to lend credence to their decrying of genuinely necessary and properly measured violence against them to stop their constant unrelenting oppressive violence against everyone else. And then all the bootlickers who have not yet experienced the leopards eating their faces will tut tut and decry everything too in support of the leopards all while those leopards are eyeing up their faces next.)

Honestly I'm pretty sure the Redcoats would have called the Americans fighting for their freedom 'terrorists' during the American Revolution if that had been something they could use to delegitimise the Americans' cause in the public eye. It would be interesting to see what they did say instead because it's unfortunately a very effective tactic people in oppressive power over others use all the time now. I wonder if people used to fall for it as badly back then too as they do in the modern era.

"I’m very concerned about my client’s right to a fair trial in this case.  He’s being prejudiced by some statements that are being made by government officials. Like every other defendant, he’s entitled to a presumption of innocence. But unfortunately the way this has been handled so far his rights are being violated. And as you know, Your Honor, there’s a wealth of case law guaranteeing his rights to a fair trial, but none of the safeguards have been put in place yet here — in fact it’s just the opposite of what’s been happening. 

He’s a young man, and he is being treated like a human pingpong ball between two warring jurisdictions here.

These federal and state prosecutors are coordinating with one another at the expense of him. They have conflicting theories in their indictment, and they are literally treating him like he is some sort of political fodder, like some sort of spectacle. 

He was on display for everyone to see in the biggest staged perp walk I’ve ever seen in my career. It was absolutely unnecessary. He’s been cooperative with law enforcement. He’d been in custody for over a week. He waived extradition. He was cooperative at all accounts. There was no reason for the NYPD and everybody to have these big assault rifles — that frankly I had no idea it was in their arsenal — and to have all the press there the media there. It was perfectly choreographed. 

And what was the New York City Mayor doing at this press conference, Your Honor? That just made it utterly political. And as your honor knows under Loro v. Charles, the Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit has held it to be clearly established that these staged perp walks to the media unrelated to a legitimate law enforcement objective is unconstitutional. And I submit that there was zero law enforcement objective to do that sort of perp walk. There’s absolutely no need for that whatsoever. 

And frankly, Your Honor, the mayor should know more than anyone about the presumption of innocence that he, too, is afforded dealing with his own issues. And, frankly, I submit that he was just trying to detract from those issues by making a spectacle of Mr. Mangione. 

And there are consequences to this. 

He has a right to a fair trial. And I just want to put on the record statements that the mayor made publicly about my client. Nothing saying “alleged” for example. And he said “I wanted to send a strong message with the police commissioner that we’re leading from the front. I’m not just going to allow him to come into our city. I wanted to look him in the eye and state ‘You carried out this terrorist act in my city, the city of New York that I love.’” And he wanted to show symbolism. 

Your Honor, he’s not a symbol. He’s somebody who is afforded the right to a fair trial. He’s innocent until proven guilty. And the mayor was talking to jurors — future potential jurors that elected him. Those are the people that elected him that he is talking to and calling this man a terrorist.

So, Your Honor, I just want to make a record of this and put everyone on notice that this has to stop, and my client is entitled to a fair trial and the presumption of innocence."

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I know you? Part 5

Jason Todd x reader

Synopsis: You meet Tim and Steph, Jason is not happy about it.

Notes: Some drama is finally here brought to you by Tim and Steph. This is the power of embarrassing a sibling.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The past week had been… odd. And that was putting it nicely. True to his word, the next evening was filled with Red Hood replacing your window locks with newer fancy ones attached to an “Out of date” alarm system (his words not yours). He showed you how to set it up and how to attach it to your phone, so if anyone got in while you were away you would know. It seemed a bit excessive to you, living on the sixth floor and all but he was adamant about it, so you let him. He told you if you wanted him to come in and share tea you would have to leave the window unlocked for a frame of time. If he didn’t show in that frame of time, you were to lock the window anyway.

“No later, understand?” He had ordered gruffly, and you had just shrugged. You’re pretty sure he rolled his eyes in response, but you couldn’t see them. In the days following he showed up every day even if it were just for a couple minutes. Sometimes you shared food, sometimes just tea. If he stayed for longer than a few minutes, you would sit amicably at the dining table or at the island. Sometimes in comfortable silence and sometimes conversing about your days, mostly you than him. You finally settled into a routine. After his visit, you would get ready for bed and repeat the day over.

Work at Jackie’s was booming. With the fall season in full swing, people came in requesting pumpkin this and pumpkin that, only to be disappointed to find out Jackies only had one pumpkin item and that was pumpkin bread. It was a blast. You kept up with the regulars and Darla would edge her way around you, collecting gossip. Over the next week and a half, she would sporadically bother you about if you had gotten Jason’s number or if you had fallen in with some other guy. She said she saw some of the signs of a guy but wasn’t too sure. When you asked what she meant she didn’t offer you any explanation.

It was a Thursday when you met Steph. When she came in, you mentally prepared yourself for another no-pumpkin showdown. You try not to judge a book by its cover, but her blonde hair and purple athleisure made it hard not to.

“Hi, Welcome to Jackie’s. What can I get for you?” your lips twitch into a customer service smile. She grins at you like this was the most excitement she had had all day.

“Hi, I’m Steph. How are you?” she asks politely.

“I’m good. What can I get for you?” she sags slightly at your shutdown of the conversation. Overly friendly new customers in Gotham were never good. They usually wanted something.

“Right,” she perks back up, “One hot chocolate and one black coffee.” She pauses for a moment while you put in the system. When you look back up, she asks “Do you know Jason?”

The sudden question slightly takes you aback and don’t answer, so she continues.

“He's about this tall,” she holds her hand in the air, “black hair, looks like he could punch a brick wall.” You nod slowly and she smiles, “Great, where does he usually sit?”

You point to the table nook he usually hides in, and she nods, “We’ll sit there. I heard that you bring the drinks out?” You nod again, still confused about this girl. No Pumpkin spice latte, and she knows Jason? Strange.

“How much do I owe you?” you finally snap out of your stupor. She pays, you thank her and tell her it will be out momentarily. She turns and greets a lean boy as he walks through the door. She tugs him to the booth quickly and they talk to each other in hushed tones, both glancing up at you occasionally. You try to ignore them as you stumble through making the two easiest items on the menu.

You glance up when the bell dings and a smile flits across your lips when you see Jason before it turns into a frown as he frowns. His eyes staring at his now occupied table. You pause in your task and come up to the register as he takes a few slow steps towards it.

“You okay?” you ask as you glance at the two at the table. They’re looking at Jason like they’ve won the lottery.

“Did they talk to you?” He ignores your own question.

“She did. Only to order though. Do I need to call the cops?”

Jason snorts at the question, “Yeah that’ll go well. She just ordered? She didn’t ask you anything?”

You give him a strange look. What is with people and odd questions today?

“She just asked where you sit. Sorry, I gave you away.”

He breaks his glare from them and meets your eye with a softness.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. They would’ve figured it out even if you hadn’t given it to them.” Your heart flutters at the pet name. He had called you that the few times you had seen him since your walk home and it was starting to get to you.

“You want me to dump out their drinks and just make yours?” you ask as you try to force your focus away from the warmth on your cheeks.

“And ruin your hard work?” his eyes stare into your own and he finally breaks it when you hear giggles from your spies. You drop your chin down. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “I’ll sit with them.” He nods at you and heads for the table. The two sat there leaning together and whispering. You wonder who they are and how Jason knows them.

You get to work make the drinks, no longer stumbling, and with bounce your step. Darla stands next to you with a smug smile and makes some refills for customers.

“You could have asked for his number when he was alone but now there are people. Your poor self won't ever be able to do it.” She says teasingly.

“Thank you, Darla,” you say with an eye roll as you load the drinks on the tray. You take your time to meander to the table as Jason looks like he's berating the two that sit across from him. It doesn’t look like it's working as they both sit there with smug grins. You set the tray on the table and all eyes are on you. You keep your own eyes down as you move the drinks from the tray to the table. Your eyes try to catch Jason’s book for the day because you know you won't be asking like you normally do. You pull the tray from the table and rest it between your side and your arm.

“Anything else I can get you?” you glance at the two but meet Jason's eye. He looks flushed, possibly upset. Steph speaks up.

“No that’s okay. What was your name again?” she says like you had already told her. You break eye contact with Jason and look at her. She’s smiling and you can't find any malice in it, so you tell her. She nods like she already knows and points to the boy sitting next to her.

“This is Tim,” she points to Jason, “and obviously you already know Jason.” You hear a quiet thud from under the table and Tim flinches but smirks as he looks at Jason.

“You missed,” he turns to look up at you, “It's nice to meet you fin-” he cuts himself off and you wonder what the last word was.

You nod politely, “you too,” you say and look at Jason again for some explanation and a defeated look crosses his features as he shrugs.

“Brother” is all Jason gives, and you nod in semi-understanding. Based on the few mentions of family in passing conversations, you had always guessed he had a tense relationship with them.

“I didn’t know you had siblings.”  You look back at the two. Tim and Jason could definitely be brothers. Aside from their stature and slight skin tone difference, everything else is similar. Black hair, blue eyes. Though you would argue that Jason’s were prettier because they were green sometimes. Not that it mattered. Your eyes meet Stephs again. Blonde hair, green eyes, bright smile. Very different looking than the two boys.

“Are you the only girl in the family?”

Steph makes a gagging sound, “I’m not family, Thank God!” Tim snorts at her over dramatics.

“I’m sorry.” Your face flushes slightly as you flounder, “Then what…?” Your hand gestures to them all sitting at the table.

Jason's eyes narrow on your embarrassed state.

“Don’t worry, she’s just a leech.”

“Hey!”

“Would you mind getting me one of those chocolate croissants?”

You shift on your feet with a look of confusion. He never asks for anything else. You nod, “Sure, anything else for the table?”

Tim looks like he’s about to ask for something, but Jason cuts him off with a glare. Instead, he shakes his head no. You hesitantly step away from the table but take your time going back to the kitchen to pull out one of the chocolate croissants and warm it up. Your eyes periodically glance back at the table. They crouch over the table and talk to each other. You worry for a moment that they’re talking about you and then decide that it doesn’t really matter. You had only met Tim and Steph today. Their opinion of you was worthless and You knew Jason wasn’t one for gossiping about others. You’ve watched Darla try and fail. Once you finally make it back over to the table with the croissant, Tim and Steph are gone leaving their half-full drinks on the table.

As you set the plate on the table you ask, “Scare them off?”

Jason lets out a sigh.

“If only. I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable.” You shake your head in response.

“I'm sorry I made assumptions before I had all the information. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“I doubt you could ever offend anyone sweetheart” Your cheeks warm again.

“That’s not true I work in a public job, and I offend people all the time just standing” you joke. Jason smiles and nods.

“That’s fair. How could you be so lazy?” he teases. You giggle.

 “Speaking of lazy, I should get back to work.” You point a thumb over your shoulder where a man leaves a table full of dishes.

“What time do you get off?” he asks. Your body freezes mid-turn at his abrupt question.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to” he adds on, “I just enjoyed walking with you the other day and I parked my bike around the same area again, so I thought maybe���” He trails off his own cheeks flushing. Your body relaxes as you look at your watch to think. He had convenient timing; you were off soon. It was nice having someone to walk with and it wouldn’t hurt to see him on his bike again. You nod with warmed cheeks.

“I get off in about thirty minutes if you don’t mind waiting?” you say as your eyes meet his. He nods, smiling.

“It’ll give me time to read.” He lifts his book that was sitting on the table, the cover reading Pride and Prejudice.

“Again?” You can't help but ask. He looks at the book cover and rolls his eyes.

“You really want to have this conversation again?” you shake your head quickly at his question.

“I'll see you in thirty minutes.” With that, you walk away from him and throw yourself into your finishing tasks.

Additional notes: This was originally a much longer chapter but I decided to split it up. So, the next chapter is about them walking home. I have to tell you I cannot wait for ya’ll to read the next one cause I got carried away for like three seconds and had to do some backtracking. The plot was happening where I didn’t want it. I loved having Tim and Steph involved in this and just not being subtle about anything. Jason may have tried to kill Tim once but that won't stop him from being a little shit. Thank you for your love guys. This has been such an interesting experience, so the support has been lovely. Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx 

[sflow-er]

Henry and Simon’s dynamic over the three seasons

For YR Faves Fest 2024 organised by @youngroyals-events Prompts: 2. Favourite teen side character (+ 7. Favourite not-quite friendship)

In one of my replies to the recent side character ask game, I briefly mentioned being partial to the dynamic between these two. So for this Faves Fest, I decided to elaborate with an analysis post (featuring screenshots of variable quality)!

I want to preface this with a brief acknowledgment of Henry’s privilege and classism. It is not my intention to diminish them. I do, however, feel that it’s a bit apples-to-oranges to compare them to Simon’s views (citrus pun intended). 🍊 is politically active and has put in the effort to form his own beliefs, while 🍏 shows us time and again that he is ignorant of the world outside the elite bubble and not inclined towards deep reflection. He is largely a product of his upbringing and the (liberal conservative) values imparted by his parents.

While Henry doesn’t grow enough to change his core views and values in the canon timeline, he does change his views on Simon. This isn’t enough progress for them to become actual friends before we leave off (I doubt Simon could be friends with someone who only exempts him), but I would still argue that they end the show on amicable terms.

And yes, I mean that in a mutual sense, even if Simon doesn’t soften towards Henry quite as much as Henry softens towards him!

So, let’s dive in!

Dialogue taken from the English CC and [abbreviated or corrected].

1.01: the tax debate

Henry: “Take my dad’s estate, for example. They’re struggling to make ends meet because of the high taxes.” [Simon chuckles and explains his views] Simon: “Like your dad. [Do you know how much he gets in EU subsidies every year]”? Henry: “And what the fuck does your dad do?”

Like most viewers, I find it a lot easier to relate to Simon’s views than Henry’s here – but I do think Henry often gets judged quite harshly for insulting Simon at the end. His comment does not come out of nowhere (cf. Stella’s unprompted dirty look at Simon and Sara when she talks about welfare scamming).

Henry only knows that his father has said their estate is struggling, so of course he won’t take kindly to Simon suggesting that they are actually getting undeserved subsidies instead. It’s also important to note that this estate isn’t just any old farm. It was granted to one of his ancestors as a reward for their services to the Crown, which makes it a core part of his family history. As we learn in 1.04, Henry is a Society boy and very proud of his noble ancestry, and Simon’s comment likely feels like an insult to his entire family. So although his retort is unquestionably rude, it is understandable that he lashes out.

Also, Henry has no way of knowing that Micke is a deadbeat. He is just applying a common stereotype (and potentially making assumptions based on the views Simon just expressed on welfare).

1.02: parallel but separate experiences

Early in this episode, we see Simon side-eye Henry and Walter for the paid tutoring. He decides to follow their example, but as we know he can’t actually afford it, we can already guess it won’t go as well for him as it did for them.

Next, we see Henry in the group as the rowing team ignores Simon at morning training. The camera also pans to him and Walter when August gives that bizarre speech about Simon’s class journey.

These moments highlight how different life at Hillerska (and beyond) looks for Henry and Simon. They are technically coexisting and even doing the same things, but their experiences are nothing alike.

However, there is also some potential for development here. August’s words about rowing bringing people together (and also about the class journey) should absolutely be taken with a heap of salt, but as we no longer see any open animosity between Henry and Simon, we can still wonder if rowing played a part.

Being on the same sports team is an entirely new frame of reference for these guys. They are no longer just the sosse and aristocrat who have been going to school together since pre-canon and clashing over their views; they are crewmates. They may be able to ignore each other for most of the time, but they may also have to do some team activities or even cooperate on occasion. At the very least, they will be around each other several extra times a week from late September/early October to Christmas break. This could definitely help to put them on more neutral ground.

1.05: Henry pays attention to Wilmon

In this episode, Henry learns more about Wilmon than the average Hillerska student knows. He is present when August tells the Society that Wille and Simon “hang out”, and also when Wille changes the plan from Simon to Alexander.

What’s more, he actually looks fairly thoughtful leaving that last meeting. We don’t know if it’s just shock over Wille’s ruthlessness, if he’s thinking about the plan to set up Alexander, or if there’s something else on his mind.

Now, this may veer into overinterpretation, but for the sake of thoroughness, let’s also include the blink and you’ll miss it moment before the Lucia procession where Henry notices Wilmon texting each other. In this cropped screenshot, you can see him looking at Simon, who has just put his phone down and is looking over at Wille.

1.06: Henry shows restraint

As we know, Henry is the only classmate who tries to treat Wille normally after the video, asking if he “saw the match yesterday” (he absolutely knows Wille didn’t). What is perhaps less noticeable is that he also shows more restraint than most of his schoolmates when the rumour mill gets going.

In this scene, Henry is pretty dispassionate reminding Walter that Wilmon sat next to each other at movie night and the two of them talked about it. There is a stark contrast to Walter, who absolutely pounces on that bit of gossip.

This one quick scene could just be a coincidence, but the same thing happens again when Wilmon return to school. Instead of engaging with the others who are all eagerly talking and whispering, Henry is already sitting at his desk minding his own business when Wille arrives. His only reaction to Simon showing up is this quick look, which is immediately followed by his show of kindness to Wille:

So the restraint does look very intentional.

As an aristocrat, monarchist and Society boy, Henry is loyal to Wille, who he now knows has been carrying on with Simon for a while already. He also knows how far Wille went to protect Simon, despite the fact that Simon had actually supplied the drugs, so he is going to side with Wille.

What’s more, Henry’s behaviour in these scenes also confirms that he isn’t hostile to Simon. We can surmise he probably doesn’t think Simon is the most appropriate choice of partner for the crown prince, but he is willing to take his cues from Wille. We never see him sneer, joke, or say anything nasty about Wilmon as a couple (cf. Stella and Fredrika joking about surrogacy).

We are also shown his reaction to Wille hugging Simon before we move on to season two.

2.02: the floorball hug and walk-by

The first interaction between Henry and Simon in S2 is them celebrating a floorball goal with a spontaneous hug, as seen at the top of this post. What a difference a term makes!

Now, I don’t think this moment is meant to signify that they are friends all of a sudden, and I do feel it comes slightly out of the blue. I suspect it was included as a nod to those who already liked Henry after S1, but I for one would’ve preferred to actually see their reconciliation.

