#kind of a mess but! maybe it works out that way. i get to clean it up later :)

[joelcrush]

Let Me Learn You

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mdni, | age gap | oral (f & m) | fingering | unprotected sex | size kink | dirty talk | praise + possession | face grabbing | mild & mutual obsession | Joel being emotionally unwell about it in the hottest way | no outbreak word count - 7.7k summary - Your dad’s old friend Joel helps you move. You don’t see the tension—but he does. And when it finally breaks, there’s no going back. A slow build into something filthy, soft, and completely his.

part one part two

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your place was already too warm by the time the couch got wedged in the hallway.

Boxes everywhere. Cabinets open. You’d been living out of a backpack for three days and still hadn’t figured out where to put your bath towels or your coffee mugs. But it was your first place, and the chaos felt kind of earned. You weren’t expecting help until later, but someone knocked just after noon. When you opened the door, a man was already walking up the short front path. Mid-40s, maybe older. Black shirt. Solid frame. A calm face that didn’t give much away.

“Your dad said you might need help with furniture,” he said. “Oh—yeah. I didn’t know he sent someone already.”

He nodded once, like that was enough talking, and stepped inside when you held the door open. You moved a box out of his way and watched him take in the space.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. I’m still figuring things out.”

“That’s what movin’ is,” he said, and then he gestured toward the hallway. “You want that couch in there?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s the living room.”

He got to work without another word.

You grabbed the lighter end automatically, even though he didn’t ask, and together you managed to get the thing unstuck from the hallway and into place. He didn’t struggle much. Barely looked winded. You didn’t talk a lot while he moved the rest. Just helped where you could—pointed at where things should go, said thank you more than necessary. He wasn’t cold, just quiet. Direct. There was something steadying about it, actually. The way he barely blinked when you offered him a half-finished bottle of water or said you were probably gonna live with a broken bookshelf for the rest of time.

“You don’t need a new one,” he said. “Just better anchors.” “That sounds like something a bookshelf would say right before collapsing on me in my sleep.”

That made him smile. Small, quick, but you saw it.

He finished sooner than you expected. Wiped his hands on his jeans. Gave a little grunt of finality like he was mentally checking the job off a list. You followed him toward the door, grabbing a new bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thanks again,” you said, handing it to him. “Seriously. I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He took it, his hand brushing yours. “Glad to help.”

Then, like it was nothing:

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

The word didn’t stick. Not in a weird way. Just something he said, maybe a habit. You smiled, nodded.

“See you around, probably.”

He left with a short nod and a low “mmhm” that barely registered before the door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t think twice about it.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He wasn’t planning on saying yes when her dad called.

It was supposed to be his day off. A list of errands to half-ignore. Tools to clean, laundry to avoid. But then the man mentioned his daughter—first place on her own, said she was “barely five feet and stubborn as hell,” trying to move a bed frame solo.

Joel didn’t ask for details. Just wrote down the address and showed up twenty minutes later with a socket wrench in his back pocket and a short list of things he was telling himself this wasn’t. He was expecting someone anxious. Chatty. The kind of girl who got overwhelmed easily and didn’t know the difference between drywall and brick. He wasn’t expecting her.

She opened the door barefoot, shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair barely held in place by a clip. A box cutter was still in her hand. She blinked like she forgot anyone else existed.

“Oh—yeah. Hi. Come in.”

She didn’t look twice at him. Didn’t pause or fidget or start fixing her hair. She just waved him in and apologized for the mess, like he gave a shit. Joel followed her inside, slow, eyes catching on the curve of her back as she bent to move a box. Her legs were bare—soft, clean skin above the knee, and a pair of shorts that weren’t trying to be anything but comfortable.

It didn’t mean anything. Didn’t have to. He kept his voice steady.

“Your dad said you needed help with the bed frame?”

She nodded, smiled like it was nothing. “Yeah—it’s in the bedroom. Not built yet. It’s kind of in pieces, sorry.”

Joel just grunted, made his way down the hall, and tried not to think about how small her bed was. How soft the mattress looked when he pressed it into place. How nice her voice sounded when she laughed at herself.

She stayed close. Helped with one end of the dresser. Pulled things out of boxes while he worked. Told him about the bookshelf she half-built and already gave up on.

“It’s gonna collapse on me in my sleep. Death by IKEA.”

He’d smiled. Couldn’t help it.

She had no idea how easily she pulled reactions out of him.

She moved like no one was watching. Sat with her legs folded under her. Hummed along with her phone when music came on. Handed him tools without making it weird. Said thank you every single time like she meant it. He tried not to stare at her mouth when she talked. The way she bit her lip when thinking. The little breath she let out when lifting something heavier than expected. By the time he finished, his hands were itching. His jaw ached from how tight he’d kept it the whole time. He took the water bottle she offered him, let their fingers brush for half a second too long, then stepped toward the door before he did something dumb.

“Thanks again,” she said behind him, voice easy, warm. “I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He forced the words out. “Glad to help.”

He turned back to her. She was smiling, casual, eyes bright but unreadable.

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

It slipped out. Not flirtation. Not even affection. Just… instinct. Something familiar to fill the space before it got quiet enough to admit what he was actually thinking. She didn’t react. Just nodded and said see you around.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t even fucking know.

Joel walked down the steps with his jaw tight, grip still too firm around the neck of the water bottle. He told himself he wasn’t coming back unless she called. And that if she did—

He’d keep his hands to himself.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your shelf gave out around 11:45 on a Tuesday night.

You weren’t surprised. It had been tilted since move-in, bowing just slightly in the middle. You told yourself it’d be fine as long as you didn’t put anything too heavy on it—which was, in retrospect, a lie. Three cookbooks and a ceramic bowl later, it tipped forward and slid halfway off the wall with a low, dramatic creak.

You stared at it for a minute from the hallway, then texted your dad.

Me: hey do you still have joel’s number? the guy who helped move the bed?

He sent it over right away.

Dad: What’d you break lol Me: nothing important

You stared at Joel’s number for a second. Then tapped out a quick message.

Me: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

You hovered over “send” for about half a second—then hit it.

He replied later that morning:

Joel: I can come by after 6.

You changed into a hoodie and shorts after work, didn’t think twice about it. Hair up. Face clean. You weren’t trying to impress anyone—you were just tired. You cleared the area near the shelf, shoved the broken screws into a Ziploc, and ate half a granola bar standing at the counter while you waited. 

When the knock came, you opened the door barefoot again.

“Hey,” you said, stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded once, stepping inside, his tool bag slung low in one hand.

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

He crouched without hesitation, unzipping the bag and pulling out a drill. You moved to the side, then bent down next to him without thinking—knees close to his, your hip brushing his arm as you leaned on one hand. 

He stilled, just for a second. You didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” you said, squinting at the side bracket, “but I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he fit a new anchor in place. His hands moved slow, careful. He didn’t fumble or double check. Just measured, placed, and drove the screw in clean.

“You make it look easy,” you said, and you meant it.

He didn’t respond right away.

“It is,” he said eventually. “Just takes practice.”

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft breath. Felt the hoodie rise slightly against your ribs but didn’t bother fixing it.

“I should learn,” you said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not,” he said. Quick. Low.

You blinked. Looked at him.