But then again, if their initial antagonism was always class conflict rather than personal beef, maybe there was no need for apologies…? Maybe each of them just accepted that the other was going to be around and decided to try and get along (potentially aided by their shared rowing team history)? Henry is following Wille’s lead as we already saw – and as for Simon, I doubt he would be hugging Henry even in the heat of a game if he held a grudge. Whether we saw it or not, they have moved on.

In the same episode, we also have the locker room scene.

Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t believe Henry actually overhears the entire conversation, but he may have still heard something about them having to wait two years (as Simon did raise his voice for that). It’s also possible he comes out of this scene assuming that Wilmon still “hang out” in secret. In any case, he probably assumes that Wille wants to keep the whole thing quiet, as per the usual “policy” on queer relationships among the upper classes. In addition to his monarchist ways, he also seems to be casually friendly with Wille in S2 (keeps inviting him to do stuff, from coffee to pranking Sprucewood). So it makes a lot of sense for him to keep whatever he overhears or suspects to himself.

2.03, 2.05 and 2.06: book report scenes

While Henry must be a nightmare to have in the group, he and Simon are nice to each other in all the book report scenes. This is further proof that they are in a place where they can talk civilly and even work together.

They start the project before the rowing race and only present it the day before the gun range scene, which means they had these group sessions for at least a few weeks (the timeline is a bit wonky here).

2.04: Henry snitches on Wille and Felice

The lunch scene at the start of the episode starts with this bit of vicarious interaction, as Henry and Simon (and Wille too) are amused by the nonsense Walter is spouting about girls:

Also, Walter's monologue feels more comphet every time rewatch it, but I digress.

As this post is focused on Henry and Simon, I’m not going to dig too deep into Henry’s role in spreading the story about Wille and Felice. Suffice it to say that he did tell his canonically gossipy bestie Walter, and it was recently pointed out to me that he seems to have let something slip to someone else as well. In the common room, Walter goes “det var du som sa till…” [you were the one who said to…] just as the focus shifts to Wille and Nils, which suggests that Henry either purposely told someone or misspoke without realising it. The latter would explain why he seems genuinely appalled when Wille confronts him, but it’s not a hill I’d be willing to die on!

If Henry did spread the story on purpose, I assume it was because getting with Felice was considered a credit to Wille and also “fair game” to tell, unlike the relationship with Simon that Wille wanted to keep hidden.

Still, Henry and Simon are definitely on better terms in S2. Even though Henry inadvertently causes pain to Simon with his part in the Wille and Felice thing, they still keep working together on the book report without any animosity.

Insofar as Henry’s lacklustre effort can be called working. Simon is a bigger person than I am for not blowing up at him when he announces minutes before the presentation that he won’t be taking any questions.

3.01: background Henry

We start S3 off with this one-sided interaction where Henry reacts to Wilmon kissing with a mild smirk. No more waiting or secrets to keep.

3.02: double standards on the camping trip

It’s not entirely clear what Henry is thinking when he says the infamous line about gay couples being allowed to share but not straight ones. I think some people read it as him deliberately putting Wilmon on the spot, but personally, I doubt he even realises it’s going to make them uncomfortable. He’s just noticing the double standard and pointing it out to mess with the teacher.

While Simon is very clearly not pleased with Henry for the comment (glares at him while saying to Wille that people are going to think they plan to have sex), he does not seem to hold that against him. Because what we do see them doing soon?

Sitting next to each other by the fire, even though Henry could’ve easily sat with Walter and Simon with Wille:

Also, it seems Henry isn't new to camping, as he tells Wille that part of the fire is too hot to grill a sausage in.

The part where things get interesting is when Henry acts classist towards the Marieberg students.

Henry seems to be down with meeting Rosh and Ayub, who are there as Wille and Simon’s friends. But after Fredrika brings up New York, he agrees that the situation turned “stiff as fuck.” That stiffness was entirely Fredrika’s fault (I think she is at least semi-consciously trying to mark herself as the most compatible partner for Stella there), but Henry seems to feel it was more about Rosh and Ayub not fitting in.

He also sneers and makes nasty comments when the other Marieberg students get into an altercation with Malin, which elicits a frown from Simon.

And yet, Simon does not condemn Henry as strongly as he might have done in the past.

Importantly, Simon tells Wille “it wasn’t the right time for everyone to meet.” This indicates that he could’ve imagined them all getting along at a better time, and it’s pretty clear that also includes Henry. Furthermore, “you [meaning Wille and the others] don’t realise how privileged you are sometimes” is actually a pretty neutral way of putting it. Simon would have been entirely justified if he had said the others were classist pricks, but he blames their privilege and lack of understanding instead of their character.

All of this forms a backdrop for my interpretation of the scenes in the next episodes.

3.03: First of May

Simon: “You do know that you’re not off so you can party the day before, right?” Henry: “Uhh…what?” Simon: “It’s the First of May.” […] “The day of the labour movement?” Henry: “Okay, so what’s their style? How do they celebrate?” Simon, scoffing: “You don’t celebrate. You demonstrate.” [Henry and Walter share a chuckle]

This may be a controversial take, but I don’t think Henry is being particularly nasty to Simon here.

He actually looks and sounds quite sincere asking how the labour movement celebrates. When he and Walter laugh, it reads more as “there he goes again, our very own sosse, saying wacky things!” than the kind of disdain he expressed towards the Marieberg students in the last episode.

Simon also doesn’t take the laughter as an insult; he’s just stupefied by their ignorance. Also, note that he already scoffed at Henry’s question, marking the question as silly.

This exchange is immediately followed by Vincent attacking Simon for his beliefs, which feels like an intentional trick to create contrast between his and Walty’s treatment of Simon.

3.04: the lollipop

In this scene, Henry starts out asking quite nicely and seriously if Simon has another lollipop, as if they had that kind of rapport. Simon makes a face, but then he just shakes his head and nicely says no. It’s only then that Henry switches to offering money for the already half-eaten lollipop, to which Simon reacts with disbelief.

He does not, however, get snarky with Henry. He settles for exchanging a look with Wille as Walty go on to complain about the hunger strike. Only when Henry isn’t present anymore does he point out to Wille how ridiculous Henry was being.

In a sort of parallel to the lunch scene, Simon and Wille now share a chuckle at the wacky thing Henry said:

Feel free to disagree, but I actually wonder if this could be a common pattern between Simon and Henry. They have accepted that they aren’t going to see eye to eye on many things, but instead of getting into conflict, they just roll their eyes/laugh at how the other can seriously believe/say such things. Then they let the conversation move on to something else.

Which is a perfectly valid dynamic. They can acknowledge that their outlooks on life are wildly different without hating each other for it.

3:06: Henry includes Simon

Look, I dislike the library scene as much as the next person. The talk that Henry interrupts between Wilmon was so much more important than anything he could possibly say. It was just a moment of comic relief that didn’t add anything to the story.

Except… Now that we are tracing Henry and Simon’s “not-quite friendship” arc, this scene does give us a conclusion.

Henry: “Hi! Uh, what are you wearing tonight?” [He rambles on about clothes] Wille: “I don’t know if… If I’m coming.” Henry: “Okay…?” Simon: “I don’t know if I can come either.” Henry: “Oh come on, you two have to come!” [He rambles on about how much fun it will be] Simon: “Yeah, we’ll see. I have to go now.” Henry: “The point is that we have to be together! This is the only night we have together, maybe ever. [I mean, we are brothers!]”

In Swedish, Henry goes “vi är ju bröder” just as the music starts. This has been translated to “we are like brothers” in the English CC, which is already quite something, but the little word ju makes the original even stronger. It means that something is true, so instead of just saying they are like brothers, Henry is saying that is what they are.

(In the dub, there is an audible pause after like, so Henry is actually using it as a filler word. They should have put a comma in the CC to denote that.)

Given that Henry prefaces this ramble with “you two have to come” and barely stops to acknowledge Simon’s exit, there’s every reason to assume he is still talking about all of them. He is saying he considers himself, Wille, and also Simon part of the brotherhood that will be disbanded indefinitely come morning and wants them all to have one last night of fun together.

Simon never hears the brothers part and is of course frustrated with Henry for interrupting, but he still takes his leave on a casually friendly note. He gets that Henry wants him to come and have fun (Henry is unaware that Simon doesn’t drink when he tries to persuade them both by talking about the alcohol). Thus, Simon politely says “we will see” even though he has zero intention of going.

We do not see them interact at the party when Simon goes after all, but we do hear Henry being ushered away when Simon comes to talk to Wille. We don’t see it’s Henry, but someone insists that he wants to stay just as we see Walter and Alexander leave, and all three of them were there moments before:

I’m tempted to end this with a parallel to Wille’s initiation party.

Way back in 1.01, Henry and Simon were explicitly shown discussing the first party with their friends. They never talked about it with each other or interacted there – Henry attended as part of the in-crowd, and Simon only got to go because he supplied the alcohol. But for this last party, Henry was the one to get the alcohol, and he specifically invites Simon to come. They still don’t hang out as they are both there with their respective friends, i.e. in their own bubbles, but those bubbles do bump into/brush past one another without clashing.

Kind of like Henry and Simon’s lives.

Thank you for reading this marathon post! I hope my take on these two brings something to your next rewatch, whether you agree with me or not!

[lorelune]

O4O: part iii // PART 2

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega4omega w/ milfy jing yuan || wc: 19.7k of 37.3k  || ao3 ||

Your heat, and the sickness that comes with it, has set in fully. Jing Yuan contends with the type of closeness he craves with 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

❣️ please note! part iii of o4o is separated into two posts here on tumblr. part 1 can be found linked above and at the end of this post as well. part iii is up as a single chapter on ao3 additionally! ❣️

notes: part 2!!! my god we MADE IT!!! my friends!! please enjoy. milfy jing yuan actualized. for new readers, please see above for links and such. enjoy dears 💗

CW: omegaverse, omega reader, omega jing yuan, top jing yuan (in this part) milfy jing yuan, mommy kink (both explicit and implicit), cry baby reader, fisting, knotting toys, biting, faux nursing, hurt/comfort, sickfic, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing, author-created omegaverse lore

Your pre-heat ends slowly. It festers hour by hour over the course of two days. 

During that time, you’re achy and tired more than anything else. You spend most of your time laying on top of or next to Jing Yuan, tucked near his neck to breathe, open-mouthed, near his scent glands. You doze through most of your pre-heat. When you are awake enough for conversation, it’s mostly sensical. Needy and whiny in the most endearing way, but still intelligible.

He manages to feed you throughout your pre-heat. You’re not very hungry, but Jing Yuan convinces you to eat a few morsels every few hours. The prepped fruits, rice, and granola mixes get you through the worst of it.

On the second day of your pre-heat, you are properly miserable. You shiver with your heightening fever and your teeth slam together with the accompanying chills. You’ve changed your soft, lounge clothes at least half a dozen times in the last day. Your preferred position is your face smushed into his chest, forcing out labored breath after breath.

It is not easy to watch.

Discomfort is one thing, but you are clearly in pain. A fair amount of it. He knew you would be, but that doesn’t make seeing you in this state any easier. There is only so much he can do at this stage to ease you. Forcing you to take little bites of snacks and sips of electrolyte water is better than nothing. Massaging your now less-tender scent glands helps the most. You enjoy it, and you tell him so with your words and in the way you keen with his touch and roll to leave your most sensitive spots more open for him to touch.

It’s still only taking the edge off.

“It won’t be much longer,” he tells you. Filtered starlight beams down from the Luofu’s sky, leaking in from the edges of your blackout curtains. He tugs one a little to the side, back to darkness, jostling you in the process. “How are you feeling?”

You grumble, “L-like shit. I need to peel my s-skin off.”

“Too warm?” He asks.

“N-no too— cold. And itchy. And wrong.” You nestle closer to him, heading your cheek against his collarbone. “I w-want it to stop.”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know it isn’t comfortable.”  

“It i-isn’t. A-Are you sure that I h-have to go through with this?” 

“I’m sure.”

He’s certain.

At this point, you’re fully titrated off your suppressants. The only medicinal intervention that you’ve been prescribed to safely take at this point is tinctures for nausea and headaches if needed as well as an anti-inflammatory oil to use on any sore muscles or joints for once your heat begins and you inevitably put yourself and get put in various uncomfortable positions. 

(There is, technically, another medication you’ve been prescribed as well. A chalky powder that can be broken off and ground down between Jing Yuan’s fingers and then rubbed on your gums and under your tongue. Per Lei Huiling’s firm instructions, this remedy is only to be used under the worst, heat-sick-induced circumstances.)

At present, and per Jing Yuan’s predictions, you will simply need to tough out your heat.

He’s there though.

Jing Yuan reminds you of this with a kiss, tilting your head up by the jaw and capturing your lips with his own. You kiss him back, eager and clumsy. Still trembling, but it doesn’t stop you from returning the gesture just as sweetly as he gives it to you. 

“You’re doing well.” He speaks against your lips.

You whine, squirming, “You need to be careful, saying such sweet things to me.”

He chuckles, “Why is that?”

“Because.”

“‘Because’?” 

“You know why!” Because it flusters you, clearly. Your palms cup his cheeks and you struggle to meet his gaze. It’s cute that you try.

“Could you enlighten me?”

“You’re teasing me now!” Your words carry no bite as you nip at one of his cheeks. “When you’re so nice, it makes it hard to think straight. Especially now.”

“And is there anything wrong with that?” He’s certain that you enjoy being teased, just as much as he enjoys teasing you.w

“... No. But, you’re weakening me. To your wiles. Sufficiently.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes!” You gasp as he noses below your ear. “Very much so!”

“Considering that you’re my omega,” he glances up at you, smug. “I would hope that my ‘wiles’ would be quite effective on you.”

You squeak, sputter, and nose into his hair to muffle the half-joking cry that you let loose. It’s clear that his intentional word choice, calling you his ‘omega’, is having its intended effect of turning you into a content, happy-scented puddle.

He preens.

It won’t be very long now.

...

Your heat properly erupts in the middle of the night, perhaps early morning.

Jing Yuan wakes up on his back, with you straddling his hips, grinding in tight, hard circles over his own sex. The straps of your bedclothes, indecently thin garments, slip down your shoulders. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth and you brace yourself with your hands cupping over his breasts.

You’re leaking so much slick over him it feels immediately obscene.

“Baby—” His voice rumbles, gravely from sleep. 

“—‘Started,” you tell him. “‘Started really bad, Jing Yuan. Hurts.” 

You crumple at your middle, still grinding but ducking over him. Your mouth is on the scent gland in his neck instantly, lapping with flat-tongued strokes.

The scent of your heat engulfs him then. It’s— it’s strong. So strong, that a single meaningful lungful has him feeling light-headed. The pheromones you’re pouring out are heady and thick. Jing Yuan swears he can feel them in his throat. The usual warm scent and the acrid undertone that preheat had given you have been burned away. It’s still warm but it’s— spiced— Like dark tea brewed and served with a dollop of creamy honey. The lingering warmth of perfumed clothes just removed. A mouthful of a fresh, moist pastry— 

Perhaps Jing Yuan isn’t thinking very clearly and he just wants you in his mouth.

He’s no alpha. He has no knot that begins to make itself known in response to the pheromonal firestorm that your heat has created. The white-iron hot desire that he feels in his gut is entirely something else. A delicacy he hasn’t had before, truthfully. Not like this. His cock is already hard and his cunt has been leaking between his legs as you’ve been clumsily taking your fill of him.

“When did it start, dear?” he asks. 

You speak into his skin. “‘Don’t know. A few hours? In my sleep, I think.”

Your words are slurred and your sentences are already choppy. Jing Yuan mainly asked his previous question to gauge your sense of lucidity and your faculties. They’re fading already. 

He takes a hold of your waist and pets down your back, gathering his bearings. You talked about this together; he knows how to proceed. Your desires have been voiced, and your trust has been entirely placed in him, no matter how nervous you have been.

Jing Yuan covets that trust. 

He will take good care of you.

It takes essentially no effort to flip you gently, so you’re on your back within your nest. You blink at him, dazed. 

“N-No—” You throw your head back against the mound of pillows with an angry huff. Your hips roll into the air, seeking friction that you’re not being given. “I—I need something, please, please—”

He shushes you, (“I know, I know.”) before wedging his soft, thick thigh between your own. The contact makes you cry out, clawing at Jing Yuan’s arms where he holds you. You— twitch with the contact, barely grinding before your hips stutter. 

A choked noise works its way out of your throat. Jing Yuan’s heart aches.

“I’ve got you,” he assures. “Does this hurt, or feel good?”

“I—” You squeeze his shoulders and throw an arm over your arms. “G-Good? Maybe? ‘S lot.”

“We’ll go slow,” he promises, petting your sides, silky with the robe that barely remains on you. 

Little trickles of slick have begun to seep from your cunt. It soaks through your thin panties, dampening his thigh. Jing Yuan purrs. Sweat soaks your robe as he carefully unties the loose knot at your waist, exposing your soft tummy and heaving chest. Before you can flinch from the exposure, Jing Yuan is petting you, hushing you. 

Heats don’t demand slowness, usually. They demand haste. Excess. As much contact and pheromones other than one’s own as one can conceivably inhale. Most omegas demand near-constant fucking, or at least penetration, for the duration of their heat. There are salves and oils for abrasion and potential tears, some of which Jing Yuan has already stocked for you. 

Slowness doesn’t necessitate them. Not right away anyway.

He smooths his hands up your ribs, stopping to cup your cheeks and rub below your eyes. “I’ve got you.”

You keen and arch into him. “‘So good to me—”

“As you deserve,” he chuckles. It’s easy to be good to you. 

You kiss him. Your lips are chapped, just barely, and he feels the drag of the dry skin when he angles his head to better deepen the kiss. You’re sweet about this kind of contact. You surge forward, closer, seeking his touch, prodding his lips with your tongue until he parts them just enough for you to lick into his mouth.

The two of you moan when you do. Pheromones in spit— the mixing of yours is divine. It makes Jing Yuan’s eyes roll back in his head behind his closed eyelids. The taste of you melds with your scent. It’s an intoxicant, truly. He laps at your tongue and sucks it into his mouth until you’re making soft, needy noises against him.

You pull apart, just far enough away to breathe full breaths. You pet over his face, pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of your iris remains. Your lips stay parted. Wet, with drool visibly pooling in your mouth.