He was still focused on the wall. Like the drywall had something real important to say. When he finished, you stood and stepped back, brushing off your legs as he gave the shelf a firm test tug. It held.

“All good now,” he said, rising.

You smiled. “You’re magic.”

He didn’t smile back—not fully—but something in his face shifted. Like he wanted to.

“Seriously, thank you,” you added, walking toward the kitchen. “Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?”

“No.” “Not even like, a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he repeated. “You needed help. That’s all.”

You turned, leaning your hip on the counter, granola bar wrapper in your hand.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

Joel adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He walked to the door, pulled it open.

“Night, Joel.” “Take care,” he said. Then, after a pause—“See you.”

You nodded once. Locked the door behind him. Then turned back to clean up the mess of drywall dust on the floor, not thinking twice about how close you'd been. Not even wondering what he’d seen when you bent down next to him.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He shouldn’t have said yes.

He told himself that the first time, and again when her text came in. He sat there with the phone in his hand, staring at the words like they meant something bigger than they were.

Her: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

It was polite. Friendly. Clear. Not flirty. Not suggestive. Still ruined him anyway.

He told himself not to answer right away. Answered anyway.

Him: I can come by after 6.

And that was that.

She opened the door in that same kind of outfit—something soft and small and lived-in. Hoodie half-tucked, legs bare to mid-thigh, hair up in a clip that didn’t look like it was doing much.

He looked at her face. Only her face.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

She smiled like it was no big deal, then followed him to the wall.

He crouched low, unzipped his bag, pulled out the drill.

And then—then—she crouched down beside him. No hesitation. Her knee knocked gently into his. Her hip brushed his arm. She planted her hand beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

Joel’s heart stuttered hard in his chest.

She didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” she said, leaning in closer. “But I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said, throat dry. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

She rested her chin in her palm. Her shorts rode up slightly as she shifted her weight.

He didn’t look.

He absolutely looked.

“You make it look easy.”

He didn’t answer right away. Couldn't.

“It is,” he managed. “Just takes practice.”

And then she stretched. Arms over her head. Hoodie lifting just enough to expose the soft dip of her waist, a sliver of skin above the waistband of her shorts. She sighed like she’d been holding her breath all day.

He almost did something stupid.

“I should learn,” she said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not.”

Too fast. Too hard.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. He didn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t. Focused on the drywall like it was going to crawl off the wall if he didn’t stare it down.

When he stood, she did too. Watched him test the shelf, nod in approval.

“You’re magic,” she said.

He wasn’t. If he was, he’d disappear before he did something he’d regret.

“Seriously, thank you. Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?” “No.” “Not even like a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he said again, voice rough. “You needed help. That’s all.”

That was supposed to be it. His line. His boundary.

Then she leaned against the counter. Granola bar in hand. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Looking at him like he was just… normal. Like she wasn’t killing him without even trying.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He turned toward the door before his mouth could get ahead of him. Opened it. Let the cooler evening air hit his face.

“Night, Joel.”

“Take care,” he said.

He hesitated and looked back.

“See you.”

Then he left before he could fuck it all up. He didn’t even make it to the car before he had to stop and breathe. Stared at his truck like it might help. Gripped the edge of the driver’s side door like he needed something solid to hang onto. She had no idea.

Didn’t even know what she was doing. Didn’t know what she’d done.

And that? That was the worst part.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You hadn't seen Joel in almost two weeks.

You hadn’t needed anything since. The apartment was starting to feel like yours now—boxes gone, rugs laid down, kitchen mostly organized. You spent your mornings with coffee by the window and your evenings on the couch with a book or something half-watched on TV. Quiet. Repetitive. In a good way.

Some nights, you stayed up too late just rearranging cabinets or deciding which drawer made the most sense for silverware. It wasn’t that deep. It just felt nice—having your own space, your own rules, your own rhythms.

Every once in a while, you’d think about Joel. Not in a way that meant anything. Just—when something squeaked. Or when the fridge made a sound you didn’t trust. He was the kind of person who’d know what it meant. That’s all.

So when the kitchen drawer started acting weird—handle loose, catching on something inside—you didn’t think twice.

You grabbed your phone and texted him:

You: hi. sorry to bother you again but my kitchen drawer is being weird. handle’s all wobbly and i have no clue what i’m doing. if you’re around, i’d love the help. but no pressure!

He replied an hour later:

Joel: I’ll be there after five.

He showed up in a navy work shirt this time. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Same tool bag. Same quiet expression.

“Handle loose?” “Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

You gestured toward the drawer, stepping out of the way. He crouched beside it, tugging gently on the knob. Watched it tilt sideways and catch.

“You got a screwdriver?”

You blinked. “Somewhere. I think.”

He gave a low hum—noncommittal—and set his bag down.

You turned toward the junk drawer, rummaging through it with one hand, then realized the screwdriver you did have had rolled under the counter the other night when you tried to open a wine bottle with it.

You spotted it—tucked just behind the leg of the lower cabinet.

“Wait—I think it’s down there.”

You bent at the waist, one hand on the counter, reaching for it blindly. 

Behind you, Joel went still. You didn’t see it—didn’t turn around. Didn’t notice how close he was standing. Just grabbed the screwdriver, stood back up, and turned to hand it to him.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He took it slowly. Said nothing at first.

“This one’s fine,” he said, glancing it over. “You wanna try?”

You blinked. “You mean actually fix it?”

“Why not.”

You smiled, stepping in beside him as he held the drawer open. He pointed to the screw just inside the panel.

“This one’s backing out. You wanna keep it flush. Push in, twist clockwise.”

You crouched down again beside him and lined it up—then tried to turn it. It slipped.

“Here,” he said, quiet again.

His hand came around yours, firm and steady, guiding your wrist. His palm covered the back of your hand easily, fingers calloused but warm.

“Like that,” he murmured. “Gentle pressure.”

Your breath caught—not sharply, just enough to notice. Enough to make you pause. His chest brushed your shoulder. He didn’t move away. You kept your eyes on the drawer. Focused.

“I think I got it.”

He let go a beat later. Stepped back just slightly.

“Good,” he said. “It’s in.”

When you both stood again, you smiled without thinking. A little dazed, maybe, but content.

“Thanks,” you said, and meant it. “That was kind of satisfying.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice a touch rougher than before. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

You laughed. “Well I’ll still probably text you next time something breaks.”

He nodded once. Looked at you for just a second too long.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally. “Glad to help.”

He left not long after. And once again, you stayed in the kitchen long after he was gone, still holding the screwdriver in your hand like it was worth something.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just a drawer. A loose handle. Five minutes of work, tops. She’d probably be busy—on the phone, cleaning, half-distracted. He’d fix it, nod politely, get out before he did something stupid.

And then she opened the door. Same bare legs. Same oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up her forearms. Her hair was clipped back messily, like she hadn’t thought about it once.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

She pointed to the drawer like it wasn’t a trap.

Joel crouched, checked the damage, asked for a screwdriver even though he already had one. Just to hear her laugh. Just to keep her talking.

“Somewhere. I think.”

She turned to look for it, rummaging like she’d forget it halfway through.

And then she bent.

Bent.

At the waist. One hand braced on the counter. Shorts lifting just enough to expose the full curve of her thighs, the soft underside he’d been trying not to think about for weeks. He was behind her. Close.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She had no idea. She came back up like nothing happened. Smiled as she handed it to him. No pause, no shift in her voice. Like she wasn’t burning him alive.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He wanted to tell her. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.