Slick is beginning to soak your nest beneath you.

You notice this at the same time Jing Yuan does, and a twisted look appears on your face. It mars your expression for the briefest moment before you wipe the back of your hand over your lips with a huff.

Jing Yuan observes.

(He expected this much. For you to impede your own pleasure, to scorn your own desire.)

It will take some whittling, he has known this, but you will enjoy this. At least some of it, he will make sure of that. If nothing else, you will be sated and well taken care of.

His wide hands hike up your thighs on either side of him, braced on his own hips. He purrs your name with a tilt of his head, “Can you be good for me?”

“O-Of course— I can.”

“I mean it.” He speaks low, almost dark, nosing the sensitive shell of your ear. “I know you can be.”

His words make you whine. It’s a pathetic, whimpering sound that makes his cock twitch. It’s sweet and so cute. It makes his insides flutter and he kisses you with the feeling. 

It’s an engulfing sort of thing, your heat. Jing Yuan still retains his level head but he can feel the different edge his arousal carries now. It’s not like his own heat. He has a blessed amount of clarity, but his gut is pierced by heat that is so searing, his cockhead is already purpling. Your slick is beginning to mix together.

You’re— losing yourself. He can see it as he breaks away to kiss down your neck. Your breaths are too fast, maybe a little too shallow. When you do inhale, there’s a little sound that cuts the air that concerns him. Your hands stay fisted in the sheets at your side, and you squeak as he nips at your collarbones.

“Baby—” The pet name rolls off his tongue without thinking. “I’ve got you, okay?”

You nod, jerkily. Uncomfortable, clearly. He rubs your sides with a frown.

“J-just—” You barely get the words out as you curse under your breath. “Hurts. I don’t— I don’t—” 

“It’ll feel better if I touch you, don’t you think?”

With the suggestion, he cups over your chest, running a thumb over the tender flesh there. You jump with the sensation.

“I—I just—” Your voice breaks, and you manage to push yourself up. Shooing Jing Yuan off and a bit away, running a hand down your cheeks. You can’t manage eye contact, instead stare into the warm shadows of your bedroom. A scowl plays on your lips. “I—I don’t k-know, it feels bad. It hurts and it feels bad and I don’t know— I don’t—”

The panic in your voice is so clear. It makes his heart ache.

“Does it not feel good when I touch you?”

“Not— not not good. Just not... comfortable. I don’t—”

He says your name softly.

Your breath comes too fast, “Are you sure you w-want to be helping?”

He says your name again. You don’t seem to hear him.

“I mean— I’ll be fine. If you don’t want to, I can handle this on my own. All the help already has been r-really nice—”

He says your name firmly. You still don’t hear him.

“I—I just— I don’t deserve your kindness, y-you know? And it’s only going to g-get harder, you should just l-leave before it gets worse—”

(Leave? Leave? LEAVE you like this? For Jing Yuan to even fathom leaving you alone, suffering, heat-stricken, and alone in your nest, makes him ache in all new ways and it sends a sparking line of rage in him that demands attention.)

He says your name once more, hard enough in tone that you jump. Before you can protest more, and attempt to shutter yourself from support again— he places a hand over you both and levels his gaze with your own.

His voice comes out far more gently than he thought it would. “Please do not suggest that I would leave my omega alone while in the throes of heat sickness. I know you’re scared, and that it is difficult, but I’m here to take care of you, and I mean that, so truly.”

“But it’s a lot—”

“It’s really not.” Jing Yuan cuts you off. “It won’t ever be ‘a lot’ to be in your nest, with you. Pleasuring you and providing you comfort? They’re joys, not chores.”

“I—” You put a hand in your hair, gripping your hair at the root. “Even s-so, I— I don’t t-think, Jing Yuan, I don’t think I r-really deserve all of your kindness... do I?”

Your last words are quiet, so quiet that he hardly hears them. The moment they’re out of your mouth, you make a pained sound, your chest heaving, and you tug at your hair and—

Jing Yuan can’t have that. He can’t.

In a fluid motion, he has your bent in half.

Your feet dangle off his shoulders, your calves rounding his cheeks. Your own cheeks flush with the motion. Your thighs squish against the softness of your belly. Jing Yuan disentangles your hand from your hair with a gentle hum. You protest, just a little, squeezing your legs together the best you can. 

He cows you down with ease. You settle for draping the damp bits of your robe over your core. The hint of modesty has you relax, just a little.

He laces both of your hands together and presses them into your nest on either side of your head. 

“I won’t have you being cruel to yourself,” Jing Yuan says. His tone brokers no argument, and you don’t attempt to give him one regardless. “I won’t stand for you hurting any more than your body already is.”

You only look guilty and sad, barely managing eye contact. “O-Okay.��

“And—” Jing Yuan brushes his nose with yours, his hair falling like a veil around you both. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you think?”

“M-Maybe. It’s a lot—”

“It’s not a lot.”

“But it is.” 

“It is to you, in your mind, perhaps.” He rationalizes. “But, it’s not a lot for me. And I’m the one with you now, aren’t I?”

You blink at him, chewing your lip.

“... You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna be, huh?” Tears gather in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t. And, I very much want to be here.” With you, in your nest, bringing you pleasure and comfort. It’s all he wants, and he’s so close to being able to give it to you. “I know it is frightening to trust someone enough to give them yourself like this. But, I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

“I know— but, it i-is scary.” You sniffle. “... Are you sure i-it’s okay?”

“Very sure.”

“O-Okay.”

You don’t look completely settled, there’s something deeper in you that’s showing itself now. It's an insecurity he’s seen glimpses of, but now that he’s between your legs, folding you at the waist, it shows itself more completely. 

You swallow. “... You’ll tell me if it’s not okay?”

“Of course.” He kisses you again, reverent. “But that won’t happen.”

“You can’t be certain.” 

“I can be.”

“But you— can’t—”

“I can be.” He repeats. “Please, trust me.”

That’s all this is, isn’t it? An exchange of trust. You wrestle with giving yours to him, more than him to you, and that’s okay. There are pieces of you he doesn’t know, and that’s alright. He has time to learn them at whatever pace is comfortable for you. He is a patient man, after all. 

At this moment, there’s still worry.  He is sure that there are wounded parts of you that are keeping you from (and have kept you from) luxuriating in the pleasure a heat can bring, or accepting the comfort you so desperately need now. 

He’ll pick those apart later. 

For now, he waits for you to process, to unfurl slowly with his plying and prying. He’s never been one to beg, but he thinks he would, for you.

You don’t make him. 

“I trust you.” Your voice is the most solid it’s been in days.

He kisses you then. Once, twice, a third time. Until the haggard little breaths you were giving him turn to sweet, burgeoning moans that he drinks up greedily. Your core grinds against his own, slick with you, mixing with him. It’s not enough contact, not enough to be sating, but it’s a promise of something so, so deserved.

...

Your heat rages.

Jing Yuan has only his own heat as a point of reference— maybe the lingerings of Baiheng’s he witnessed in the past— regardless, by comparison, your heat is far more intense. If his heats are the singe of sitting a bit too close to an otherwise comfortable hearth, yours is much more like setting on fresh, live embers without the ability to move away from the burn of them.

He still attempts to take his time. He wants to do this right. 

Jing Yuan grinds his cock against your core. You’ve soaked him; you’ve soaked your nest too. It’s an obscene amount of slick. He’s already had to pause a few times to get you to sip from one of your well-placed water bottles, despite your protests.

“Be good,” he reminds you. You are good, so you let him tip the bottle against your lips. Once the water hits your tongue, you drink greedily. 

You’re becoming less lucid. 

Jing Yuan still rests between your legs, on his haunches despite the ghosts of hip pain. He drags his lips over your ankles, leaving light, calming kisses. You whine with the contact, bucking your hips.

You want more, he knows this— he knows, but he wants to give you enough without overwhelming you. It’s a delicate balance that he is learning in real-time.

The head of his filled-out cock catches on your clit. Your back arches and your scent goes aflame.

It— it is a lot. Not too much, not unmanageable, but Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that being with you now wasn’t a lot.

Your scent is so potent, so mouthwatering, that Jing Yuan has found himself drooling. His mouth is full of spit when he kisses you, pushing you back into your nest (where you are warm and safe and tended to.) You’re so warm to the touch. Feverish, clearly. 

(Despite the ramping contact, the looming presence of heat sickness remains.)

Your arousal is so apparent. You’re so sensitive, despite your neediness and needs. 

(This is already so overwhelming for you.)

Jing Yuan pulls away from your lips. You both pant. The melding of your scents (in his fucking mouth) has him grinding against your core, holding your hips in a grip that is verging on bruising. You don’t seem to mind, you may even be enjoying it, based on the way your eyes are half-lidded.

He rolls you both into your side, resting with one arm under your head and his other meandering down your torso.

Playfully, Jing Yuan rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple. He relishes the sound you make in response, something cracking and dry and so needy.

“Please—“ 

(He wants you to break; he wants to bring you there.)

He kisses the words from your mouth. Shameless. As he deserves to be. 

You extend your neck for him, probably without meaning to. You bear your burning scent gland to him and give him a silent plea for relief, one that he answers without question.

It’s following an instinct, really. The urge to help, quell, to make better— it’s such an integral part of how he lives. It’s why he has been such a well-thought-of, reliable General. It’s why he has weathered quiet pains that others would run from in order to bring about something better. 

On a personal level, the latent instinct to ‘care’ does not present itself that often. It does not have much opportunity to, especially these days. Perhaps when Yanqing was just a scrap of a cub, maybe, he was aware of the itch in his chest to ‘care’ with his own two hands for another.

Yingxing and Dan Feng didn’t care to indulge those feelings of Jing Yuan. Not with any frequency, anyways. They enjoyed crumbs of it but preferred to tend to Jing Yuan instead. He does enjoy receiving care, and they lavished him with it while skillfully avoiding the most intense of his own urges.

You, however, welcome them.

Part of it is that you… are a little pathetic. Especially now, wet-eyed and soft in your tummy, wordlessly begging for more of him and the relief he can so easily bring you.

He kisses down to your scent gland, gentle over the sensitive flesh before sucking at it. You warble out a cry, scrambling for purchase over his shoulders. He can feel the round gland under his tongue, softening minutely, but still firm and hot. 

Your scent hits his tongue in the most raw way. It makes his eyes water and a pure purr rips from the base of his throat. He grips your hips, hard, to drag you closer. He has to as he sucks there and takes mouthfuls of your scent like a fine, effervescent spirit. 

His hand slides over the expanse of your hips, hovering near your sex without broaching too close.

“Can I touch you here—?”

“Please!” You shove your face into the crook of his neck, throwing your leg over his hip, so your dripping core is exposed. 

The cold air makes you jolt, whine, and shove closer to him. Desperate and burning. That’s all it takes for Jing Yuan to slip a hand between your legs, wide, and cover your cunt completely.

(He wants to feel you.)

The heat coming off you is obscene. Startling, even. You really are in heat and burning up. Your cunt radiates the heat of fever as he squeezes over it. Over you, and your most vulnerable core.

A watery, desperate sound is muffled into his neck.

He’s touched you before, during his own heat. Laying with you then was a pleasure, truly, but the memory of it is heat-blurred. He cherishes the flashes and afterimages he does have. Even from those fragments, he remembers you are sensitive. He knows now that he is the first one to ever touch you like, hold you like this, and be near you like this and— 

(Well, it’s doing something to him on such a carnal level that he feels like he’s being slowly rewritten within your nest—)

He has been so careful with you. Chaste, before this too. Partially to not overwhelm you, and partially because he is, perhaps, being a bit covetous about this. Sharing a heat, sharing many of your firsts with you— he is grateful and possessive of these things in equal measure.

Jing Yuan gives you what you need, running a knuckle between the seam of your cunt. Your chest heaves against his own as he does so. He rubs against the bud of your clit, switching to the pad of his thumb to roll small circles over you.

You moan for him, dissolving into soft pants and desperate sounds.

It’s easy to pleasure you this way. You’re so sensitive; it doesn’t take much. He’s aided by the unconscious grind of your hips toward his hand. The pressure won’t be enough, but for now, you take it in kind.

Your slick coats his fingers, dripping obscenely onto your thigh, only to spill onto the bed below. He drags his fingers through it, relishing the slip of it.

“Inside?” he asks.

You nod, vigorous and eager.

And you’re so good for him. Taking what you are given, asking when you need more. You’re so sweet for him; he hopes you know. He’ll make sure to tell you. He’ll show you too.

He teases your hole only for a moment before gingerly pressing his index finger into your cunt.

You’re tight. He expected this, but you’re still tighter than he thought you’d be—

(He wonders, latently, if you ever touch yourself here, or if your discomfort with knots and nearly-new collection of toys is indicative of a preference against penetration under different circumstances.)

You gasp at the intrusion and wriggle. Aeons, you shudder with the contact and somehow tense even further. Something— something old and soft in him aches.

“It’s alright,” he assures. It’s all he can do. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

You whine, “I k-know.”

It’s the most lucid you’ve been since your heat has started.

Jing Yuan doesn’t move his finger; he focuses on petting down your side and lavishing your cheeks with kisses. You loosen up with his attention, enough for him to comfortably move inside you just the smallest bit. Slick wets his wrist.

“S-Sorry—” You twitch when he barely curls his finger. “‘M not good at this—”

“Hush,” Jing Yuan scolds, lightly, with a tender tone in his voice that he hardly recognizes. “You’re doing very well for me. All you need to do is feel good and remember that I have you, hm? Can you do that for me?”

It’s condescending to speak to you this way. It lights a fire in his own belly, all the same. You respond so well to it— nodding, sniffling, and readjusting your leg over his hip so that you’re even more open. 

He rubs your clit with his thumb, adding another finger when he deems you ready, then another when your cunt is practically gushing. The scent is— intoxicating. Worryingly sweet, heat sickness creeping in despite everything, but Jing Yuan will do all he can—

In a flurry of motion, he kneels between your legs, pressing a hand over your navel with his thumb circling your clit faster. He pumps three fingers into you at a steady pace, deep and curling. He has been hitting your sweet spot, he knows. He can feel the way your cunt flutters around his fingers.

You’re debauched.

Every motion forces a little sound from you. Sweat pools in the valley of your chest. Your hair is mussed up from friction and static. You white-knuckle the sheets at your side.

You need more, but Jing Yuan can only give you so much in small doses for now.

When you come, it’s an intense thing. Your legs tighten around him, ankles locking against his lower back as your back arches off the bed. You throw a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the filthy moan that cracks from it—

He’s quick to bat it away— with his mouth. He— he needs to hear you, actually. In a decisive, quick move, he nips at your wrist while finger fucking you through your orgasm. Tears bead at the corners of your eyes

Your chest heaves as you come down from the high.

Jing Yuan’s cock is hard. It’s not much of a concern for him, not now— it’s better he put off coming until he actually fucks you. He’s pouring slick from his own cunt still, and it’s cooling against his thighs. He shivers.

“‘S’okay? You?” You slur, blinking rapidly. “C’mere please.”

You bundle up together in your nest. 

In the afterburn of pleasure... you don’t seem sated. If anything, your scent is more tart than before. It’s worrisome. You mewl, something soft and sad and pathetic, squeezing your thighs together as they tangle with his own.

“Oh, dear,” he says. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

His reassurances will only go so far, he knows. Your omegan hindbrain has cravings that cannot be satisfied just by sweet words. There are other comforts you need, too. You wriggle next to him, seeking out the scent gland in his neck, and that feeling in his stomach presents itself and twists.

...

Jing Yuan is very glad that he massaged out your scent glands prior to your heat. If he hadn’t, it probably would have resulted in some sort of medical emergency truthfully. 

Your heat rages, and quickly heat sickness sweeps you up.

He is good to you because he wants to be so badly, but it’s not enough. 

After using his fingers, he uses one of your toys next. He lets you on top of him, chest-to-chest. You grind over his painfully stiff cock, while he fucks you with one of your dildos. It’s one with a fierce curve, scrapping over your sweet spot.

You cum twice more, in quick succession, gushing over top of his cock and lower belly. The release unfortunately does not do much of anything to soothe your ache. Your scent grows beyond acrid and bitter, suffocating the room. The intertwining pheromones of your mutual arousal are swallowed by it. Your scent grows more concerning with more stimulation. It’s— worrisome. Deeply troubling.

(You need knot. He knows you need it. You probably know it too, if only in the most carnal, base parts of your brain. You need to be fucked, filled and stuffed full before you’ll feel well again. Each touch he gives you that isn’t knot, no matter how pleasurable, is not enough. It can’t ever be enough.)

(Attempting to provide you relief with your assortment of toys without... pushing was wishful thinking. A valiant, worthwhile attempt, but nonetheless, insufficient.)

Jing Yuan, truthfully, expected this. He planned contingencies— he always does— they just... will be potentially unpleasant for you.

(Or, cleaving for the two of you, perhaps, if he is not careful. If he chooses one particularly daring path.)

Your nest is rumpled. You lay on your side, panting with an open mouth. Your eyes are bloodshot and half-lidded. Jing Yuan cups your cheeks and rubs over the burning flesh.

“I feel so bad,” You tell him, glancing up at him. There’s slick halfway down your thighs. “‘M gonna die?”

“No.” He corrects swiftly. He laps over your cheeks, following his own latent instincts. It feels right. “You’ll be alright dear, I promise—”

“You sure?”

“Certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

You don’t respond, just lean into him. Your lucidity is mostly gone with heat and fever.

“Baby?” He asks, the endearment slipping from his lips (almost out of his control—) “You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”

“‘So much, Jing Yuan.”

“I’m glad.”

He kisses you on your lips, chapped and cracking as they are. You’re sweating and slicking out liquid faster than you can drink and stay hydrated.

It’s concerning, all of it is— but he has your express permission. Consent to push, in this instance. You need it, he knows this and he can see it. He mentally reminds himself where the most important of your medications are kept and where the spare packets of electrolyte drink powder have been stashed.

You lean into his touch, flame to flame.

...

Jing Yuan is putting off fucking you.

Because it is not what you need right now.

What you need is fullness, without knot, which Jing Yuan can provide you. Granted in a way that he’s only seen in pornographic immersia and read about in dirty online forums under a pseudonym, but he has a great deal of confidence in himself to deliver. 

It is still somewhat daunting. 