But he just nodded. Told her to try. Handed her the screwdriver like it was a test.

She crouched beside him. Elbow bumped his. Her shoulder brushed his chest.

He stared at her hands, small and careful, fingers slipping once.

“Here.”

He wrapped his hand over hers, gently. Guided her wrist, pressed his palm to the back of her hand to steady her grip. 

And that was it. That was the fucking moment. He felt it—heat, want, something hard and undeniable sparking low in his spine. She was so close. Warm. Smelling like laundry detergent and faint vanilla and something softer underneath it all. She looked so serious. So focused.

She didn’t notice. Didn’t shift away. Didn’t tease. Didn’t flinch.

When he let go, her fingers flexed just once. She smiled at the drawer like it had passed a test.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “That was kind of satisfying.”

Joel couldn’t speak for a second. His jaw was locked. His pulse loud.

“Yeah?” he managed. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

She laughed, soft and light. Like nothing had happened.

He nodded when she said she’d probably text again soon. Forced himself to turn around. Told her “glad to help” like it wasn’t the fucking truth.

He made it out the door without letting it show. Made it to his truck before his breath caught.

But he didn’t drive home right away. He sat there with his hands on the wheel, hard and shaking, and his dick aching so bad it bordered on painful. Her laugh. Her legs. Her little thank you. The fucking bend.

He drove home with one thing on his mind. Locked the door behind him. Dropped the bag. Went straight to the bathroom. Unzipped his jeans, fist already tight around the base of his cock before he even got the water running. Leaned hard against the counter, eyes closed. Thought of her on her knees—not because she meant to be there. Just crouched beside him, bare skin brushing his arm, looking up like he was someone worth listening to.

He came fast.

Too fast.

Palm braced to the mirror. Breathing rough.

Still hard. Still wanting.

It wasn’t the first time. He thought of her more than he admitted. At night, especially. When the house was quiet and the TV was off and there was nothing left to distract him. He saw her laugh. Saw the way she sat cross-legged on the floor. The way she always said thank you. The way she smiled when she held the door open and didn’t look at him twice.

She didn’t know.

And that was the thing he hated most.

Because part of him was starting to hope that one day she would.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your door wasn’t broken, not really.

It latched. It locked. But sometimes it stuck, and sometimes it didn’t. The key turned stiff. The frame shifted just slightly when it rained. You weren’t sure if it was normal, but the idea of it not working right—the thought of forgetting to double check it before bed—had started to settle in your chest the way small anxieties do.

You told yourself it wasn’t worth bothering anyone. Then you texted Joel anyway.

You: hey—sorry again lol but do you mind checking something with the door lock? it’s probably fine but i’m paranoid and you’re the only one who knows what they’re doing.

He replied quickly, like always.

Joel: I’ll stop by. Be there in an hour.

You didn’t rush to get ready. Just changed out of your tank with the bleach stain and pulled on a clean one. Combed your hair. Opened the windows to let the evening breeze in. You weren’t trying to make anything of it.

But when he knocked, your stomach did that quiet fluttery thing anyway. He looked the same. Always did. Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled high, work-worn jeans, one hand loose at his side and the other around the handle of his tool bag.

“Door’s acting up?” he asked as he stepped inside.

You nodded. 

“It’s probably nothing. The latch just sticks sometimes. Or it clicks too fast. I don’t know—I don’t want to lock myself out one day and realize it’s been busted this whole time.”

He gave a small grunt in response, already crouching near the frame, running his hand along the wood with practiced ease. You leaned against the counter and watched him move—quiet, focused, not in a hurry. There was something oddly calming about the way he handled things. Like he could break something down and make it make sense without saying much at all.

He worked in silence, checking the alignment, nudging the hinge with his thumb. He didn’t ask for tools. Didn’t explain what he was doing. Just moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You stayed still. Tried not to let your eyes linger too long.

But when he bent to inspect the strike plate—shoulders flexing under the fabric of his shirt, jaw set tight as he leaned into the motion—you looked. Just for a second. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him crouched over things before. You had. The bed, the shelf, the drawer. But something about tonight felt… closer. Or quieter. Like your apartment had shrunk while he was in it.

He stood again, twisting the deadbolt back and forth until it slid smoothly.

“Heat’s probably pushing the frame out a little,” he said. “Wasn’t latching clean. Fixed now.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he. He glanced toward you, eyes unreadable, and for just a second the silence stretched—not awkward, but full. Charged. Something in your chest stuttered.

“I feel like I should pay you for this,” you said lightly, voice thinner than you meant it to be.

Joel shook his head. “You know I don’t want that.”

The way he said it made your throat go tight.

He stepped forward to put a tool back in his bag, and as he passed, his arm brushed yours—bare skin to bare skin—and the contact left something behind. Something warm. You could still feel it after he moved away.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

He picked up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and didn’t speak again until he reached the door.

His voice was low this time. Softer.

“You keep the bolt oiled, it’ll stay smooth.”

You nodded. Didn’t say anything.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You heard the door click behind him. And you didn’t move for a while.

Just stood there, hand still pressed to the spot where he’d touched you, wondering when his voice started sounding like that in your head. Then—

The doorknob turned again. You’d forgotten you hadn’t locked it yet.

He hadn’t made it far—probably still on the porch—maybe he forgot something, maybe—

You opened it just a little.

Joel was still there. One hand at his side, the other adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He looked up like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

And before you could stop yourself—

“Wait.”

He blinked.

You opened the door a little wider. Stepped back.

“Do you… wanna stay a little longer?”

It came out too fast. Not flirty. Not smooth. Not even really intentional.

You didn’t know why you said it. You weren’t lonely. You weren’t scared. You didn’t need anything. You just didn’t want him to go. Joel didn’t move at first. Just looked at you—slowly, like he was trying to understand something you hadn’t even figured out yet.

“I mean—if you’re not busy,” you added quickly. “Or if you don’t want to drive yet. I don’t know. It’s dumb. Forget it.”

He didn’t let you spiral. Just said it, quiet and even:

“You sure?”

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t hopeful. It was serious. Rough around the edges. Like he needed to hear you say it twice, just so he wouldn’t do something he couldn’t take back.

You swallowed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stepped back inside. You shut the door behind him, heart hammering like you were the one who had something to hide. You didn’t know what you wanted. But you wanted it to be him. 

You didn’t know what to offer him. He’d already fixed the door. Already stepped back inside. It wasn’t like there was something to do—no show to watch, no dinner to finish.  

So you said:

“You can sit if you want.”

And he did. Took the end of the couch like he was still on duty. Leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He didn’t relax. He didn’t sprawl. Just… sat.

You curled into the other corner. Pulled your legs under you. Told yourself not to overthink it.

At first, it was small talk. Something about the weather. The construction noise a few blocks down. You said your neighbor’s dog barked like it had been through a war and Joel let out the smallest huff of a laugh. It was easy. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the quiet stretched again and your eyes drifted—slow, unthinking—to the way his forearms rested across his thighs. To the line of his profile in the soft light. To the way he looked at the floor like he was trying not to look at you.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your legs. Your knee bumped his.

Just a brush. Just skin.

But it was something. 