Especially considering that your state is continuing to worsen. Night falls more quickly than he would like. And, despite his own sore wrist and slick-stained chin, you’re worse for wear.

You’re tucked against him. You’ve been fervently seeking closeness from him in a grabby, cute way. You sit sideways in his lap with your cheek squished against his breast. A sheet has been thrown haphazardly over the two of you, less for modesty and its meager offering of heat, and instead for some amount of grounding. An additional tether, other than himself. You wear the scent-gland stimulating cuffs tight on your wrists. 

You pant, whine, and shove your face into his chest.

”A-Awful—“ Your words slip and grit out from clenched teeth.

“I know.” Jing Yuan finds himself whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“I—“ You grind your teeth. 

Jing Yuan grabs your lower jaw and squeezes, just enough so that you release the tension there.

“Be good.”

”I-I’m— I’m trying.”

You dissolve. A sob creeps from the back of your throat, onto your tongue before spilling from your lips. One after another, frantic sounds punctuated by ragged, high breaths.

It hurts to hear; it hurts to know you’ve fallen to this point while he is in your nest. 

It’s for lack of trying, you both know that. (Or he hopes you do. He isn’t certain that you’re within yourself enough to make those types of assumptions.) 

“It’s alright,” he tries to soothe, but you’re past that point. You hiccup around your breath and jolt against him. 

(The sight of you so overtaken by tears does something to him. A simultaneous affection and urge to... coddle? Keep? Have? It’s hard to identify. It lingers in the aether of him and tangles with his instincts in such a way—)

Jing Yuan presses his fingers into your mouth.

You accept it, you always do, even if you fight with the digit for a moment. Your jaw tightens up and your lips purse like you’re ready to nip him. He probes around your mouth, and you relax almost instantly with the motion. He pets along your tongue and your gums— even pushes toward the back of your mouth, just shy of where your gag reflex will trigger. Your tension drips away as he explores. 

You suck on his finger, dutifully, just as he intended.

He likes this— he has since the first time he deigned to follow this impulse. It seems to relax you as well. Settles you, even now, when you’re heat-flushed and so poorly. He pets along your cheeks too. Your tears don’t quite dry, but your breath evens out beautifully. 

“It’s alright,” he coos, relieved. “So good for him.”

You preen with the praise, and rest against him, an everburning coal. 

This is part of the indulgent thing that Jing Yuan struggles to acknowledge. It’s hard to get his teeth around, and even harder to word. He’s been gifted with an eloquent silver tongue since his youth; he’s never found it difficult to string together his thoughts into words. This feeling is an exception. There have been very few in his lifetime.

(You’re— his. You’re his. His. He has to take care of you. Make sure you’re well, even if it hurts to get there. He’ll take care of you, so well. You’ll let him because you’re good for him, and you listen so well and don’t fuss anymore than you need to.)

He swallows.

“Let’s take care of you now, hm?” He hums. 

You’re agreeable when he slides you off his lap, and back into your rumpled nest. He takes time to re-fluff it around the two of you, letting you sink into the space further. You shove your face into one of the shirts he’d left with you that made its way into the core of your nest. You hold it to your chest and watch him.

He settles between your legs. Steadies himself and shifts his hair to one shoulder. You watch him with attention that must be hard to muster within your fever. The soft thing in him cracks further, yearns harder.

“Baby,” he says, soft and reverent. “Can I help you feel better?”

“Y-you have been—”

“Not like before,” he tells you. “I’m going to fill you up. It’ll make you feel better here.”

He presses his flat hand over your navel. Your hips jump sharply.

You eye him warily. 

“… N-No knots?”

“No knots.” He assures you. “Just me. Is that alright?”

You nod immediately. Instantly. You trust him so deeply; it almost hurts to think about.

He kisses you. The finger that had been in your mouth probes downward, past your ribs and soft tummy, to your steadily leaking cunt. He drags the digit up and down there, pressing into your slow and steady. He refuses haste here. He wants to take his time.

His own arousal feels secondary, especially now. The plan he has crafted, the act that he is beginning, will be more than sating enough. He doesn’t even really feel the urge to be sated physically. It’s an act of giving in a way that makes something older in his hindbrain purr at the prospect of actualizing. 

He adds a second finger into your hole, pumping them in and out, slowly. 

You mewl under him, desperate and... small. Not actually, not really, but in the way that he is perceiving you. Like a kitten needing the tending of its... 

(Mother.)

Oh.

There’s clarity in putting a word to the desires he feels. He... suspected something similar. But hadn’t come to him so bluntly before. It feels almost lewd in its nature, maybe fetishistic. He doesn’t particularly mind, truthfully. There’s a shuddering, warm kind of pleasure he takes in having a grip on this burgeoning type of desire. The shape of it is clearer. 

“Jing Yuan?” You say, soft and wet. “‘S okay? You okay?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing you again. Stealing any potential doubts and worries you could have.

He slips a third finger into him, and he swallows the moan that tumbles from your lips against his own. 

You’re loose from prior stimulation and the incessant slick. Three fingers is hardly a stretch, but four is. He rolls your clit while teasing his pinky finger at your entrance. Your cunt flexes around his fingers and you make a sound of vague confusion, pushing up to see better.

Moderately unnecessary.

Jing Yuan cajoles you a bit, keeping his fingers inside you as he does. He fixes the angle of you so you’re flat on your back with your leg raised up on either side of him. Folded in half. If he presses down on your legs, you’d be held down into a favored omega mating position. You must enjoy it, as a gush of slick streams from your hole. You pant and squirm.

He spits on his fingers, letting a ball of saliva drip to where he enters you. 

His pinky finger bullies its way inside of you. It’s a slow affair, pressing in and a little deeper with each gentle thrust of his fingers. Enough to stretch, but barely ache. Your toes curl as he tends to you.

“One more,” he tells you. 

“... ‘S more?”

He hums. You’re so feverish. You haven’t caught on, have you? 

Jing Yuan shapes his hand just right, spitting again and scooping up excess slick on his thumb to smear over the rest of his hand that remains outside of you. He toys with your stretched opening, giving you a moment to put together his action.

(Such a sweet thing, needing this so badly from him.)

He pushes the last of his fingers inside you.

“O-Oh—” You watch as he does, jaw going slack and your legs falling limp at his sides.

This is a stretch. It’s too much, probably, but once the ache of all of his fingers carving your cunt open subsides, it will be so good for you. He’s confident.

Jing Yuan bites his own lip when you whimper, sweat beading on your neck. It’s unpleasant. It hurts you. He knows. He knows and he persists despite the resistance at your opening. He hopes— you don’t tear. You shouldn’t, you’re so slick and warm and wet that you should be just fine. The thought that you could still frightens him enough that he feels sick to his stomach—

(His baby— that can’t happen. If it does, he’ll lick you clean and well there until you’re all better.)

It’s a snug fit when he finally manages to wedge his thumb inside of you. His fist slips inside of you, and the opening of your cunt only has to stretch around his wrist— which still isn’t small. Neither is his hand. Neither of them line up with the anatomy of an alpha cock and knot, but it’s closer than anything else. It’ll sate the need you have for fullness.

His mouth waters at the sight of his hand in you. The bulge it makes in your belly. His gaze flickers back to your face and he— 

His cock twitches, he nearly blacks out.

You’re a vision. It’s obscene. Your lips are bitten raw, bleeding at a corner. Drool slips down the side of your lips, and you’re struggling to keep your gaze focused, but it’s trained on him. Near him. Slipping down to where Jing Yuan has managed to work his entire fist into you. You fist one of the pillows under your head, and the other is wound up in the sheets at your side. 

When he dares to move his fist in you, even a little, it shoots to grab his free wrist.

He hushes you, then. Your breath is too fast. Overstimulation just from insertion is to be expected, that’s what he had read. He kisses the crook of your knee with a hum.

“J-Jing Yuan—” Your voice clips, frantic. “Too much, too much—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s not a knot, dear. It’s just me, taking care of you. I can take it out at any time.”

“I— ‘re s-sure?” 

“Certain. But I think this will help you. Doesn’t it feel good to be full?”

“... Full.”

It’s what an omega craves so deeply. Full of knots, love, and care, that they can both give to others and receive in kind. They desire to be cherished, really. He wants to cherish you. This in itself is an act of complete adoration. Jing Yuan feels giddy with it. 

He barely moves his hand, the motion can barely be called a thrust— but he presses against your womb all the same. All of your insides.

The stimulation is enough that you come, constricting over his hand with a gush of slick so obscene, Jing Yuan can’t help but dip his head down and lap up the spill that runs down his wrist. He gives your clit an errant kiss, and that had you crying out, squirming, and then freezing with the abrupt pressure.

You cry out his name, watery and endless.

It’s good, like this. His cock is so hard it hurts, and his cunt drips its own puddle into your nest. It’s easy to ignore, put aside, as you lay yourself bare for him. He’s as locked inside of you as he can possibly be without an alpha’s anatomy. The closeness of the act turns his own guts as he lavishes you with kisses.

You arch with each of his movements, jarring and overstimulated pleasantly. Little streams of pleas for more, for him, for his touch and presence dribble from your lips as he works his fist in little thrusts inside you. You cum, at least twice more, maybe three times. He loses count once you gush and squirm so much that it coats your navel and up to his forearm.

He’d like to make you do that out of heat when he’d be able to see your embarrassed expression and hear your bashful words.

Now, you glut yourself, begging with little grinds of your hips and pulling his hand to your lips to suck on his free fingers. It’s obscene, it’s perfect, and you’re full.

“So good for me,” he licks your cheek, his hair covering the two of you like a veil. “Do you know that, how good you are?”

You nod, drunk on pleasure, and relief, more than anything. 

“Say it for me, baby.”

“‘M good,” you smile, toothy and pure, and throw your head back when he ducks down to lick at your scent gland. 

“Once more, please?

“I’m good— f-for you—”

“For who?”

“... For— Jing Yuan?”

“Try again, dear.”

You make a helpless sound. “...G-General?”

“Once more. I know you can do it.”

Jing Yuan doesn't know— how to communicate this wordlessly. It will require words when you are more equipped to hear them. This is already pushing what you can handle in your overheated mind.

But he tries— because he trusts you just as much as you trust him.

He opens his mouth, jaw wide, and hovers his teeth over your scent gland. He doesn’t bite, he wouldn’t now, but he makes his teeth known with a brush of his sharp canines around the round, inset organ. He knows you feel them. You shudder. His fingers dip in your mouth again, just for a moment, to press down on your tongue and demand attention—

He withdraws them and your breath catches. Your scent blooms into cedar and cinnamon.

“Oh.” You go still. “... Mommy? Mama?”

Jing Yuan groans, something unadulterated and unfiltered. It’s a sound of his own relief, his own quenching and realizing coalescing. It’s punctuated by a sharp worry, that if this is misread and wrong, this tender thing that belongs to you just as much as it belongs to him will be rejected—

But the feeling is washed away easily when he gets a look at your face, awestruck. Open and soft. Yearning in a way that’s cracked open. You wouldn’t give this to anyone else, would you?

It calms him, instantly. You surge closer to kiss him, sobbing against his lips as the motion presses his knuckles into your sweet spot and your cervix makes you come again, easy for him, as you so deserve to be.

You melt then. Into him, into your nest, dissolving into a puddle of slick and soft-hearted tears. Jing Yuan catches you easily, as he has wanted to do for so, so long.

...

Having another omega as a heatmate is about comfort, ultimately. 

It’s not the same as having an alpha in your nest. There’s no cloud of pheromones that urges one to fall to their knees and present prettily for a knot. The craving for fullness is there, but the parched feelings of desire are more lucid. One does not drown in desire, but rather swim and tread water. 

Having another omega as a heatmate helps keep one floating.

After the discovery that Jing Yuan’s fist is a proper and satisfying alternative for a (comfortable) knot, your heat sickness begins to ebb off. It’s slow, but your fever reduces from sweltering down to toasty. Working his fist into you every eight hours or so keeps your symptoms manageable. Along with mini-massages to your scent glands, the edges of heat sickness have smoothed out, much to his relief.

There’s another aspect to your relief, of course. His own too. The fledgling dynamic that has been realized is... good. So good. Jing Yuan has felt it growing since his own heat. The need to care for you, to dote and coddle you as you need (maybe a little more than you need—), but he didn’t have the words to describe the urges. The relationship that he instinctively wanted to have with you— his omega.

It seems obvious in retrospect. From the first moment he took interest in you, you have scratched a particular part of his brain that he hadn’t isolated and examined thoroughly previously. Perhaps if he had, the expression of care that you’ve now put a name to would’ve been birthed far sooner.

Regardless, it’s good to have now. And to indulge it in the presence and explore it under these conditions where it is so, so needed. 

Your mind is still foggy; it’s very evident. You’re snuggled up, between his thighs, rolling the pudge above his hips in your hands. You’re purring. It’s a uniquely omegan sound that he has been twinning with you often. Including now.

It sounds like a harmony, his own a few steps lower than yours.

You sink lower down his body, dragging your nose and lips over his thighs. Your gaze is clouded and your mouth is wet.

“‘Wanna take care of you—” you say, nuzzling into the juncture of his thigh and pelvis. You suck in a breath, tasting his musk on your tongue. 

You shudder.

“If you’d like,” he replies, running a hand through your hair. “Take what you need.”

It’s his presence that you need, really. You need to be drenched in his scent, and there is no better way than being between his legs and mouthing at the head of his cock.

(He remembers this feeling during his own heat with you as well. Needing you to be inside him, to glut himself on you— his mouth was the best way to do it.)

He imagines you feel similarly as you stroke him, licking away a pearl of pre that appears at the tip. A shuddering breath leaves his lips.

It feels... good. Everything has felt good. The physicality, the intimacy, the literal closeness, the sexual contact you have shared— it’s been good. Pleasurable. Even if he hasn’t been on the receiving end for much of it, it has still been satisfying and filling in a way that gets him purring louder and rougher. 

“‘Can I?” Your words slur and you drag the tip of your nose up the length of his cock. “Can I suck you off, mommy?”

Jing Yuan has to stifle the sound that catches in his throat. He nods; he doesn’t trust himself enough to speak. You sink your mouth down his cock with a moan, eyes shutting and you work your tongue against the underside of it. It’s sizable for an omega. It’s a perfect mouthful for you. 

It feels good— so good. He’s sensitive; he doesn’t touch himself particularly often. It shows now as he inhales sharply, raking a hand through your hair to rest on your crown. He strokes his fingers there, shaking all over. 

You lack technique, but your pure want makes up for it. Your mouth is wet and lush around him. So sweetly, you keep purring, the vibration of it curling around him in a way that threatens to make him go cross-eyed.

He is embarrassingly close embarrassingly quickly. 

Jing Yuan manages to hold off with a measured sigh, attempting to unfurl some of the tension in his stomach. You suck at him with unrelenting vigor regardless.

Even more unfairly, one of your hands drifts lower, to the seam of his cunt. Your eyes crack open just enough to look at him, mirthful and mischievous as you pull off him. Strands of spit stretch from your lips to the rapidly purpling head of his cock. 

“‘S good?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

”So good, b-baby.” 

His voice trembles, he doesn’t mean it to. You sink a finger into him and curl without reverie. It scratches his sweet spot, pressing up against the most fragile parts of him.

He arches his back with a groan— it’s so much. The scent of him has drool dripping from your lips, down onto his cock while you thrust your fingers gingerly in and out. Even heat-brained, you are so thoughtful with him.

”I—“ Your voice breaks, dry. You swallow. “I want you to come in my m-mouth. Please?”

”Asking so sweetly,” he muses as you wrap your lip around his cock once more. “How could I not?”

You purr even louder, fucking him deeper and harder. Pleasure crackles up his spine. Your scent is sweet and warm in his mouth, like aromatic spices, warmed over a heart-bound stove. It’s creamy honey on his tongue. His cock twitches in your mouth and you moan with it, wanton.

It’s too good, really. It’s better he spills early, rather than later. Your stamina will surely outlast his own and he’d rather have some resilience left as your heat progresses.

He comes down your throat with a cracking moan.

It’s higher and softer than he’d used to. He’s not usually loud— not when he’s by himself, anyway. Yet he can’t restrain the way he falls apart under your touch, pouring cum down your throat in spurts, his slick drenching your hand. 

You pull away with a kitten cough. Jing Yuan is breathless, floored, and hollowed out in some ways. Your overt desire is undoing to him. He wants you— in his mouth.

You lick the cum and spittle off our lips with a wry grin. You meet his gaze as you lap up his slick from your fingers. Your tongue lays flat and moves slowly. You sway between his legs, panting a little too quickly for his liking.

He feels himself growl, cowing.

He doesn’t mean to, but he does despite that. 

“Be careful now, baby,” he reminds you. 

He doesn’t mind the display of your confidence. You’re so rarely cocky. But it’s so satisfying to see how you crumble to this dynamic, the way you yearn for his hand and guidance.

”Why’s that?” You tilt your head cutely.

He hums, “I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself.”

”Oh.” You blink at him, nodding. It’s demure and sweet. “I understand. S-Sorry.”

”There’s nothing to be sorry about." He kisses you. Your mouth tastes like both of you. He licks against your teeth for the lingerings of his own spent. “It’s quite flattering, but I know best to take care of you, don’t I?”

This makes you pause. 

There’s so much trust between the two of you; he knows this. He’s so intensely aware of it. None of this (your companionship, sharing your nest, both of your heats) could occur without it. Yet, he asks for more. 

(He wants you to say it. That he can take care of you.)

”Y-Yeah,” you say and reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Y-You know best, mommy.”

You both shudder when you speak. He curses under his breath.

...

You need to be taken care of. Jing Yuan feels entirely confident in that fact as he lies with you.

You— deserve it. Maybe it is the pheromones affecting him, or maybe it’s just the way you’ve broken down and he can see how easily helpless you have become.

Desire looks good on you. Neediness, even better.

You squirm below him, pawing at him to come close. You can’t stand for him to be away from you too long. You had warned him about this, but truthfully he thought you were exaggerating in some sense. He knows now you absolutely were not, and his presence is required in his nest at nearly all times if you’re awake. 

(When you’re sleeping, he manages to disentangle himself from you (however painful) to wash up and collect enough food and water from your little kitchen to last through the next romp.)