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Your breath slowed in your chest like it was afraid to make a sound. You said something then—you couldn’t even remember what. A question. Something about where he grew up. Or maybe if he liked his job. Anything to fill the space.

He answered softly. Nothing too deep. But his voice had dropped again—lower, quieter, like it only belonged in the room you were sharing. You nodded along. Fiddled with the hem of your tank top. Your hands were warm. You didn’t know why.

A few more minutes passed. A few more glances. The energy never spiked. It just sat between you—thick and warm and new.

Eventually, he checked the time.

“I should head out.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

You walked him to the door again. He didn’t look at you quite the same way. And when you said goodnight, it came out quieter than you meant.

He said your name, low and even.

“Take care.”

You locked the door behind him. Checked it twice, like that would make the moment last longer. The living room felt different after he left. Not colder. Not empty. Just… aware. Like the air had shifted around you and was still trying to settle. You stood there for a while. Then turned out the lights. Got a glass of water. Tried to act normal. But when you passed the couch—that spot—you felt it again.

That hum under your skin.

The tension in your chest.

The way your breath had slowed when his knee touched yours.

You went to bed without brushing your hair. Climbed under the blanket and stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn’t. You closed your eyes. And the first thing you thought of was his voice. That low “take care” at the door. The way he said your name. The way his hands looked when he fixed things—rough, steady, careful. You exhaled, quiet and shaky. Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t plan it. But your hand slid down anyway.

Just over your stomach. Just under the hem of your shirt. You weren’t thinking clearly, weren’t even sure why you were doing it—but your body was buzzing, hot, still echoing from the way it had felt sitting next to him. You touched yourself softly. Slowly. Just enough to take the edge off the ache you didn’t know how to name.

You didn’t say his name. But you thought about his hands. And somehow... that was worse.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

It was around 8 pm the next day when she texted.

Her: hey—are you around?

No other details. No broken drawer. No explanation. Just like the night before.

Joel had spent most of that day trying not to think about her. Didn’t work. He kept seeing her—how she looked when she asked him to stay. The way she leaned on the counter, lip tucked between her teeth like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He kept hearing her voice in the dark. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what the hell she thought this was. He didn’t even know what he thought it was anymore. But when she sent that message, he didn’t hesitate.

He answered.

Him: Yeah. You need something? Her: no just—wanted to see you if you’re not busy

He read that last part twice. Then grabbed his keys.

Her apartment was dim when she let him in—lights low, one lamp near the window, something soft playing in the background. She wore a ribbed tank top and sleep shorts, her hair half-clipped up, a faint line across her cheek like she’d just woken up from a nap on the couch.

She didn’t look nervous. But she didn’t meet his eyes right away either.

“Hi,” she said.

That was it. No reason. No problem to solve.

Joel stepped inside and felt his body lock up almost immediately. The air felt too warm. The room too quiet. Like the walls knew something he didn’t.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. Smiled. Tucked her leg up on the couch and motioned for him to sit.

“I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

She said it lightly, like it didn’t mean anything. But Joel could feel it. Something was different.

He sat at the opposite end of the couch. It felt too small. She curled up in her usual spot, blanket draped over her legs, a glass of water resting on her thigh. Her foot brushed against the cushion near his hip when she shifted. She didn’t pull it away.

He couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Some story about her neighbor’s smoke alarm going off for two hours, about how she tried banging on the wall but it didn’t help. He nodded when he should. Said “yeah” once. Let her talk.

But all he could think about was how good she smelled.

How soft her voice was.

How close her knee was to touching his.

The worst part was how normal it looked. From the outside, it could’ve been nothing. Just two people sitting. One talking. The other listening. But inside him, everything was clenched.

Every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. Every time her tank top shifted when she reached for her glass. Every time her voice went quiet at the end of a sentence. It was like being on fire. Quietly. And she didn’t even notice.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe an hour, maybe more. The sound of her voice, the way she laughed at her own joke, the curve of her body under that blanket—it all started to stack up. He shifted once. Adjusted the way he sat. It didn’t help. His hands were too still. His legs too tense. His jeans too tight across his thighs.

He wanted to leave.

And he wanted to stay forever.

Eventually, she leaned back a little, head against the cushion, voice low.

“It’s nice when you’re here.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t. 

She looked over at him. Eyes soft. Barely searching. And God help him—he almost reached for her. Almost touched her ankle where it peeked out from the blanket. Almost slid his hand over her knee and just held it there. But he didn’t.

He just nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

When she walked him to the door an hour later, she said goodnight the same way she always did. But her voice had changed. And Joel? Joel barely made it to his truck before he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sat there in the dark, breathing like he’d just run six miles uphill.

She didn’t need anything from him. She just wanted him there. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep coming over without letting her know what that did to him.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

It was 6 pm on a Thursday. You had just gotten home from work and settled in.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t broken anything. You’d just been pacing a little—half-folding laundry, checking your phone without a reason, replaying the sound of his voice from last night in your head. It was quiet. Too quiet. 

You were mid-sip of water when the knock came. Not loud. Just two firm knocks—confident. Familiar. Your breath caught before your brain caught up. You set the glass down and wiped your hands on your shorts. Walked to the door slowly. When you opened it—he was already looking at you.

Joel. Still in work clothes. Shirt wrinkled, sweat at his collar, bag slung off one shoulder. His eyes didn’t move like they usually did. No casual sweep of the room. No distant quiet. They were on you. And they stayed there.

“Hi,” you said, soft. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know.”

His voice was rough. Tired. Not angry. Just… decided.

You blinked. Your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door.

“Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. And then, without breaking eye contact— “Can I come in?”

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

She opened the door wearing that same look she always had with him—soft, unsure, like she didn’t even know what she was doing.

But he did. He knew. It had hit him earlier that day, hours after he left—when he realized how long she’d watched him from the couch. How quiet she’d gone. How the blanket had slipped down just far enough to show the top of her thigh and she hadn’t pulled it back up.

She’d wanted him there. Not because she was lonely. Because she wanted him. And that was it. That was the fucking end of his restraint. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t thought it through. Just got in the truck. Drove straight to her door. And now he was standing inside her apartment, watching her back away slowly as he stepped in. She looked nervous—but not scared. Like her body was catching up to something her brain hadn’t named yet. 

Joel dropped his bag by the door.

“You sure you’re not just bein’ polite?” he asked quietly. “What?” she blinked. “You didn’t ask me to fix anything.”

She shook her head once, eyes wide.

“No. I just… wanted to see you.”

He stared at her. Then took one slow step closer.

“You ever let anybody else in here just because you wanted to see ‘em?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Joel’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped.

“Didn’t think so.”

She was still standing by the doorway, arms at her sides, breathing like she didn’t trust her own chest to move too much. Joel took another step.

Closer.

Slow.

The silence between them folded into something heavier.

“Why’d you really want me here?”

She blinked, lips parting. No words. Just air. He could see it in her eyes—the hesitation, the pull, the heat she hadn’t admitted to herself yet. And it wrecked him.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured. “Do you?”

She swallowed. Didn’t speak.

“You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made her breath catch.

He stepped even closer, so close now he could feel the warmth coming off her skin, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

“Every time I come over here. Every time you call. Every time you smile like that like I ain’t comin’ apart at the fuckin’ seams…”

His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t move.

“You sit there in your little tank tops. You lean close. You say my name like it don’t mean nothin’. And you don’t even know.”

She was staring up at him now—still quiet, still frozen—but there was something in her eyes.

A question.

A need.

She whispered it, like it wasn’t even meant to be heard.

“What if I do?”

Joel went still. Just for a beat. Then—

He moved. Not rushed. Not soft. Just real—a hand at her jaw, fingers curling gently but firmly, tilting her face up. Not a kiss. Not yet. His mouth hovered just over hers, breath mingling, eyes locked.

“You say that again, baby… I won’t be able to walk away.”

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth. Then back to his eyes. She didn’t say it again. But she didn’t move. And she didn’t stop him when his forehead came to rest gently against hers.

“Tell me to leave,” he rasped, jaw tight. “If I stay, I won’t keep pretendin’ I don’t want you.”

She didn’t say a word. And that silence? 

That was all he needed.

She just looked up at him with those wide, careful eyes, breath slow and warm on his mouth. And he knew.

Joel’s hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, slow and certain, and the second his mouth touched hers—it was over.

Soft at first. Gentle. Like maybe he could stop himself if he started slow. But then she made a sound—something small, something like a sigh—and it wrecked him.

He pulled her in. Gripped her waist, pressed her back against the wall without meaning to. Mouth open now, kissing her like he needed it, like it had been building for years instead of weeks. Her hands slid up his chest, shaky, unsure, fingertips digging into the fabric like she didn’t know what to hold on to.

“Joel—”

She breathed it like she couldn’t help it. Like it was already a habit.

He groaned, low and deep into her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Tell me to stop.”

She blinked, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Didn’t say a word.

He kissed her again. This time rougher—hands in her hair, thigh between hers, tongue tasting the little gasps she gave him. She clung to him like she didn’t know what else to do, and he let her. Let her pull, let her press up against him, let her feel everything he’d been trying to hide.

He dragged his mouth down her neck, nipped lightly at her collarbone.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he muttered, voice ragged.

She whispered back, almost dazed:

“I want to.”

That was it.

Joel lifted her without thinking. Hands on her thighs, walking her backward through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the couch. He laid her down gently. Crawled over her slow.

She looked up at him like she was still trying to believe this was real.

He kissed her softer this time—one hand braced by her head, the other brushing her cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely there.

She nodded—then paused.

Eyes searching his face. Lips parted, like the words were already sitting there, waiting to fall out.

“I’ve never…” she breathed. “Not like this.”

Joel froze. Not because he was surprised. But because of how softly she said it. Like it mattered. Like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just about sex—it was him.

She looked up at him, nervous. Exposed. Brave.

“I’ve never been with anyone like this before,” she said again, quieter now.

Something in Joel’s chest cracked wide open. He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“You don’t have to explain that to me, baby.”

His voice was low, almost reverent. His hand cupped her jaw like she was breakable. Like he’d do anything not to hurt her.

“You just tell me how to touch you,” he murmured. “Tell me what you like. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eyes locked on his. Lips parted. Like something was about to come out, but her breath caught instead.

“I—I don’t know what to… I mean, I’ve never—”

Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Blinked fast like she was frustrated for even trying to say it. 

Joel leaned in, hand cradling her face, steady and warm. He kissed the corner of her mouth—just once, gentle—then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to know what to do.”

“You just let me learn you.”

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He brought his forehead to hers.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “You wanna stop, you tell me. You want more—I’ll give you more.”

“Joel…” she whispered.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She looked at him—wide-eyed, nervous, open.

“I want it to be you.”

Joel exhaled like her words physically hit him in the chest. But he didn’t move forward. He leaned in, kissed her—once, slow, firm. Then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

Her face faltered. She looked like she was about to apologize. Joel shook his head—soft, gentle—thumbing her cheek before she could look away.

“I like that you’re new to this. Like that you trust me.” “But I’m not in a rush, baby.”

He kissed her again. Deeper this time.

“Not gonna take you fast. Not gonna take you like you’re just somethin’ I can fuck and leave. I want you feelin’ safe. Wanted.”

She blinked up at him—something between a gasp and a breath catching in her throat.

“I do,” she whispered. “Feel safe.”

That almost did him in. Joel groaned softly and dipped his head, kissing her slower now—longer, lips moving against hers like he was savoring the shape of her mouth. Like he had all night to learn it.

Her hands came up around his neck. Her body pulled him closer. The couch shifted beneath them as he laid her back gently—not to take, not to fuck—but just to have her close.

He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her neck—each one softer than the last. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. He let out a breath against her skin.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he said, voice low. “Until then… I’m gonna take my time.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her again.

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of mouths meeting, breath between them, the soft drag of his fingers over her waist and thighs—not pushing, just exploring.

Not claiming. Just caring.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You didn’t expect it to feel like this.

His weight above you. His hands slow and steady. His mouth moving like he wanted to memorize you—not take you apart. Joel wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t even undressing you anymore. Just kissing. Letting the couch shift beneath your backs while his hands slid over your waist like it was something precious.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he’d said.

And you believed him. God, you believed him.

Now his lips were on your throat. Your collarbone. His hand was smoothing over your thigh—up, down, warm, patient—like he wasn’t trying to get anywhere. Just feel. Just touch. You didn’t know your body could light up like this. Every place he kissed felt like it meant something. Your skin tingled. Your breath kept catching—right in that tight little place under your ribs.

You didn’t feel nervous anymore. You felt wanted. Not like a thing. Not like a curiosity. Like something he needed. Like something he’d been waiting for.

“You’re killin’ me,” he whispered suddenly, voice thick and low in your ear.

You smiled—barely.

“Why?”

He kissed your neck again, then your jaw.

“’Cause you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made your stomach drop. Your hips shifted before you could stop them. You didn’t mean to grind up against him—but you did. And he groaned. Deep. From the chest. His body stiffened. Then he backed off just an inch—eyes meeting yours, wild but controlled.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head immediately.

“No.”

It came out faster than you meant. Hung in the air between you. He nodded once—then leaned back down, kissing you softer now, his hand cupping your face, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmured. “You just let me hold you like this, and that’ll be enough.”

And God— that made your throat tighten. Because you didn’t want to stop either.

You just didn’t know how to say: I want to feel like this forever.

So instead, you whispered,

“Okay.”

And then you let him hold you. Let him kiss you slow. Let his hands slide over your skin like he was trying to learn every inch of it before asking for more.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel nervous about being touched.

You just felt like you wanted to be.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Joel: “Go out with me.”

You hadn’t seen him in about a week.

Not since the night he held you on the couch like something worth keeping. Like he didn’t want to rush, or take, or ruin anything. Just learn you. Kiss you slow.

But he texted. Every day. Never too much—just enough to stay in your head.

Sometimes it was a joke. Sometimes something stupid he saw at the hardware store. You smiled every time his name popped up. Sometimes you reread the things he sent you when you couldn’t sleep. Tonight was quiet. Laundry folded. Tea in your mug. You were halfway through some show you weren’t paying attention to when your phone buzzed again.

Joel: You eaten tonight?

You smiled.

You: not yet. why?

There was a pause—long enough you almost thought he got busy or changed his mind.

Then:

Joel: Thought I’d take you out.

You stared at the screen.

Out.

Not over. Not “swing by.” Not “grab something on the way.”