Jing Yuan holds a warm cloth in his hand, damp but not soaking. He rubs it over your inner thighs in smooth circles. There’s a caked layer of slick there, uncomfortably clinging to your skin. He’s certain that you don’t notice, but he feels better knowing he’s able to clean you up.

He peaks at your cunt while he does so.

You’re... warm. So warm between your legs, scalding, and still so wet. Puffy from all of the contact and friction, but he doesn’t note any immediately concerning abrasions. He’s been careful when using his fists. Your hole is stretched with heat and all of his tending.

He feels contented. Especially so considering you’ve settled and are close to dozing above him.

It’s a good feeling. He kisses over your navel.

...

When Jing Yuan fucks you for the first time, he lets himself be as reverent as he truly desires.

It’s only the two of you and the soft, lulling whir of your home’s scent locking system, several days into your heat. Nighttime stretches late with moonbeams that leak around your curtains. He doesn’t bother fully closing them now. He’s far too comfortable. You’re curled against his side, cheek laid against his breast. Your breath is smooth and slow with easy sleep. His own twins your pace. 

The moon is good company for this particular type of peace.

It’s late enough that the orb of it is high, bathing the Luofu’s peaceful floral district in a downpour of silver. It looks nearly light out. It’s enchanting to see slivers of it, slicing into the stillness of your room in thin rays. One lays across your face, crossing the bridge of your nose. 

(Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel melancholic. The moon reminds him so easily of Dan Feng, the same way that the swathes of stars and inky cosmos remind him of Yingxing. He has no reason to mourn now, he has already done plenty, but he can’t help but feel the ache in the moon spray all the same.)

You stir. His scent must have changed.

“Jing Yuan,” you murmur, voice slurring and thick with sleep. “‘S okay— what’s wrong?”

You roll so you lay on top of him, propped up on your hands.

“Nothing important. You can sleep.” He tries to assure you, but the tone of his own voice is weaker than he means it to be. The lingering mourning creeps in.

You nudge your nose against his cheek.

“I don’t wanna,” you say the words into his skin with a kiss. “Not if you’re upset. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s alright, dear.” It really... is. He thinks so with some amount of confidence.

(Jing Yuan is so careful with his ghosts, so skillful in the way that he keeps them from those who cares for in the present. He doesn’t wish to share his grief anymore. The wounds have closed and all that remains is the occasional ache of scar tissue. That much he can manage on his own.)

“Nooo—” You whine with a nip. “You gotta tell me. Please?”

He concedes; you make it so tempting to.

“I’m only thinking about the past.” He sighs. The sound fills the room. “Nothing but bygone times, dear. There’s no reason to trouble yourself about it.

“... Are you thinking about your old mates?”

“Perhaps.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“The moon makes me fragile.” He admits.

You don’t respond. For a moment, he’s worried that you’ll be offended by his wandering thoughts. He is sharing your nest. 

His worry is misplaced.

You straddle his hips and kiss him, soft and slow. Your thighs tighten around him as you urge him back into the sheets, drawing away only to press the kindest words into the cheeks.

“It’s alright to be fragile,” you tell him. An assurance of your own, given to him.

(Is it alright to be fragile? This thing with you, all of the newness of this dynamic and intimacy requires fragility to be shown. It’s vulnerable. Jing Yuan has been so, so careful with such things. To process his grief well and fully and still be a steadfast, unfailing leader. There’s a middle path he traverses well, but your new venture together is so different.)

He swallows. You kiss the swell of his throat with a hum.

Jing Yuan coaxes you into the sheets next to him, by his side. His hand slips between your legs. You gasp, so tender and sensitive after days of heat. You are fragile. In a similar way to him, but so different too. It makes something between his ribs shake. It’s wanting and craven in a way that feels foreign.

You cup his cheek then and kiss him. Your lips are so soft. The taste of you, the scent of you fills him as you lick into his mouth. Needy. You chase his cowardice away so easily. He breathes into your mouth with a happy sigh.

(There’s no alpha-driven drive for ownership in him. Just the need to have you be his because, you’re— you’re his baby. His soft, sweet thing that must never forget how cared for you are.)

You moan together.

Jing Yuan runs his finger up and down your sex. You’re soaked and sore, but wanting. So wanting, trembling next to him as you kiss him desperately. All little noises of desire, drenching him and the stillness of the room. The moon watches.

“Want you—” You say against his lips.

“How?” You may need his fist again. Or a toy. Or, something else.

“You,” you gasp, pulling away enough to cry out as he toys with your entrance. “You— you— you in me, please—”

You don’t need to beg, but it is cute that you do.

He shushes you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Me?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. 

You huff and whine, “Y-Yes— I want— I want you inside me.”

“More than my hand.”

“You!”

“Use your words clearly, dear,” he brushes his nose with yours. “I’d hate to misunderstand what my baby needs.”

A shattered sound comes from your throat and you squirm.

“I—I—” You swallow. “C-Can you fuck me?”

Oh, he can.

“Of course,” he breathes the words over your lips. The ghost of the sound caught in the shaft of moonlight that paints your cheeks. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He will, he will, he will.

It’s not hard to coax you onto your back. Your thighs spread around his hips, leaving you open to his prodding. Omegas traditionally enjoy presenting on their knees for an alpha, but there are no pheromonal, instinctual urges here. Just the sticky kind of feeling that has you gasping as he presses two fingers into you.

There’s no need to stretch you; this is for pleasure. He curls his fingers for the sheer shake of carving out your insides with all of his desire. He rolls your clit with his thumb, practiced in the things you like, the things that have you rolling your hips and gasping for more.

His own cock is hard, stiff against his soft tummy. It leaks an excess of milky pre, dripping down his shaft. It’s obscene. He pulls away from your cunt only to pump his cock once, twice, smearing his fingers with pre. You make an aching, wanton sound as he pushes back into you. The mix of your drips down his wrist, down to your ass.

You moan his name and grab his wrist, “I’m ready— please—”

“Shhh,” he hushes. He kisses your protests away. “Mommy knows best, don’t you think?”

You nod, helpless to his influence. It’s cute. It’s molten in his hands and he wants it in his mouth.

He leans down to kiss your collarbones, then lower to your chest. Your nipples are peaked with your heat. He’s neglected them, truthfully. It’s an easy thing to rectify luckily. He kisses down until he has the right one in his mouth. He laps at the pearl of it, greedy. You cry out beneath him, wracked with pleasure, riding out what he gives you. You trust him so much.

Your hand winds into his hair and you pet him, as though he’s a big housecat. He can’t say that he minds.

He fucks you with his fingers as he switches to the other side of your chest. He sucks marks in his wake, to match all of the others he has left in various stages of healing.

By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, tears in your eyes, so close to coming it’s visible. Your core is tight, your jaw is slack and drool pools, wet, on your lips.

“My sweet thing,” he slips lower, licking down your stomach in a straight line. He rests his cheek on your inner thigh, breathing hotly over your cunt. The scent of you has him dizzy and pleased beyond belief. “I think you should come once I’m inside you, what do you think?”

Jing Yuan kisses your swollen clit with a teasing smile.

You make a helpless, confused sound as he draws away, deflating into the sheets. Fidgeting, you peer up at him as waits for your response.

“... If you think so, mommy.”

“Won’t it feel good?” He plies. “To come on my cock?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod. 

Jing Yuan plucks a bottle of lube from within the folds of your nest. It’s unnecessary, but the effort matters. He slicks himself up, hissing through his teeth. 

“I w-want,” you say, struggling to sit up with your shaking limbs. “I-I want you to c-come inside me— please?”

“Begging?” Jing Yuan can’t help the smile that grows over his features. His baby is so, so sweet. “For something I’ve already wanted to give you. So sweet, so good—”

You sob. It’s a helpless, fragile, sound. It sparks something in him, an urge that’s fast and immediate. You need tending, care— he kisses the sound from your lips with a quiet hush. A whispered ‘I have you, I have you, I have you’. 

This position is vulnerable. Showing your stomach like this leaves you open. Unprotected. There are old wisdoms that say omegas present on all four to protect their most vulnerable parts— their primary scent glands and tummy. Despite the calm of the air, the softness of your nest, and the presence of a gentle, kind moon, you still look a little scared.

“I have you,” he reminds you, inches forward on his old knees. “You know that I do, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, mama—” You shake as the head of his cock rubs your clit.

He stifles a groan, and you outright moan, reaching for his arm, wrist, hand— anything to ground you. It’s so easy to grab your hand in his own, press it into the sheets, and slide into you.

It’s your first time— you’ve taken toys, his fist— but this is different. It cores you; he can tell by the way your hips jolt and your mouth goes slack. An ‘oh—’ is punched from the center of your chest, and you squeeze his hand.

His cock isn’t a stretch for you, but merely being in you hollows you out and lets him fill you up all the same.

“‘S good,” your voice breaks from your throat. “So good—”

Jing Yuan steels himself with a thick breath, slowly, slowly, grinding into you a little more with each thrust. Until with one last roll, he’s buried to the hilt.

You’re hot. He’s never fucked someone in heat. Aeons, he hasn’t fucked anyone in centuries, and he had forgotten how overwhelming the sensation of being surrounded by wet, hot bliss could be. He hangs his head low and tries to collect himself.

It takes a moment, then two, then three—

“Mama?” You ask him, soft and sweet as you cup his cheek. “C-Can you move? Have I been g-good enough?”

He whines, he hears his own sounds, and kisses you hard on the mouth as draws his hips back in the same motion. He speaks against your lips, “You don’t need to be good for me to have this. You deserve it— sweet baby.”

It’s easy to fall into this role, so easy. Too easy, in a perverse, indulgent way that nearly has him cumming with his own words but he collects himself enough to fuck back into you.

He sets the pace, slow and as deep as he can go. Each thrust is a punch to your insides, the angle of your hips has the head of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot perfectly. Tears drip from your eyes, down into your hairline.

The sight of you, below him, chest heaving, soft, melted, has him stopping, half-in you to steady himself. He nearly has to withdraw from your cunt entirely to circle the base of his cock his fingers just to stave off orgasm.

“Baby,” his voice shakes more than he has heard it do so for half a millennium. “It’s hard to last when you feel so good.”

You try to get out some snarky remark, something too mouthy and wordy for his baby, so he cuts you off with a swift thrust back into you. You dissolve. Your eyes scrunch closed and your back bends beautifully off your nest. Your grip flails from the sheets to him, and then back to the sheets as you attempt to ground on something.

(Him— you need to ground on him. Jing Yuan will take such good care of you. He’s filling you up, keeping you warm and well-loved.)

He deftly pulls your hand from the sheet and intertwines your fingers with his own. He brings you palm-to-palm, before pressing them down into the mattress. You make a shattered sound, all for him.

Drool seeps out of his own mouth. He kisses you, then, mixes spit with your own to taste you just as much as he feels you.

It feels like gluttony. An indulgence, to have you like this. He isn’t one to deny himself simple pleasures but this feels beyond ‘simple’. It’s complicated. Layered, something he’ll need to decipher and chew on when he’s more within his own faculties. When you are too, so he can consult you as much as is appropriate. Part of him wants to bar you from it. You shouldn’t have to think so much about it, you’re his baby—

You grow tighter around him, wetter. The sounds coming from your cunt and his cock are obscene. He’s leaking along with you.

Jing Yuan lets go of your hand. You whine. Cry. Something sad and shaking. Your eyes are bloodshot and teary as you scramble for him. Jing Yuan coos, little sweet things that drip like confections from his lips. He slides his hands up the backs of your thighs, to the backs of your knees, and anchors himself there.

He bears his weight down and folds you in half.

Your panic stutters, then stalls. Your jaw falls open.

It’s an instinctual thing for an omega in heat. To be pressed open like this, fucked open by a loving mate.

Your head tilts to the side and bears your scent gland.

And—

(Jing Yuan will not bite you. He wants to. He wants to so badly. Once you understand what that means, to have your mama’s bite on you in that way, then he can. He thinks you’ll want it just as much as he does.)

“Oh, baby—” His own voice sinks into a low groan as he pushes back in. “So beautiful for me. You know just what to do, don’t you?”

You whine and tilt your head even farther to the side. It almost looks painful. “Please, m-mama—”

He kisses over the spot your sweet, little heat brain wants him to. His hip cant forward pressed to the hilt. It’s enough that you come with a sob, your legs quivering under him.

“S-Soon, baby,” Jing Yuan can barely keep it together. He licks his lips, the remnants of you and him there. “I’ll make you all mine— all mommy’s, hm?”

“P-Please!”

Your begging is its own declaration. Your desperation, your helplessness, and the ways in which you are cutely feeble really have done something to Jing Yuan that he could never have expected. He doesn’t dislike it. The way he wants to care for you, feels attracted to the idea, and intimacy of that feels blinding, even if he doesn’t know all of the intricacies of it yet. He’ll find them out, along with you, by his side— in his lap— maybe on your knees— against his chest and in his nest—

There’s such certainty in your mutual desires. 

Jing Yuan can’t— he can’t bear it— 

He comes. The sound that rips from his throat is between a moan and a whimper of his own. Cracked and wet all at once as he presses all of his weight into you. He fills you up the best he can’t— omega cum isn’t very thick, more watery— but considering his own restraint, it’s plentiful. It spills out as he fucks you through his orgasm and the last dredges of your own.

You grab at his shoulders, tucking your own face as close as you can.

Jing Yuan can barely hold himself up as he pants to catch his breath. His knees shake as he rights himself just enough to but without fully slipping out of you.

His vision blurs as your scent surrounds him. He can’t help the smile.

He pulls away just enough for his cockhead to pop from your cunt with a gush of cum, tangling and connecting to him in strands. It’s— erotic. An image branded on the inside of his brain.

A shattered noise comes from you— in heat— unfull—

As quickly as he can manage, he wiggles his fist inside you. 

It sates you immediately. Jing Yuan can’t help but coo as you go limp and gooey into your nest with a soft cry. Your chest still heaves, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You’re a mess. Debauched in all ways. And Jing Yuan got you that way.

It makes him feel unjustifiably prideful. A bit smug, even, if he were to be so transparent about it.

The feeling settles down into something... warming. Contentment that scratches an urge that’s both buried in his hindbrain and stitched into his soul, perhaps. A high that continues even as he settles next to you, tugging you snuggly against him as you happily shake through your ‘knotting’.

It’s easy to rest then. To bask and enjoy the heat, the stillness of the evening, the companion in the moon, and your honey-sweet presence by his side. 

“Mommy,” you whisper into his cheek with a kiss. “Jing Yuan— t-thank you.”

“O-Of course.” He whispers back like he’s exchanging a secret. “I have much more to give you if you’ll let me, sweetling.”

Your breathe catches, eyes wide. 

“Mama is spoiling me.”

“Mommy is giving you what you rightfully deserve.”

Before you can counter, he kisses you. Dumb and sweet all at once. You smile against his lips with a giggle that he eats in the next moment. 

A morsel, all his own.

...

As your heat abates, your sweet dynamic grows. It has time to breathe and be more than a desperate connection born from the discomfort of your heat and his own need to tend. Now there’s just the honeycomb richness of a new desire that you both indulge. Test. 

Now, you’re in Jing Yuan’s lap while he rests against your headboard. You’ve just finished sharing a bowl of rice pudding and red bean jellies. Jing Yuan has spoonfed you, as he is finding he very much enjoys. Partially because it is such a transparent act of care and also because he finds your vague indignation and fidgeting to be quite cute.

You’re still fidgeting, now, in his lap. Your legs on either side of his thighs, tense. His cock is buried in you, warm and steadily hard. 

Your cheek lays against his collarbone. You’re settled there, comfortable after some initial adjusting. It has been your sheepish request that initiated your current lap-sitting and cock warming, but Jing Yuan can hardly complain. He’s quite pleased. Your cheeks are hot against his skin, though flushed now with embarrassment more than heat.

You huff,  “M-Mama— Jing Yuan— Do you have to read that?”

He hums, teasing. “Why? Do you not enjoy my choice of story?” 

Jing Yuan holds a small book in one hand, thumb pressed into the inner spine of it. He’d plucked it from the bottom of your nightstand while you’d been dozing and found the story quite... interesting. 

It’s one of the raunchy erotica fictions that gets sold out of little carts in Aurum Alley. The cover is plainly pink, aside from the title “The Lion-Strong Lieutenant and The Fox-Hearted Maiden”. Jing Yuan had paged through it with some amount of uncontained curiosity. The story follows a freshly deployed (vaguely familiar) Cloud Knight lieutenant and a foxian healer on the front lines of a Hunt on a distant planet. It’s filthy, really. There’s smut within the first few chapters that he skims through. Decently written too. He can see why you enjoy it and keep it by your bedside.

When you rouse enough to notice that he’s reading, and what he’s reading, you’re mortified. You’d attempted to snatch the book away from Jing Yuan, but unfortunately for you, he’s quite a bit taller and in better shape than you are. He simply holds it above his head rather pleased with himself.

How his cock ended up inside of you is rather lost on him. You really do enjoy your perch in his lap, and at this point in your heat, being filled by something of any girth is more pleasant than being entirely empty. 

Reading the book aloud to you is more for himself. Because you’re very, very cute when you’re so embarrassed and a bit shameful. 

You hide in his neck and whine.

“I don’t t-think this one is meant to be read out loud...” Your voice wobbles like you’re going to cry.

“Why’s that, dear?”

“It’s... u-um, too dirty?”

“Hm,” he clicks his tongue, coaxing your head up so he can meet your watery gaze. “That may be true. Why was my baby reading it then?”

A nervous chirp clicks from your throat and you shift in his lap. His cock jostles in your cunt. 

“Because—!” You huff. “It’s f-fun to read when I’m alone.”

“‘Fun’?”

It’s hard to keep himself from teasing you.

You squeal and squirm more, before tucking yourself close. You grow quiet, brooding as much as Jing Yuan will allow before intervening. He chuckles as you do, petting down the back of your neck, over your soothed scent glands, and down your bare spine. 

He relents and sets down the book.

“Would you prefer a different story, dear?”

“... Y-yes, please.”

“That can be done.”

He hums and pets you, enough that you calm down and sniffle through the beginning of your tears. 

Jing Yuan should’ve known his baby needs a story that is easier to swallow. Something less dirty—

(As if his cock isn’t buried in you. As if your cunt is fluttering around him whenever his hips so much as twitch.) 

“P-Please, mommy?”

(Ah, how simply and purely you affect him.)

“Of course, dear.” 

You don’t need to beg for this. Jing Yuan adjusts enough that you’re able to slouch fully into his chest. 

He pets you while he tells you a story about something simple. Something easy. About a traveling merchant who falls for a witch on a lush planet. It’s a fable plucked from an immersia that Jing Yuan vaguely remembers from when he was young. It’s a good bedtime story, much better than genuine pornography.

His voice carries in your room, growing rougher and lower as sleep tugs at his own eyelids. At some point in his tale-winding, you begin to drag your lips up and down his neck, mouthing at his scent glands. It’s a silent plea for him to rest, to relax, and to exchange scent. Jing Yuan can intuit it from you so easily.

He ends up dozing along with you, words fading as you drool over his collarbone.

The last thing he does before fading into sleep himself is commit the stillness and peace of this to memory. 

...

You clearly thrive under the specific type of care that Jing Yuan gives you.

‘Mommy’ and ‘baby’ do something good to your brain. It makes you float, and exit the spaces and feelings that make you so anxious and off-kilter. He knows that on a day-to-day basis, you can be quite fractious and unsure of yourself. (Your tears were the first thing that endeared you to him, after all). He can already tell that this dynamic is allowing you a specific type of respite from these anxieties. 

Not having to think too hard is good for you. Jing Yuan thinks it is a good thing in general, and especially now, during your heat, something you’ve been so worried about before and during. He thinks it’ll be good for you afterward as well... if it’s something you’d like to continue. 

(Jing Yuan truly hopes you will. He wants to.)

It’s a reprieve for him too.

You’re a precious, little thing that needs care that he can provide. You’re the only thing he needs to worry about then, too. He’s always latently aware of his greater responsibilities, it feels impossible to not be, but they feel further away when you’re snuggled closer to him with hazy eyes and a soft smile meant only for him to see. 

There are different layers to this that he’d like to explore. Little bits and actions that he can see the appeal of, perhaps that he even craves, but he knows that they must be treated gingerly. This is new for both of you. And there’s truly no need to rush.

(There is, however, one thing that sticks in his mind in an unignorable way—)

(A curious desire, one he wants quite badly.)

Jing Yuan is propped up by a mountain of pillows, snuggled deep in your nest with a pastel, knitted blanket tossed over his legs. You’re on his lap, rump over his thighs with your legs curled up to the side of him. You’ve slipped quite low like this, your cheek pillowed against his sternum. It’s one of your favorite spots, he’s learned.

Two of his fingers are in your mouth, resting on your tongue. 

This is one of your favorite things, he thinks. He thinks that it is one of his own as well. It may have started as a teasing action at first, during his own heat, something to wordlessly test the waters of this dynamic when it first began to present itself, but now it feels like something more weighted. 

It’s a precursor at the very least.

You suck on his fingers lightly; you’re half asleep as you do. Drool shines on the corners of your mouth in a cutely messy way. He wants to lick it off. One of his arms cradles you, around your back with a hand tucked firmly against your waist.

There’s a temptation to push things a little... further.

It’s not an entirely chaste thought, though it’s hardly burgeoning on sexual. Jing Yuan supposes that the nature of your whole dynamic, really. The line between the carnal and the pure has been so blurred, it might as well not be there. It’s safe and intimate— refreshingly so. There is nothing more than it needs other than that.

Jing Yuan swallows, his mouth feeling dry.

You make little sound, the beginnings of a purr as you rouse enough to blink up at him.

“Dear,” he asks. “May I try something? You can stop if you do not like it.”

You blink at him a few more times, before nodding, your top teeth bumping against his fingers in your mouth. 

(How trusting, how sweet, how pliant and good for him you— is what he desires to do next, not just a manifestation of that?)

He slips you lower, so your cheek is smushed up against his chest instead. 

The ample swell of his breast is never something he’s minded. He’s always been a bit fuller than his peers, perhaps a lot these days, considering all of the deskwork he does has resulted in some weight gain around his middle. It’s hardly noticeable under his official costume and regalia; it looks more like muscle then. 

Now, bare with you and skin-to-skin, his chest is round with muscle and soft tissue. His stomach rolls over, pudge covering the muscle he has maintained. He’s sure you feel all of it. He hopes it makes you feel safer, knowing that your omega can look after you in those ways too.

And Jing Yuan has confidence that in those physical ways, he can. The tender way he wants to explore is more uncharted.

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and coaxes you into turning your face against his breast fully. Your lips brush one of his dusty pink nipples and he twitches. You freeze, glancing up at him with wide eyes. There’s only trust there, thick and rich and all his. Your scent is so warm now, so warm. You look back to his chest, going a bit cross-eyed, then back up to him.

You nose around his nipple before taking it into your mouth. Fully.

He gasps as you do— he’s— he’s sensitive. It’s not a place he really touches himself. The contact makes him stiffen up; both his spine and his nipple that is under your tongue. You freeze as he jolts, pausing, but not drawing away.

Jing Yuan takes a moment to steady himself, before petting down the back of your head, a wordless sign to continue.

And you do, because you are so good and you trust him so much. You lap around his nipple and suck without question, easily sinking back into the headspace that you both enjoy so much. You’re dutiful, at first, enthusiastic, but the fervor of it fades after a minute or two.

Instead, you relax even further. Your legs splay, heels sliding along the bottom of your nest. Your thighs fall open and a burst of your scent, both calm and aroused, floods the room. You lean all of your weight into him, seeking more as your eyes slip fully closed.

It’s good. So good to see you relax, to feel your against his chest. Jing Yuan is both sated and aroused all at once, his own scent turning as you suck. It’s... creamier, milkier. You seem to enjoy it, making a high, happy noise against him.

“Oh, b-baby—” His own voice shakes, just enough to betray his overwhelm.

You calm him by shifting somehow closer, sucking deeper and harder on his nipple. There will surely be a mark there.

Jing Yuan’s cock is half hard as you suck, and he can see slick begin to leak out from your cunt, stickying your thighs. He— he wants to touch you. To satisfy you even more. He reaches between your thighs, cups your sex, and rolls your clit with the two fingers that had previously been in your mouth. You gasp against him, suck harder, and moan.

It’s— it’s all debauched. Sensual yet so comfortable, Jing Yuan can’t help but luxuriate. The pleasure you’re exchanging exists only for pleasure's sake; neither of you feels hastened toward completion. Instead, it’s just this— you nursing on his chest and him playing with you just enough that your hips tilt and grind for more, but never to glut.

(Jing Yuan— part of him— he’s not even sure which part, wishes he could give you more than nursing. He wishes he could give you milk too. If he can’t fill you up with a knot, why not fill your belly up with his milk? He would like that. You probably would too. Warm and full and content against his chest.)

He feels— a little out of his mind about it. In a good way. Perhaps, if this is something you’d like to indulge in again, something could be done to make that a reality. Jing Yuan is sure he can make a few anonymous accounts and poke around forums for an answers. Perhaps call in a few favors at the Alchemy Commission, if it comes to that.

The desire for this— this dynamic that’s gratifying dynamic that’s growing and fleshing itself out in real time— has him ready to go the distance without question. He’s excited to. 

It’s easy to be excited, with you content and within pleasure so deeply against him. 

He’s quite excited for whatever comes next. 

...

Your heat ends after nine days. 

The last days of it are slow. Exhaustion has settled into both of you, and the intimacy you share is unhurried and lazy. There’s no fever to it, only the want for closeness amidst your own fatigue. 

As post-heat creeps in, there is somewhat of a chill that’s spread over your home as well.

It’s a quiet feeling, one that neither of you addresses at first. Jing Yuan can smell it on you, and on himself, before he identifies clearly that something isn’t quite right. You aren’t mad, there is no anger in your scent or the way you carry yourself. Your words are not cruel, nor is their tone. If anything, it’s the opposite. You cling to him harder, squeeze closer, and beg for more of him whenever you can. Not for sex. You just want to be near him.

You sit in the bath together quietly, watching the rainbow-slick bubbles in tandem. 

Your bath isn’t quite big enough for the two of you. Jing Yuan’s knees stick up just out of the water. Your own are nestled beside his as you sit between his thighs. You’re wiping a warm, soapy washcloth over his offered arm in little circles, a soft frown on your face. 

You’re both very aware that this— you— will end soon. This state will.

Jing Yuan has a ship to head. He has taken a great deal of (abnormal) time off to accommodate your heat, which he has no regrets about. However, he is all too aware of the mountain of paperwork he’ll have to complete and the amount of catching up he will need to do once he returns. He’s been assured by Qingzu and Fu Xuan over text that the Luofu’s various affairs are being handled well and accordingly, and he’s sure that they’re doing a fine job at managing things in his absence—

But, he must take up the helm once again. Along with the full brunt of its responsibilities. Having you as his own does not change that.

Jing Yuan has never cared much for his image, not beyond managing perceptions that may be genuinely damaging to the stability of the Luofu’s denizens. As much as he has a reputation for loafing and lounging about, he’s reliable. No other Arbiter General has held this title for as long as he has and kept their ship as hale as he has. As much as he’s known to be a ‘Bachelor Alpha’ — he’s fairly certain taking you publicly as his omega will not damage his reputation, not in any meaningful way.

He worries for you though. Your station is lower. For as much of an eye as Madame Yukong keeps on you, and as much power he can exert, you will more than likely face backlash. Beyond already-buzzing rumors, he is certain you’ll face some amount of questioning from those around you. Criticisms. Both of you will undoubtedly face judgments as well. Jing Yuan is certain he’ll hear at least from the other Generals, if not the Marshal herself.

(The Divine Foresight, an ‘Alpha’, taking a simple administrative staff as his mate— it could be quite the scandal. If mishandled.)

(One thing at a time—)

You break the stillness of your steam-filled bathroom with a low hum.

“How’s this gonna work?” You ask. “... Mommy?”

“That’s a good question.” He kisses the back of your head, over your wet hair. You smell like the herbal shampoo you favor. “How would you like it to?”

“Please don’t leave this all up to me.”

“I’m not.” He squeezed your middle, hiding his own face in your shoulder. “I’d appreciate your perspective.”

“I figured you would have put it together already.”

“Oh?”

“I know how your mind works.” You bump your head into his own. “Or, I think I do. I, at least, have an idea of it. You’re always a few steps ahead of me, you know?”

“And how do you think that is?” 

“... You know me before I even know myself a lot of the time.”

You’re more keen than you give yourself credit for. He ought to help you work on your self-esteem. 

“Even so. I would like to hear your own genuine thoughts from your mouth, rather than my inferences and deductions.”

“Only if you tell me what you want too. Just as genuine.”

He nods, conceding easily. “Of course.”

You grab his hand in your own. Your thumbs roll into his palms, the ghost of a massage. “I... I like being... your omega. Your b-baby too, even if I don’t, um, quite know all the details of how it all works. Or if you know, either. But you know lots, so maybe you do. I dunno— I— it’s just—”

“Take your time, dear.”

You sigh and run your fingers over the pulse in his wrist. “... I don’t want to lose this just because my heat’s all over. I— I want to keep being yours.”

Thank Lan.

“The feeling is mutual,” he admits, smothering yourself with the fragrance of your skin. There’s melancholy in his tone that twins your own. “Very much so.”

“I’m glad.” You nose into him harder, more insistent for closeness. “I’m glad we want b-both want that. I’d... prefer we be somewhat private about it. I know that people are already talking about, um, us. I’m sure Li Ming has already been texting me about it. And I don’t necessarily mind people knowing that we’re together. I think it’s unavoidable, really.”

“I would agree.”

“But, I’d like this... this...” You hold your hands together, and dip his fingertips shallowly into his mouth, before withdrawing. “To be just ours.”

“I feel similarly.” 

There’s any number of commonplace, and less commonplace, dynamics that exist on the Luofu and across the Xianzhou. Your budding dynamic, truthfully, isn’t all that odd given this variety (Xianzhou natives have certainly had a long while to cultivate them—). Regardless of this, Jing Yuan would prefer to keep things private unless... certain circumstances arise. And those can be talked about—

(If specific types of encouragement or discipline in conjunction with care is something you desire and something he thinks would be beneficial for you, there may be a place for some public showing of dominance and submission. But, that’s not relevant now. Not yet. The details can wait.)

“And um— well, you—” You squirm to look at him. Almost pouting. “Y-You can bite me. I-I want you to. Claim me, if you want. I know it’s not really gonna do anything but—”

“You want my mark?” 

Jing Yuan feels light-headed with the knowledge. He assumed as much but still—

“Y-Yeah, really bad. It took everything during my heat not to ask for it.”

Jing Yuan would’ve been able to hold back if you had. But— it would have been... more difficult, had you begged. He’s weak for it, weak for you.

“I would like to leave my claim on you as well.” He has to swallow, clear his throat. “Not now, or during this heat of yours. I’d like to wait until we have a better moment established for it.”

“Something a little more preplanned ... Make it meaningful, yeah?”

“Yes, I’d prefer it that way.”

“I-I like that idea. Besides, it would be unfair for you to mark me and take my virginity during a single heat.”

His cock twitches. You clearly feel it as you grin, smother him with a smattering of kisses to his cheeks. 

For all the details, all the little things to sort, and preferences to wade through, this is easy. The exchange of physicality and comfort is good. Jing Yuan— well— it’s not something he’s had in a long time. It’s not something he’s really craved either. Now, he feels greedy for it as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek. He can feel your smile there, content and happy. 

“I’ll take good care of you,” he tells you. It’s a confession and an assurance all in one. “Do you trust me, dear?”

“More than anything,” you say simply like you aren’t bearing your soul to him. Like you don’t hold the most fragile part of him in your own hands as well.

“I’m glad.” 

Jing Yuan covets the exchange. He cherishes you and this dynamic and this new thing that has opened up for him after he has been convinced for so long that he’d subsist on silicone toys and scraps until Mara ate him. 

There’s a hope in his chest, tended by more than kindling. It’s warm and full of comfort, just as you are, purring and content against his front.

“... What do you want?” You ask, soft, a little more timid. “I know you said you feel similarly, but I want to hear your thoughts too.”

Jing Yuan collects him, and the slow accumulation of thoughts he’s had in the past few days crystallizes behind his eyes. 

“I would prefer not to hide you.” He admits, barely masking the tremble in his voice. “The nature of our relationship may remain private, as I said I’d prefer it that way as well. However, I’ll ask you to forgive me for my selfishness— I would prefer not to hide my affections for you.”

He squeezes you.

It’s not easy to confess. But he—

(Jing Yuan recalls the rumors of him and the High Elder fraternizing. And of the short-life craftsman that stole his heart. He didn’t mind it back then. He didn’t. His ego was much larger and younger. But, stealing kisses in the shadow of Aurum Alley and in the deepest, darkest sections of Imbibtor Lunae’s delve make him sad to think about now.)

(Jing Yuan thinks he is too old to hide himself so much. As adept as he has become in his inscrutability if you would permit him to be selfish—)

“I can accept that,” you reply. “I... I get a little nervous about it. But... you’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

You parrot his own words back to him. He slips his fingers in your mouth, as you both so enjoy. A reward. A treat. He can feel you grin around the digits. 

“Of course.” He can shield you from the worst of it. “I would also like if you would mark me as well.”

“‘Bite ‘yu?” Your words are garbled on his fingers as you whip around to look at him. There are practically stars in your eyes as the water of the bath sloshes, bubbles foaming up to your shoulders.

“A mutual claim.” He confirms. “A visible one.”

“You’re ‘slure?”

“Entirely ‘slure’.” 

Jing Yuan has thought about... perhaps in excess while your heat has been pittering out. It’s not unheard, but not traditional either. He doesn’t particularly care. He just wants your mark on him too. 

An excited, trilling purr rips from your throat as you smatter his face with even more kisses. Insistent ones, that douse him in your scent. He can feel the elation thrumming off of you, and he can’t help but be soothed by it. 

(Mutual want after so long still feels so foreignly good after so long starved.)

Jing Yuan gathers your face in his hands and kisses you, open-mouthed and long. His grip slips down your thighs, ass, waist— wherever he can squeeze and feel you most. Your hands land on his chest, groping there (a new favorite activity of yours—)

You pull away, breathlessly. Your eyes crinkle at the corner. The water is cooling, but Jing Yuan finds himself not caring all that much. The heat of you is enough. The warmth between you is a rolling hearth that keeps him toasty, through and through.

“I like you a lot, Jing Yuan.” You confess, nosing into his cheek. You speak your next words so softly, he hardly catches them. “‘Like you lots, mama.”

“Oh, baby,” his voice slips, so transparently full of desire it almost shocks him. He’s okay with the surprise. He may even want more of it, if it’s from you, especially if it’s from this. “I like you very much as well.”

So, so much. 

//💦🌺💦//

You and Jing Yuan were right about many things. One being that rumors explode once you and Jing Yuan make yourselves a public item.

They’re entertaining, if nothing else.

“The Divine Foresight — Shacked up in his tenure.”

“The Lazing Luofu General’s omega smells like orange blossom and sea salt: FACT OR FICTION!”

“Knot: CONFIRMED! Does General Jing Yuan’s battle prowess carry over into the bedroom?”

“WHO IS THE DIVINE FORESIGHT’S OMEGA?! The latest scoop from Little Gui!”

The tabloids across the Xianzhou Alliance had already been publishing half-baked stories about the Luofu’s General’s omega lover who he keeps sequestered in a lush garden with specific security clearance in order to access it. But, the details were paltry and the photos they’d somehow acquired from your visits to and from the Alchemy Commission were quite blurry.

Now, however— the Divine Foresight has a claiming bite on his neck. And the omega on his arm has one as well. And the pair of them where matching courting bracelets around their wrists. 

The stories they print are... wild. And for the first while after the news breaks, you’re bombarded by reporters and internet personalities, wanting the freshest, juiciest scoop on your relationship with the General. You always politely declined to tell them any details, providing them the (prefabricated and rehearsed) direction to contact ‘the Divine Foresight’s publicist’ with a provided contact number.

(Jing Yuan only revealed to you later that this was The Master Diviner’s contact, and she chewed each and every shameless, drama-mongering reporter so intensely that they dared not to attempt to chase either of you down again.)

The fanfare of it all fades rather quickly. A new reality sets in and you quite like it.

As much as you favor Jing Yuan’s first garden, the one that the two of you shared so many lunches in, you’ve become quite partial to his home. The spacious courtyard and its two massive ponds are your favorite features. The inside of his estate being lavish and increasingly homey doesn’t hurt either. You’ve started to spend most of your time there, sharing his nest.