Out.

You: like… out out? Joel: Yeah. A date.

Your stomach flipped. Then a second message came in.

Joel: Unless that’s not what you want.

You answered fast.

You: no. I do. I want that. Joel: Friday okay? I’ll come get you. You: what should I wear? Joel: Somethin’ you feel good in. Joel: Don’t dress up for me.

Another pause. Then:

Joel: You’re already pretty.

You set the phone down. And sat there for a while, smiling at your hands.

[wanderingapathy]

I know it lost by A LOT, but I had never heard of firewall shipping. Now I am curious if there's any, concepts for them?

Honestly, I’ve hardly ever heard of firewall shipping either, I’ve never seen any fanart before. So ig here’s some sketches and headcanons I made up,

UPDATE: someone informed me it was more commonly called hotwire, I’ve only ever heard it referred to as firewall so that explains it

I think this ship would be a mix of Kailor and Opposites, in a way.

Kai’s kind of awkwardly flirtatious and trying to impress Skylor, and with Zane he’s more comfortable but since Zane’s a little socially inept Kai becomes awkward again.

I feel like Kai be trying to impress PIXAL a lot, and it turns out a little awkward, but when he flirts with her she actually picks it up, which would drive him crazy.

I think they also have a shared interest in fashion, but in different ways. Kai likes to dress up, he likes to look his best. Meanwhile, PIXAL views it as a puzzle, the same way she views designing vehicles for the team. She finds it to be a fun challenge making something that looks nice while also being practical.

I also think that Kai styles her hair a lot. In my design of her, PIXAL’s hair is a bunch of clunky wires that more or less defy gravity. He probably finds it fun to mess with.

Kai probably hangs around her to decompress and relax after a stressful day. She’s very logical, but also more emotionally intelligent than a good portion of the team, so she’s surprising good at dealing with his anger.

PIXAL and Kai probably do domestic chores together around the monastery. Cleaning, cooking, etc.

In one way or another, I think that Zane had to have been apart of them getting together. Either it’s all three of them, or Kai pestering Zane when PIXAL was in his head, or maybe Kai and PIXAL got together post season eight when she had a physical body again.

Oh, and PIXAL’s taller than Kai. When she rebuilt herself, she built herself to be taller and more muscular.

More Kai specific, his hair becomes fiery whenever flustered. This goes for any ship/situation.

I think the both of them would be very physically affectionate with one another.

As for Kai, PIXAL, and Zane, I don’t know the ship name but a have a few headcanons for them as well.

Namely, Zane wouldn’t have realized Kai had weaseled his way into Zane and PIXAL’s relationship until he tried to kiss Zane.

PIXAL would admire their elemental powers frequently, especially when they’re used together/interacting together.

Kai can’t believe he scored not one, but two nindroids and is very proud of his achievement.

Kai likes to watch them work even when he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’ll ask plenty of questions though.

Zane and Pixal can send messages to each other in their own little system, so they set up a group chat that Kai can access on his phone. It’s useful in situations where they can’t talk directly and it would be too suspicious for all of them to be using phones.

[summerhalder]

double switch - ch3!

The coin is tossed and Carlos elects to receive. Just before they separate after the obligatory pictures are taken, Jannik whispers to him, “Don’t make it easy.”

“I never do,” Carlos answers in return. It’s true. Not many people can break through his concentration in a match, he thinks, but Carlos is one of the only people who pushes Jannik to a level that makes him burn with exertion and force him to fight, to claw his way to victory. He makes it fun.

read on ao3!

[404creep]

Y'all were eating up my Simon x civilian cleaner drabble, so I decided to add some more on it!

Previous Part Next Part Series Masterlist

In the last one I said that you just accept him following you around like a creep because he gives you scary dog privileges, but that wasn't an immediate thing.

Early on when you first caught his attention there were many young cadets that had the unfortunate timing of trying to flirt with you when he'd show up for his daily fix.

Safe to say those poor cadets would end up running laps until they were sick.

One had the nerve to try and get your number while Simon was watching and he became the volunteer (victim) for Simon's next hand to hand combat training dimenstration.

The whole thing just literally ended up as more work for you because you had to mop up the blood

He felt so bad :(

Never wants to make more work for you

One time, a comms tech wasn't looking where he was going and ended up bumping into you in the hall while you were sweeping and spilled his coffee all over the floor and a little on you

Literally started screaming about YOU needing to watch where YOU were going and about how you're just a cleaner and you're easily replaceable and all that.

You're biting your tongue because you need this job, but damn if the coffee soaking your shirt didn't hurt.

Simon, however, is PISSED.

How dare that little shit stain talk down to HIS bird????? And he didn't even have the decency to ask if you were okay????

Marched right over and pulled that little dickhead away from you. Made him clean up his mess and then Simon contacted his direct supervisor about the little shit making a hostile work environment and harassing civilians.

Dude got put on probation

You warm up to Ghost after that.

He may be a weird little stalker, but at least he had your back

Safe to say after that event EVERYONE on base knew to stay away from Simon's little cleaning lady unless they wanted to face his wrath.

Johnny is tickled pink by it when he finds out

Soap will hover around you now too, asking you stupid questions about your life and telling you dumb jokes while side eyeing Ghost looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Johnny is nice enough but you long for the days when you could do your work in silence.

Ghost also misses the time when you worked in silence because he's never wanted to punch Johnny in the face more than when he interrupts your guys' quality time

Now onto the kid

The first time Simon sees you go pick up the toddler from the base daycare he almost cries

Convinced you're married or have a man at home looking after you and his little fantasy shatters. He'd never seen a ring on your finger so he assumed you were single but maybe you took it off when you were at work???

He basically goes into mourning

He's in a horrible mood for a while after that and it drives the 141 a bit crazy.

He refuses to go watch you after that, because he doesn't wanna step on any toes but he misses you :(

You notice the absence and honesty kind of miss your shadow :(

Johnny finally can't take it and casually asks one day if you got a mister at home

You say no and explain that you take care of your sisters kid.

Johnny basically skips to Simon to give him the good news.

After that your shadow is back and he's even moved a bit closer to you.

You're happy to see him back honestly

Meanwhile Simon is thinking of all the ways he can sweep you off your feet. His poor bird has so much going on in her personal life, he needs to take care of her.

Starts leaving little treats in your locker

You know who they're from

[cythena]

REVENGE

ꨄ︎ synopsis . now you're cursed it seemed. maybe it was karma for your relentless attempts to fluster giyuu. they worked out in the end but now he's set on messing with you too.

warnings . oral f receiving, breeding, awkward moments for reader, cowgirl, fingering, messy kissing, really chill tbh

word count . 3k words

notes . part two to this post! since i got a request for it i was a little bit stuck on what to do soooo i reversed the roles now giyuu gets to have fun.

he's doing it on purpose. that evil evil man. there was no way he was that aloof. he's completely aware of what he's doing and he's enjoying it. he loves getting back at you for everything you've done to him.

everything he's done was a calculated move in order to provoke you. whether it was innocently masked questions or touches, they were all done with the intent to fluster you. your words would jumble together and cheeks grow hot. all while he kept that stupid stoic expression like he wasn't messing with you.

you're so upset but can't help but enjoy this game he's started. you even started distancing yourself from him a little. whenever meeting with him, you try to avoid giving him any opportunities. yet somehow he always manages.

he still makes your head dizzy. even from your distance you admire him, his strong jaw, smooth skin, sharp nose. he's so handsome you wish this game would end soon. then you could finally get your hands on him again — or at least even the score.

it's not fair fun anymore. giyuu let your hook up get to his head. you were always hyper aware of how he reacted to you. he avoided you but his eyes lingered. with a gaze so intense and heavy, it was impossible for you not to notice. you relished in his attention and used it as fuel to your advantage.

on mission assignments together, it was nearly impossible to avoid each other. giyuu had suffered previously whenever ubuyashiki made the ignorant and cruel decision to partner you two together. it was undeniable how well you worked together combat wise, but other than that it was insufferable.

the bright side of it was how fast missions were completed. the most time was spent walking together and back, then separating to return home.