You like it very much.

Jing Yuan does too, you think. He never wears scent patches at home, these days, even if it makes Yanqing dramatically crinkle up his nose and leave the room half the time. Jing Yuan tells you that he’s ‘just at that age’. Jing Yuan also tells you that Yanqing presented young. And that there’s a spitfire alpha girl under the wing of the Zhuming’s Flaming Heart who Jing Yuan thinks would make a good match for him. ‘Strings are being pulled’, he says. 

Jing Yuan is always pulling strings.

Not that you mind it. You notice it, but it doesn’t bother you. If anything, being more keenly aware of Jing Yuan’s inner workings makes observing the way he moves within the world and the machinations he employs allows you to make more sense of him as a person. He holds such a heavy burden. And as much as you’ve known this for the entire duration of your friendship, courtship, and subsequent mateship with him, you’ve grown to have a new perspective on it.

You can see that weight more easily.

It’s why the dynamic you have together works. Jing Yuan can still strategize and control as much as he pleases but on a smaller scale. You think it must be very... nice for him to have you, his very sweet omega who is much easier to please than the many denizens and political factions of the Xianzhou Alliance. The control is still there, but in a different dose, played with within a different frame. 

It’s been good to explore.

You like it very much too. You like... being his baby. Not thinking so hard. Feeling secure enough and trusting him enough to not have to look over your shoulder so often. He does take care of you very well, and you feel so very fortunate to have him.

You rub over the scar of your claiming bite absent-mindedly. 

The day is quite young, and Jing Yuan has taken you out to a small shop just outside of the Alchemy Commission. The walls are lined with shelves, packed with stacks of neatly folded fabrics. A well-dressed vidyadhara has you up on a little pedestal, diligently taking your measurements as Jing Yuan browses through their selection. A censer hangs in an open window, burning a cool-smelling incense that wafts over the space. 

Jing Yuan wants matching pajamas.

(Or, rather, you raised the idea and Jing Yuan is humoring you with such a great deal of enthusiasm that one would think he raised this want, and not yourself.)

It’s very cute to see Jing Yuan be so excited. 

The omega, in full regalia, looks quite at home throwing a few bolts of fabric over his arm as another worker advises him on the best fabrics for this type of garment. He listens intently, despite probably already knowing a great deal of what the worker is telling him. It’s very sweet of him; at least you think so. The ribbon he wears in his hair bobs as he nods along.

You smile to yourself.

“What are your thoughts on a looser fit?” The vidyadhara asks from behind you. “I would recommend it, given the styles the two of you selected.”

“I would agree.” Jing Yuan says from across the shop.

The question wasn’t directed at him, but he answers for you regardless. This isn’t that odd for an ‘alpha’, perhaps some omegas would be a bit chuffed about it. But you like it. Especially like this. When you know Jing Yuan is spoiling you with a day out full of treats and presents and companionship and an evening that will certainly devolve into you, in his lap, with your mouth on his tits—

Jing Yuan hums from behind you, his voice breaking you from your very lovely fantasy. Your scent must’ve changed, however minutely. Your arousal is something for Jing Yuan’s nose only.

(You still don’t wear scent blockers. Lei Huiling heavily suggested that you keep it that way, in addition to the low-dose suppressants that you’ve been taking.)

“I-I like loose,” you say. “Loose is good. Can we get new robes too?”

“Of course. Perhaps a few sets of day clothes as well?” Jing Yuan has a new appreciation for loungewear. It’s a good use of the insane amount of capital he’s accrued over the years as General. Not to mention he deserves the comfiest and nicest garments for loafing about.

“Let me fetch a few catalogs,” the vidyadhara excuses themselves to the back of the shop, bustling about.

You stay atop the little podium as Jing Yuan comes around you, looking you up and down. He looks content as a cat splayed out in a sunbeam. He lifts your arm, inspecting it like he intends to measure you himself, despite having no sewer tape himself. He rubs his hands over your arms in circles, trailing upwards. Despite his wrists being covered by his vambraces, and below that scent-blocking patches, he still attempts to scent you.

(Such a possessive creature, really.)

“I’ve been considering,” he begins, “Commissioning a set of lingerie, perhaps. From a shop with a bit more discretion.”

“F-For me, or for you?” 

“Either, or. Which would you prefer?”

You think about Jing Yuan in— in stockings, a well-fitted bra, and garters and your scent must change because he’s giving you a rich, full-bodied laugh a moment later and rubbing over your cheeks with your thumbs. 

He teases, “How brazen.”

“You—!” You feel indignant and embarrassed all at once. A part of you slips lower, and you trust Jing Yuan to catch you. “You s-started this!”

“So I did,” he hums. “With an honest question. What do you think, dear?”

“U-Um—” You struggle to find your words. Acutely aware of the environment you’re in and distracted by the thought of perching in his lap in a skimpy robe and your own set of lace, it makes you feel dumb and wanting. “... B-Both?”

“I would concur.” He hums, pleased with himself. “I’ll do some research into it, hm? What do you think?”

“T-That sounds good to m-me.”

“Does it now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, grabbing his hands in your own, squeezing. A sunbeam warms your back and Jing Yuan warms you from the front. “It sounds very good.”

“And so it will be done.”

... 

You and Jing Yuan giggle behind closed doors about the general public’s perception that he is an alpha.

Jing Yuan certainly has become good at acting like one. He has the posture and way of speech down. He’s larger and broader than most would think an omega to be, even if a decent amount of that is soft fat that you like putting in your mouth. He fights like an alpha too, but that’s from fighting plenty of alphas while training in his youth.

(His Master was an alpha, he tells you. She let him be an omega in private luckily. Jing Yuan speaks of it fondly, if not a bit wistful.)

When it’s just the two of you, he gets to act more like an omega.

Like you’re omegas. 

It’s all the affection and stickiness you could want. 

You’ve never had care like Jing Yuangives you— not from your alpha mother or your beta father. Not from the gaggle of friends you made while traveling through the Alliance, long before you settled on the Luofu. Not from the few alphas who attempted to court you, and the omegas you twirled with at the little clubs you enjoyed during your time on the Zhuming. 

It’s different than everything you’ve had before.

You’ve had bits of it before, morsels that you could hold in your hands or on your tongue... but it never felt right. It never satisfied enough, or felt safe enough to indulge to the point of being satisfying. Flings at clubs were fun, but you never did anymore than kiss in dark corners. Your brief stint with your traveling friends were a handful of betas and a few alphas who treated you like something to be held like a trophy and paraded around, as much as a friend. Your mother— your father—

(They did not know what to do with a soft-hearted omega child. You think that they tried your best, but you know your mother resented— resents your presentation, even now. She tries in the ways that she knows how. There’s always a chunk of money in your account that shouldn’t be there at the end of the year. She made sure you had the best scent locking system available.)

(Empathetically, you can tell that she cares, and this is her way of showing it.)

(Yet, it doesn’t change the callous off-hand comments. You can’t find it in yourself to fully forgive her for trying to marry your off for two decades straight. Or, the way that she had last looked at you with your neck bare. Or, the comment that follows.)

(“Shouldn’t you be more careful? Alphas will think you’re a slut if you don’t mask that scent of yours. Why aren’t you using that body wash I sent you?)

(You haven’t seen your mother in years now. It’s for the best.)

Jing Yuan treats you well and cares for you in a way that you hadn’t fully known you’d craved. You are very thankful for him. 

It’s a more comfortable type of care. Maybe, because it came about slowly. You had been dining with Jing Yuan over lunch for... several years, probably, before you shared a heat with him. Even if you thought he was an alpha, he has always been a safe alpha. His presence, even before all this, made you braver. So has Madame Yukong’s guidance and Li Ming’s friendship. You like being an omega. You like being an omega with another omega. 

...

Nights with Jing Yuan are your favorite.

Jing Yuan has you underneath him, rolling his hips against yours. His cock is soaked, wet, and slippery as he grinds over your clit. His cunt pours slick onto your own as you match his pace, his rhythm the best you can. His weight is braced on his arms, folded on either side of your head.

He licks into your mouth as he kisses you stupid. Truly dumb, because you’re just his baby at this moment, and you don’t need to think too hard or do anything other than be a helpless thing in need of coddling. Jing Yuan gorges himself on you in these instances. He fucks his tongue into your mouth as he keeps you closed. 

There’s no haste to this. Neither of you have the desire to be filled. You could— Jing Yuan will probably fuck you later, or he’ll put a harness and strap on you and ride you himself. But you don’t have to have that type of play for this to be enjoyable. 

You just need him.

The taste on your tongue is just him. There are no alpha pheromones, just the sweet, sunshiney, milky scent of Jing Yuan that you’ve come to crave, and clamor for when you don’t have it for too long. It’s so good, you don’t mind suffocating on it. You want to. 

“So good, baby,” he says into your mouth, pulling away just enough to press his fingers into your mouth. 

He pushes them deeper than he does so casually. They stretch to the back of your tongue, nudging the back of your throat. You startle, just enough to whine, before he gives you a little ‘shhh, shhh, shhh—’. The broad plane of his free palm cup the case of your skull as he fucks your mouth.

The silver of his hair falls like a veil of moonlight around his cheeks. The gold of his eyes has been almost eaten by desire, pupils dilated so wide. Desire looks good on him. Want makes Jing Yuan bloom, and it makes you feel that much more content. It’s easy to go lax under his hands and let him fuck your mouth and pet over your tongue as he sees fit.

You like this so much. Being a cherished, sweet thing that’s both used and (loved) in equal measure. It’s safe. It’s good. He’s good, for all of the details and roles he must juggle, you know Jing Yuan is good. 

Later, when you’re held against Jing Yuan’s chest, lazily sucking at his breast while he plays with your hair, you bask in the goodness of it. You giggle and laugh when Jing Yuan teases you, and huff when he presses you just enough. It’s reciprocal. A wordless, ever-moving exchange. Safety for safety, (love) for (love), even if neither of you has said the words yet.

That night, wrapped in the sheets, rising from your pleasant stupor, you study Jing Yuan.

You like him like this. His face is slack and relaxed. The painted purple circles under his eyes don’t seem quite as dark. The slope of his nose is gentler, and the pudge of his cheeks is more pronounced.

You soften for him. How can you not?

A honey eye cracks half-open and you squeak. You’ve been caught.

“Dear,” Jing Yuan’s voice crackles with sleep. He brings you closer with a thick bicep around your waist. “Should you not be sleeping?”

“Mommy,” you whine, smothered against his chest. “You look too pretty to sleep. ‘M just admiring.”

“Flattery won’t make up for a lack of rest.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

He laughs above you. It’s a rough sound, good-natured, and all for you. You preen and nose into his jaw. You lap at the claiming bite you left on him, feel the divots of the scar beneath your tongue.

“Being so sweet to me,” he croons. “Is there something else you’d like?”

If you wanted more, you could have it. There’s part of you that itches to be warmed on his cock. Or warm his cock with your mouth. Or kiss until you quite literally can’t stay awake any longer. There’s a central idea to each idea that comes to mind. 

“Just you.” You tell him. 

You hear his breath catch. The thump of his heartbeat, fast, loud, and strong. 

“That’s all?”

“Mhm,” you settle closer, into the safe heat of him. You let it envelop you. “I just want you.”

He squeezes around your waist, tethering you. It feels like a strong enough grip to weather most anything, from the roughest of your heats to the worst storms. You lean into it. Bask.

“My baby is so kind.”

“Just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You repeat, and kiss him, soaked in moonlight and your woven scents. 

thank you for reading 🩷

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 9 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

part ix (snowed in)

When Tomura gets back to his desk, there’s a present waiting for him. Tomura’s Secret Santa doesn’t need REMEDIAL GIFT-WRAPPING, which means he can rule out anyone who was there as a suspect. Tomura peels open the wrapping paper and finds a pair of gloves – and a note. With the gifts, there’s always a note, and the notes have been getting longer. Whoever his Secret Santa is, they have more to say to him than they used to. Tomura’s weird enough that he likes the notes almost as much as he likes the gifts.

Dear Tomura, this one reads. I know I’m off-list again, but I saw these and they reminded me of you. A lot of the things I see remind me of you, but I think you’d be freaked out if I bought you most of them. I kind of want to ask Toga to ask you what you think of what you’ve gotten. If I’ve missed something obvious. Or if you’ve thought of other things you’d like since you made your list.

Tomura’s thought of other things, yeah. The problem is, he’s usually only thought of them after he’s opened a gift from his Secret Santa that has one of those things in it. Whoever his Secret Santa is, they’re good at this. Better than him, even if he knows how to wrap presents now. He keeps reading the note. I’d like to say I got the gloves in advance, but if I’m being honest, they’re extra. I saw the storm in the forecast and I thought about how cold it already gets down in the basement. I can think of better ways to keep your hands warm, but this is probably the most practical. Merry almost Christmas! Yours, your Secret Santa.

The gloves are lightweight when Tomura puts them on, but warm and soft on the inside – and they’re touchscreen gloves, so Tomura won’t have to take them off to use his tablet or his phone. They’re exactly right, just like all the other gifts Tomura’s Secret Santa has gotten him, but even as he folds the note and tucks it away in the same place he’s kept the others, he keeps getting stuck on the idea of other ways to warm his hands.

It’s fucking freezing in the basement, and it’s empty, even though it’s technically still work hours. Did everybody else just bail after the gift-wrapping thing?  If nobody else is here, Tomura’s not sticking around, either. He packs up his stuff and heads upstairs. Maybe he can get home before this storm or whatever it is kicks up in earnest. But when Tomura gets to the lobby, he finds out that he’s missed his window. The sky’s already darkened, and the parking lot is already covered in a layer of snow.

Tomura waited too long. If he hadn’t stuck around to wrap gifts with you – but even as he has the thought, he realizes that he doesn’t regret it even a little bit. It’s worth it, even if it means that he has to trudge through snow to the train station. You take the train home from work, too, don’t you? Tomura knows you had more work to do after the two of you finished the gifts. You told him so. What if you’re still here?

Your part of the office doesn’t have windows. Maybe you haven’t seen what the weather’s like. Tomura turns away from the front doors and heads back into the building to give you a heads-up.

You look surprised to see him, when he gets to your desk – but you aren’t unhappy. “Hey. Did you find, um – what are those?”

“The gloves? Secret Santa gift.” Tomura looks around your desk, trying to see if the gift he left you is anywhere. “Did you open yours?”

“Do you like them?”

“I’m wearing them.” If Tomura didn’t like them, he’d have put them in his desk and forgotten about them. He spots the stapled-shut paper bag he left for you this morning sticking out of your backpack. “Do you not like opening yours in front of people?”

“I was saving it so I’d have something to open tomorrow,” you say. “I heard somebody say that the office might be closed because of the storm.”

The snow. Right. There was a reason Tomura came up here, and it wasn’t just so he could see you again. “It’s already snowing. We should go now if we don’t want the trains to stop running on us.”

You look surprised. “You came to get me?”

“You take the train, too,” Tomura says. He doesn’t get why you’re looking at him like that. “We can walk together.”

“Okay,” you say. You smile at him, and Tomura’s face flushes badly enough that he actually considers covering it with his hands. “I’ll get my stuff.”

The weather looked bad when Tomura was just watching it through the doors, but once the two of you actually get out in it, Tomura realizes that it’s even worse than he thought. It’s the stupid wind. It keeps changing direction, blasting snow and ice crystals into his face no matter which way he looks, and the hood of his coat won’t stay up. His ears are freezing, even though his hair is covering them. It’s not a long walk to the train station, but Tomura knows he’ll have a splitting headache by the time he gets there.

“Here.” You’re wearing a hat and a scarf, and you take off the hat and offer it to Tomura. Tomura tries to say no, but you put it on him anyway, tugging it down over his ears. “I’m not the one who hates the cold.”

You’re right, but something about it strikes Tomura as weird. “How’d you know I hate the cold?”

“Everybody knows that.”

Tomura’s pretty sure everybody doesn’t. If they did, he’d get a lot more ironic let-it-snow shit from his friends around Christmas. There’s only one place you could have heard that, which means that you either know who his Secret Santa is – or it’s you. “Where did you hear that?”

“Sorry?” You’re rewrapping your scarf, pulling it up over your face. “Couldn’t hear you. The wind is really loud.”

The wind is loud and it’s getting worse. Tomura can ask you again once you’re at the train station and out of the weather. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

You and Tomura started out walking side by side. By the time you approach the train station, you’re walking pressed close together, your hand grasping Tomura’s arm, Tomura leaning into you as much as he can without falling over. Part of him feels stupid about it. You’re not fighting your way through a blizzard or something. The rest of him is too happy with it to care. His ears are warm and he’s wearing warm gloves that he got from his Secret Santa who might be you, and you decided you wanted to hold his arm without him doing anything. In spite of the weather, Tomura can’t count this as anything but a win.

The station platform is empty when you get there, and Tomura feels a hit of foreboding even before he sees that every arrival screen is flashing the same message. “Out of service?”

You fumble your phone out of your pocket, almost dropping it. “They just shut down. We missed it by five minutes.”

Fuck. “We can’t stay out here,” Tomura says, and you nod. You don’t have gloves. Your hands are shaking. “We should go back to the office.”

“They have to keep the heat on so the pipes don’t freeze,” you say. “And we can probably get the lights back on even if Maintenance turned them off.”

Tomura’s pretty sure Maintenance left before the two of you did. You were the last ones still in the building. Everybody else left because of the storm, and if Tomura had just left instead of going back to tell you, he’d have been on the last train home – and you’d have been stuck at the office in bad weather, by yourself. Tomura doesn’t like thinking about it. He doesn’t like thinking about it so much that even if he’d known for a fact that going back to get you would have meant he’d be snowed in with you, he’s sure he’d have gone anyway.

He waits for you to put your phone away, then grabs your hands in his gloved ones. “Do you want your hat back?”

“It looks better on you,” you say. There’s nothing on the planet that would look better on Tomura than on you, and Tomura almost says so, except the way you’re looking at him is enough of a distraction that he can’t get the words out in the right order. “Come on. Let’s get back before it gets worse.”

It’s already worse on the way back. There’s more snow on the ground and more ice crystals whipping around in the air, and Tomura’s shivering on every step. You aren’t walking with your hand on his arm anymore. This time you’ve got your arm wrapped around him, even though you’re shorter than he is, holding on tight as the two of you shuffle along. Tomura wants to get inside and out of the wind more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. And at the same time, he’s dreading the second when you’ll let him go.

<- part viii part x ->

[levisjinchuriki]

truly, madly, deeply

summary: toji didn't realize what he lost until he did

warning: angst, crying, toji pleading his case, yelling, mentions of toxic relationship

part 1

toji rests until late morning. you don’t disturb him, knowing he needs the sleep after the storm he weathered last night. while he’s out, you sneak into the room to set a glass of water and painkillers on the nightstand for his inevitable migraine. it's not much, but it’s something. 

you linger in the doorway for a moment after, watching him. in his sleep, toji looks so different. the sharp edges of his features are softer now. the furrow in his brow from last night is gone, replaced by a peace that’s rare. it pains you to watch him this way, knowing that the man lying before you carries so much anguish.

when he finally wakes, you hear the creak of the mattress and quiet shuffle of his feet before he appears in the living room, drawn by the smell of you making breakfast. he lingers in the doorway at first, then steps further into the kitchen, his footsteps slow and tentative.

you don’t say anything, keeping your focus on plating the food. you know he’s watching you, debating what to say—or if he should say anything at all.

you plate the meals, just like you always used to, and set his on the counter. still, you don’t make eye contact. it’s not intentional, just the natural result of a mind weighed down with too many thoughts. but toji’s eyes are on you, steady and unrelenting, following your every movement.

should he thank you for last night? apologize for the mess he dragged into your home? ask how you slept, even though he knows the answer? none of it feels right, and the words remain lodged in his throat.

instead, what comes out is something entirely different.

“can you stop?”. his tone is sharp but not angry—tired, maybe. it’s enough to make you pause, your hands hovering over the dish towel on the counter. slowly, you look up, meeting his gaze for the first time.

“stop what?” you ask puzzled. you’re not trying to frustrate him. you’re not entirely sure what you’re doing.

"acting like everything is normal. it's driving me crazy" toji says, his tone edged with frustration. it’s not really what he wants to say. he’s never been good at expressing himself, not in the way you need him to be.

you notice the turmoil flickering behind his eyes. his words only skim the surface of what’s really going on beneath. there’s so much pain there, unspoken and unresolved, that even he doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

"i don’t like seeing you like this" you admit softly. it’s an honest confession, one you’ve been holding back for longer than you care to admit. your words catch him off guard, and he visibly flinches, his tough exterior momentarily cracking. for a second, he looks like he’s about to say something vulnerable, but just as quickly, he recovers, masking his emotions with sharp words.

"yeah, well, whose fault is that?" he bites out, his tone harsher than he intends. the second the words leave his mouth, regret flashes across his face. 

he knows it’s his fault. it’s always been his fault. every hardship, every heartbreak, every sleepless night you endured in this relationship has been caused by his actions, his choices. and yet, he still lashes out, deflecting because it’s easier than facing his guilt head-on.

you draw in a breath, steadying yourself against the sting of his words. "that’s not fair" you say quietly. it’s not. he knows it’s not.

toji’s gaze drops to the floor, his jaw tightening as the truth of your words settles over him. the blame shouldn’t be on you for leaving him. if anything, he’s lucky you stayed as long as you did, long past the point when most people would have walked away.

in hindsight, he doesn’t even know why you didn’t leave sooner. you deserve so much more than he ever gave you. 

"how many times has this happened before last night?" you ask carefully, afraid of pushing him too far.

toji’s shoulders sag under the weight of your question. embarrassment flickers across his face, and you can see the truth in the way his jaw tightens. he’s lost count. he doesn’t want to say it, but you already know. his bad habits weren’t new, and they’ve worsened since the separation.

"why does it matter?" he mutters, his tone defensive but laced with shame.

you hesitate, your heart heavy with the truth you’ve been keeping to yourself. it feels too big to say, too tangled with all the unresolved emotions swirling between you. but he’s looking at you now, his eyes searching yours, and you know he deserves an answer.

"because i care about you" you say.

for a moment, his expression softens, the harsh lines of his face easing as your words sink in. he doesn’t say anything, but you can see the conflict playing out in his eyes. 

just because you’re not together anymore doesn’t mean you’ve stopped caring. it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped worrying about him. it doesn’t mean you want to see him drink himself into an early grave. and it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving him. that part, you don’t say, but it lingers in the air between you, unspoken but undeniably there.

you half-expect him to make a flippant comment, a typical toji move to deflect from his feelings. but instead, his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. there’s a twitch in his nose—a tell you’ve come to recognize, the small sign that he’s fighting back emotions he doesn’t want to show.

“don’t do that” he warns. you can hear the strain in his voice, like he's on the edge of something he doesn’t know how to handle. he’s so far from the image of the hard, untouchable man he’s always pretended to be. instead, he looks fragile—struggling, hurting, desperately trying to hold himself together while everything inside him feels like it’s breaking.

toji sniffles, his hand coming up to rub over his face, as if he can scrub away the emotion threatening to surface. the sight of it tugs at your heart in ways you can’t control.

“why did you call me last night?” you ask quietly, your voice careful. 

he looks at you then, and for a second, your resolve nearly crumbles. his gaze is so broken, so full of regret. the deep sigh he lets out seems to drain what little fight he has left.

“because no matter how hard i try, i can’t get you out of my damn head” he says.

your heart hammers in your chest. you open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. 

“i know i don’t have the right to call you anymore” he continues bitterly—mostly at himself, at the situation, at everything. “but i just—i needed to hear your voice”.

there it is. the truth hurts to hear. despite everything that’s happened, despite the space and pain between you, he still turned to you. when he had no one else, when he was at his lowest, it was you he called. that has to mean something—doesn’t it?

you blink, your chest tightening as you watch him struggle to keep his composure. toji— tough, unshakable toji—looks like he’s barely holding it together.

“i don’t know how to stop” he admits after another long moment of silence, his voice breaking just enough to make you flinch. “thinking about you. missing you”. his hands hang at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he’s fighting some invisible force. “i screwed it all up. i know that. but you—”. he looks at you then, his gaze so intense it feels like it might break you. “you’re still the only thing that makes sense to me. even now”. 

his words sting, but you can see the pain in his eyes—the regret that’s etched so deeply into his features as if it’s become a part of him. he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t reach for you, even though you can tell he wants to.

you’re not even sure what you want to say. that he’s wrong? that he’s right? that you’ve been struggling too?

your heart twists painfully at his words. you want to be angry. you want to tell him that he doesn’t get to just show up like this, throwing his pain at your feet. but you can’t. because deep down, you know that anger isn’t what you feel.

“do you think that makes it any easier for me?” you ask, your voice trembling. “watching you like this? knowing you’re hurting?”. your eyes fill with tears as you stare into his. 

“we ended things for a reason. for a lot of reasons.” your voice wavers as a thousand emotions swirl inside you. his eyes squeeze shut, and he nods, like he’s bracing himself for the final blow. but when he looks at you again, there’s a desperation there you’ve never seen before.

“i know” he says hoarsely. “and you were right to leave. i know i screwed everything up. i know i don’t deserve this—don’t deserve you—but…” he trails off, his voice cracking. “i’ve never felt like this before. not with anyone else. not even close. and i can’t… i don’t want anyone else”.

you want to believe him. you want to believe that he’s changed, that this time will be different, that he won’t let you down again. but you’ve heard promises before. 

“i can’t trust you” you say, the words trembling as they leave your lips, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. even though you’re the one who left, it feels like you’re breaking up all over again, reopening wounds you thought had begun to heal.

“i know i don’t deserve another chance. but i mean it this time. i swear i do”. his voice cracks, and it’s enough to make your chest ache. 

his words sound genuine, the emotion in his voice undeniable, but how can you trust that? he’s hurt you before, made promises before. still, the way he looks at you now—like you’re the only thing holding him together—makes you hesitate.

“i still love you” he adds, the confession spilling out like it’s been tearing him apart. his gaze locks onto yours, desperate and searching for something—anything—that might give him hope.

you look away, wiping at your tears with trembling fingers. you're torn, trapped between the part of you that aches to believe him—the part that longs for the warmth of the love you once shared—and the part that knows better, the one that remembers the cold, sharp edges of his neglect.

you think of the moments of love and laughter—his low chuckle in your ear, the way he’d pull you into his chest and kiss the top of your head, the rare but precious mornings where the world seemed to stop, just the two of you tangled together in the quiet.

but those memories are eclipsed by others, darker and heavier. broken promises whispered in the aftermath of fights that left you raw, the sting of his absence when you needed him most, the hollow ache of lying awake in bed while he chased after his own demons, leaving you to face yours alone.

it hurts too much.

“i think you should go” you tremble.

toji freezes. for a moment, he looks like he might argue, his mouth opening slightly as if the words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out and plead his case. but they never come. instead, his shoulders sag, the fight draining out of him as your words sink in.

he runs a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling as they rake over the strands. his eyes—those same eyes that once held so much confidence, so much fire—are now clouded with regret.

“okay” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper, as if saying it any louder might shatter what little composure he has left. 

he doesn’t move right away. instead, he lingers, his gaze locked on you, searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail, to hold onto this moment even as it slips through his fingers. there’s a quiet desperation in his eyes, a silent plea for you to take it back, to tell him to stay.

but you don’t.

you stand there, frozen, watching as he takes a shaky breath and finally turns toward the door. his movements are slow, reluctant, like every step is an admission of defeat.

when he reaches the door, he hesitates, his hand resting on the handle. for a second, you think he might say something, one last attempt to change your mind. but he doesn’t. he opens the door, stepping out without looking back.

and just like that, he’s gone.

you press your hand to your chest, the ache there unbearable, and you sink onto the couch, tears streaming freely now.

your mind races, his words replaying over and over. i mean it this time. i still love you. i’m sorry. what if he really does mean it? what if he’s changed? what if this time, things could be different?

but then the other voice—the one that remembers the hurt, the loneliness, the promises that were always broken—creeps in. what if he hasn’t? what if it’s the same cycle all over again?

the tears keep coming, and you let them. the ache in your chest feels unbearable, a mix of anger, love, and regret twisting into something you can’t untangle.

you want to believe him. god, you want to believe him. but trust is fragile, and yours has been shattered too many times.

you picture toji on the other side of that door, his shoulders slumped, his face etched with the pain of rejection. you know what he’s feeling because you feel it too—a deep, gnawing emptiness that no amount of reasoning can fill. 

but you also know the truth.

this is the path you chose because it’s the one that hurts less in the long run. toji has to accept that he’s lost the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and you have to accept that some things, no matter how much you want them to, can’t be fixed.

memories of the life you once shared flash through your mind—the laughter that came so easily in the beginning, the quiet nights when words weren’t needed, just the steady rhythm of his breathing as he held you close. 

but then comes the other memories… the arguments that seemed to come out of nowhere, his voice raised, yours breaking. the promises that felt like lifelines at the time but were discarded so casually. the nights you spent staring at the ceiling, the bed cold and empty, wondering why you weren’t enough.

it’s not fair.

you were never the problem.

you clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fight back the surge of anger and grief that threatens to overwhelm you. how many times did you tell yourself that love would be enough? that if you just tried harder, gave more of yourself, things would change? how many times did you accept his apologies, his promises to do better, only to be left in the same cycle of disappointment?

still, the tiny flicker of hope refuses to die. it lingers, stubborn and persistent, whispering what if in the back of your mind. what if this time is different? what if he really means it? what if the love you both still feel is enough to mend what’s been broken?

you hate that hope.

it feels like a betrayal of all the pain you’ve endured, a cruel trick your heart plays to keep you tethered to someone you know isn’t good for you. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to let it go completely.

the weight of your decision feels suffocating, but you remind yourself that trust is a fragile thing. once broken, it’s nearly impossible to piece back together. 

toji has to learn to live with what he’s lost. he has to understand that love isn’t enough without trust, without effort, without change.

your tears have stopped, but the ache in your chest remains, a dull and constant reminder of what you’ve let go.

you hope toji will find a way to heal, to become the man he claims he wants to be. but more than that, you hope you can find the strength to move forward, to leave the pieces of your shattered trust behind and rebuild yourself into someone whole again.

because no matter how much you still love him, you can’t keep breaking your own heart in the hope that one day, he’ll stop breaking it for you.

---

taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @smaranshakthi

thank you for reading my mini series!! i haven't made an angst fic in a long time and as much as i wanted to have them be together in the end, it felt forced. don't be mad! <3

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow _ Part 3 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2  — Part 3 (here)

“Arise!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE TWO CHANCES REMAINING.]

“Arise!!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE ONE CHANCE REMAINING.]

“No… I can’t lose you…” Jinwoo hugged your cold body close, ignoring all the blood that dirtied his clothing or the scene he was making in front of his Shadows who watched with bated undead breath. “I shouldn’t have been with Hunter Cha… I shouldn’t have let you leave…”

It all happened within less than an hour. Jinwoo heard from Igris—with the help of Beru, who was the only Shadow to speak—that you left for some time alone and wanted to be completely alone. He thought it was fine as long as you were near him and he could go to you the moment he was done with Hae-In. But it took longer than expected and look what that led to.

You were the target of some people that saw Jinwoo through a negative lens. Since it was impossible to harm the S-Rank, it was simpler to put their anger and envy on people close to him. You happened to be unguarded at the worst time possible. When he got the news from his patrolling Shadows, it was already too late. Your body was cold and you had lost too much blood for his potions to do anything.

Jinwoo pleaded, he wished, he begged, he hoped. This was his last chance.

“Arise.”

From your body, misty tendrils formed and flickered around until it started to create a figure he was all too familiar with. There was you, standing before him with purple eyes and a body of shadow and darkness, dressed in what appeared to be robes like a mage—just like Min Byung-Gyu—but also some form of armour at the joints, everything outlined by neon purple like his Shadows. 

[SHADOWS HIGHER THAN RANK KNIGHT CAN BE NAMED.]

It was weird that you could be named, and even more bizarre that you were ranked as high as Igris was when he was first extracted. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was what to name you. It felt wrong to give you your original name because this was just a Shadow version of you, but then he can’t just give you another name. 

Just then, he had the answer. He stared at you in the eye and brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Blank. You’ll answer to that from now on.”

His heart ached when you bowed to him with a hand over your heart area. Your gaze fixated on him when you straightened up, and there was wonder and eagerness in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be reminded of your memories. 

Well, he might as well say it now. Still, with all his perceptive point investment, he somehow failed to notice his Shadows giving you a particular look. Particularly Beru and Igris, who appeared most fidgety, as if they had something to tell but couldn’t. 

“I have loved you for so long… Will always love you. I am so sorry for letting that happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have been with you.” Jinwoo leaned down where his forehead lightly touched yours and his eyes closed. “I love you.”

Hm!

??

Jinwoo’s eyes opened with confusion. The sound was way too close to be from the outside source. Not to mention… He raised his head and stared at the Shadow newly added to his army. He definitely felt a flinch from this Shadow. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the Shadow that stiffened for no reason. “Hey…”

Your eyes blinked and somehow avoided his gaze. Which was weird already since his Shadows never does something like this. They never act this human, nor were they affected by what he says on an emotional level. This was very suspicious. 

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Jinwoo’s eyes stayed glued to your facial expressions.

You shook your head and made a cross with your arms in front of your face, anything to shield you from Jinwoo’s intense gaze.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Jinwoo sighed your original name. “Stop acting.”

You tried maintaining your Shadow act as much as possible. It was too much and you ended up nodding in defeat with a droopy attitude. 

“How is this possible?” Jinwoo questioned aloud as his eyes widened, bewildered by the relaxed posture you suddenly took after your admission. You were acting the same as before, like nothing has changed and he didn’t just extract your shadow from your dead body. Wasn’t there an urge of loyalty placed on you that directed your attention to him? A force that compelled you to act inhuman?

You shrugged and pointed at your neck, no, throat to be more specific. Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. 

“Are you saying ‘you can’t speak’?” Jinwoo guessed your meaning.

You nodded enthusiastically and clapped your hands with a smile. Your lips moved, but once more, Jinwoo couldn’t hear anything from you. 

“My Queen is calling you smart and quick on the uptake, My Liege.” Beru spoke up suddenly, his wings fluttered with pride as he was now more important, being a bridge between his master and his master’s love. 

“You can understand?!”

“I can understand you now!?” 

Both Jinwoo and you exclaimed. The two of you looked back at each other and giggled. Soon, some changes were made. Instead of Beru watching over his mother and younger sister, Jinwoo had a legion of knights, mages, orcs, ice bears, and ants to guard them. Since Beru was the only one who could deliver your words to him, Beru had to be close by. 

Then he wondered how you could have your voice back. His only answer was to raise your rank. However, sending you into battles was something he swore he’d never do to you. He wanted to protect you, but not have you serve him. Now that you weren’t any ordinary Shadow but something akin to a reincarnation of yourself, he can’t do this to you. 

“My Liege.” Beru’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “My Queen wants to fight as well.”

“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.” Jinwoo spoke without missing a beat. “Never.”

Beru continued to relay your words, “My Queen wants to fight your battles with you, to be next to you. Rather than listening to your hardships.”

Jinwoo looked over to you, who was busy mingling with his Shadows, seemingly trying out a sword or a mage’s staff. Needless to say, the Shadows were ecstatic to finally communicate with you, even though it was your death and their master’s powers that allowed it. Still, they all made the best of things and kept you busy. 

“We will ensure The Queen is never in danger, My Liege.” Beru promised. 

It wasn’t like he and the other Shadows wanted their master’s beloved to fight alongside them. Yes, it’s an honour. But they shared their master’s worry when it came to your safety and health. When you told the Shadows this, they were against it until they heard your reasoning behind it. You wanted to be able to talk to Jinwoo again, to accept his confession by your own voice. For you, too, saw this as your second chance in life or the afterlife.

Jinwoo sighed, though a small smile was on his lips. “I could never say no when it comes to that, huh? Fine.”

As if you heard the resolve, your head turned over to Jinwoo while you waved with a beaming smile, not caring that you were swinging a sword in the air. 

“Let’s do some levelling up.”

Note: Welp, first one of the Christmas update is out~ And this is the end of this series. Thanks for following this series! (even though I never planned for it to last this long)

Circe Y.

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