"y/n," his voice calls for you from the trees in front. his back is turned to you while he sheaths his sword. when he turns to you, you're flicking blood off the metal of yours with a twirl of your hand.

"yes, tomioka?" your melodic voice rings in his ears. he mentally scowls at the use of his last name once again.

you take few steps to move closer to him, keeping your distance still. he closed a decent amount of the distance to stand in front of you. he bends his neck slightly to meet your eyes.

"we'll stay at an inn for the night."

you're not given time to respond before he's walking to way back to the village. you follow him with a short distance between you until you reach the inn.

the inn is a decent sized place, refurbished and well kept. it's clean and a little busy. a few customers are returning to their rooms with buzzed looks on their faces.

giyuu speaks to the receptionist. he's an older man, sweet faced and kind looking. a woman standing next to him looks to be his tired wife. her eyes are shut and she's wobbles a little.

"good evening. you travelers are out quite late," he smiles and leads you to a room. you trail behind giyuu.

his wife holds freshly steamed yukatas which she hands off to you while a drowsy smile. "have a lovely night you two."

the man shuts the door behind you. from the outside you hear the woman speak again.

"what a sweet couple. the man reminds me of you when you were younger."

your ears perk up now. you glance around the room realizing the circumstances. you were give a single room because they assumed you were together. not that you had a problem with it but still. did you two really look like a couple?

giyuu was already settled near a small table. he begins ridding his haori and sword, placing them on the ground neatly. you remove your outer layers too, opting to be mature about the situation if he is as well.

you face the other direction until he calls your name.

"i need your help, my wound requires bandaging."

"oh, i'll be there in a moment," you reply. you turn your back to him once more to finish taking off your sword.

he takes a seat on the table. his legs spread open, his wrist rests on his thigh and his hand hangs. the other arm props the rest of his body up from behind his back. his collar is loosened and stretched from his neck, revealing his adam's apple.

you swallow thickly at the sight. it's almost...arousing.

you brush it off and focus. "where's your injury?"

giyuu's hand reaches from his thigh and tugs from the opening in his collar. somehow he yanks the buttons open in a single motion. he pulls one side of his shirt away from the center and lets it slide off his arm.

a red wound stretches across the side of his lower torso, next to the eye catching muscles of his abdomen. it makes your mouth water on sight — even though it's nothing you haven't seen before.

your face burns and your eyes go wide. it's inexorable. you notice how giyuu's eyes squint as he watches your face reveal your feelings.

"is there a problem?" he asks, keeping eye contact. "are you able to help?"

that little bastard- you think to yourself.

"yes. just give me the bandages?" you mutter. you try to speed up the process as much a possible.

you kneel down between his legs to reach easier. you're eye to abs with him now. pushing the thought out of your head, you wrap the bandages around him.

giyuu smiles while you're focused on his wound. the sight of your head between his thighs is something he's shamelessly fantasized about. suddenly your head shoots up and you catch the coy smile playing at his lips.

you loose your balance and fall backwards onto your ass. he doesn't react, instead slipping the rest of his shirt off. you take this opportunity to hurry back to your side of the room, far away from him and his stupidly defined abs.

you needed a nice break. finding time in your schedules to meet with mitsuri and shinobu was difficult. a free slot in your schedules aligned on the day of a festival in your town. so the three of you planned a date for that evening.

you all dressed in beautiful clothing, a refreshing change from your corps uniform. you wander the stalls together through the bustling crowds. red and orange lights glow and illuminate your faces. mitsuri stops to sample multiple snacks while shinobu admires handmade crafts.

a cat figure catches your eye and you step to the side for a little.

"i'll catch up with you in a moment," you assure them before heading towards the booth.

it's a cute little wooden cat. you pick it up and examine the delicate woodwork.

"i'd like this. how much?"

"eight yen but for a pretty la-"

an arm suddenly extended over your shoulder and offered what looked to be ten to fifteen yen. the owner happily traded the cat for the generous sum. he gave you the cat wrapped in a pretty box.

you turned to thank the kind person. giyuu stood behind you, shadowing you. he also dorned a deep blue yukata.

"tomioka, i didn't expect you to be the festival type," you said. you both stepped away from the stall and continue walking.

"i'm not." he turned his head and gestured to the three familiar boys and young girl. "tanjiro asked me to come."

"and you were just so willing?"

"it's near your house, i hoped to see you."

his words sent heat to your face once again. such romantic words said so stoically. he was doing this on purpose.

"came all the way here in hopes of seeing me?" you tease.

"if you weren't here," he steps closer to you, "i would've went to your house."

"and if i weren't there?"

"i would've waited." where did he learn this from? he's so forward with his words. he returns to his original position and looks off the the side. his gaze lies on nothing i particular as he speaks again, "but kocho mentioned your plans before."

your path takes you towards a quieter part of the festival. it's just as bright but with more seating and open space available. the loud atmosphere is replaced by a relaxed one. the crickets chirping becomes more apparent now.

you're admiring a particularly beautiful latern when your foot catches an uneven stone in the pavement. you lose your balance and in a flurry of movement, fall forward. giyuu reacts swiftly.

his arms reach out and wrap around your waist and pull you close to his chest. your arms smoosh against his body as your heart races.

"i remember you telling me...not to fall for you," you must be crazy because you hear a chuckle in that statement.

giyuu's soft gaze lingers on you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. you push your palms flat against his chest to get off. before beginning to move, your own lips curled into a playful grin.

"it seems it's too late for me," you whisper.

"y/n!" a high pitched voice gasps.

your head whips to see mitsuri and shinobu joining you and giyuu.

shinobu's eyes close as she brings her fingers to stifle her laugh. "my my, i wouldn't have expected tomioka-san to be so close to anyone, let alone, y/n."

"if you and tomioka-san had a date please don't let us interrupt!" mitsuri's face flushed in excitement at the sight of you and giyuu holding each other.

you quickly push yourself off of him and walk over to them.

"no! we don't have a date, it's not what it looks like." your voice is a giveaway to your humiliation. you hide your expression from all three of them to mask your embarrassment.

a few days after the festival, you don't get any interaction with giyuu. no missions or training sessions bring you together. the distance makes you a bit relentless.

you settle down in your yard, admiring the afternoon. a kakushi calls your attention.

"y/n-sama, i have a letter from tomioka-sama," they say with a bow.

curious and pleased to see some interest from giyuu. you walk over over to the kakushi. they hand you a neatly folded up paper. it's the usual template for any giyuu letter. you'd be concerned if it were longer.

"i need to see you. come to my house as soon as you can - giyuu tomioka."

how dry-

you thank the kakushi and walk back into your house. with no pressing matters at the moment, you decide to visit him immediately. the letter seemed somewhat important.

the journey to his house is quick and you find yourself at his door in no time. you knock firmly. there's a brief pause before the door slides open.

giyuu reveals himself shirtless, his toned muscles and faint scars from battles past on full display. the lighting from the oil lamp highlights the contours of his well-defined chest. he uses his elbow against the frame to hold his head up.

"giyuu what the fuck—" it slips out of you.

his fingers spread through strands of his hair as he gazes down at you. "you're here."

"it seemed urgent," you swallow, trying to keep your composure. he moves aside to let you in. "obviously not that urgent. why are you dressed like this?" you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"is there a problem?" he asks with innocent in his voice.

"when you have guests over—"

"but it's nothing you haven't seen before."

confidence instills itself in you. "so you're dressed like that because i'm here?"

"isn't it more comfortable this way?"

you roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “perhaps. comfortable or not, it’s still a bit unexpected.”

he chuckles softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “well, if you’re uncomfortable, i can change.”

the playful glint in his eyes tells you he’s enjoying this moment far more than he’s letting on. you take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

“no, don’t bother. let's just get to why I’m here.”

as you turn, giyuu steps closer, his presence warm and unmistakable. “if you insist,” he says, his voice low and soft.

he closes the distance between you. your back is pressed against a wall. his lips capture yours in a sudden, fervent kiss. the softness and warmth of his touch make your heart race, and you melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the moment. his hands grasp your face delicately, like glass. you layer your hands on top of his.

he's gentle at first. his lips brush against yours with tender and soft motions. the intensity rises as the pressure of his kiss and fingertips increases. the fervor behind them is fueled by passion, desperation, and yearning. your mouth feels like a fire that only he can cool.

you part with a deep inhale, your chest rises and falls while a string connects your lips.

"that's what i'm here for?"

"not all."

he yanks your shirt off and tosses it. his hands reach to undo your belt while keeping your lips interlocked. you skirt falls onto his floor. he's practically salivating at the sight of your body.

he knew he missed it but not this much.

he pulls back to gawk at your bare body, free from anything barriers. he brings his hands to settle in on your hips.

"nuh uh." you shake your head and gesture to his pants.

he reluctantly pulls away from you to shed his pants. he wastes no time before attacking your lips once again. he trails kisses and bites down your neck until he reaches your nipple. he takes one into his mouth while he tweaks the other with his index and thumb. he uses his other hand to slide across your clit, gathering your slick and then sliding between your folds. his tongue swirls the bud and teeth nibble lightly to tease. you hold onto the base of of his head.

"tomioka," you sigh. you're immediately cut off when he bites harder than usual.

"stop that."

you smile to yourself, pleased with riling him up. you lean back against the wall and sigh. you relax into his touch and in what feels like seconds, you feel yourself tighten around his fingers.

"giyuu! h-hah."

he slows fingers, almost halting your peak completely. your eyes shoot open to see him lowering himself to his knees. you could cum just from seeing his eyes looking up at you. he lets his tongue out before his face disappears between your thighs.

your body doubles over. he matches his fingers to the pace of his unrelenting tongue. he greedily slurps up the heavenly taste of your cunt. you feel the smile pressed against your folds.

high squeals are pulled from your throat. he takes your thigh and rests it on his shoulder. both your hands tangle in his hair and push his deeper.

"oh, i'm cu-mming," you whine.

he spreads your cunt to blow cold air that makes you shiver. his nose pressed against your clit now while his tongue dips into your pussy. a swipe of his tongue is enough to tip you over.

your thighs press against his head while he continues to swallow every bit of you he can get. you're forced to push him away from you. his lips and chin are drenched and all he can do it lick around his lips and fingers.

he looks up you with hazy eyes and uneven breathing.

"ride me?"

you nod, still dizzy. giyuu lies back and rests on his elbows. you straddle him and hover over his cock. your palm wraps around the base to guide him into your hole. he steadies himself by grabbing your hips with a hand.

you slowly rock back and forth, gradually moving to a steady bounce. giyuu lets out soft sighs of relief. his adam's apple bobs with each swallow. he helps you bounce with his hand on you.

"mhm- shit," he groans.

you speed up your pace and steal more sounds from him and force them from yourself.

"hah- fuck fuck, feels good." his breathing grows heavier.

you're practically slamming yourself down on his cock. he reaches that spot that has you squealing every time. you squeeze down on him and your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy.

giyuu pushes your back down so you're flat on your stomach against him. he bends his knees for leverage and thrusts into you.

your head falls into his neck while you relinquish control. his thrusts are dangerously good. your legs are going weak.

"jus' like that...please, i'm gonna-"

he pulls you away and captures your lips in a deep kiss. he holds the back of your neck.

your pussy contracts around his cock. shivers rack through your whole body and you can't stop. "giyuu!" you sob.

your back arches further into him.

"so pretty." his gasp catches you off guard. you're locked into eye contact with him. he whimpers underneath his breath. "can i- cum?"

you're shocked he's asking for permission. a part of you wants to deny and tease but he's been so good to you.

you start to meet his thrusts which pulls a loud gasp from him. you stroke his cheek with your thumb, teasing just a bit.

"you can cum."

timed perfectly, giyuu spurts his load deep inside of you instantly. he refuses to look anywhere else besides your eyes. he's still rocking your hips onto him when he's done.

slowly, he comes down from his high. you settle down against his chest with his cock still inside you.

"hmm, don't wanna get up," you mumble.

giyuu wraps his arms around you. "don't."

[gr4cier4cie]

♡ after midnight (can't be a good girl) ♡

or: the drivers may be rough, but they'll always be sure to smooth you over afterwards. featuring: carlos sainz, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, lando norris ♡

warnings: explicit sexual content ahead!! thank you to @mikeyspinkcup for this ask, sorry i derailed from it a lil lol was feeling freaky when i wrote this, XOXO always from gracie!!!

♡

carlos sainz ♡

oh i just know this man is trying to get you pregnant every single time you fuck. it could be an extravagant hotel room overlooking monte carlo or a gala bathroom with all the lights off and he's still clawing at your clothes, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder, molding you into the position that best suits him. he's not mean about it, no. he's sweet. saccharine, undercut with the slightest tint of restrained anger. he's vexed beyond words that he wants you like this. he's vexed that he can't keep himself in his pants for more than thirty seconds every time he finds himself searching for a whiff of your perfume. "mi zorrita," he'll whisper when he sinks into you, your hair (so pretty, so pure, so damn ruinous) wrapped around his tanned fingers. around his fist. "my perfect girl. so good for me." and when you unmistakably exhale a breathy, sniveling whine, scrambling for his bicep as his cock kisses the spongy surface of your cervix, he'll curl two fingers into your mouth to muffle the strangled sounds of your pleasure, lips pressed to your ear, words punctuated by every hard snap of his hips. "¿esto duele? bien. debería."

that doesn't mean he won't take care of you. in fact, it's the opposite. when you come down from the high, he's peppering kisses to your sweaty hairline, smoothing his knuckles across the blooming marks of purple littering your skin. fixing your clothes and cleaning the sticky mess between your thighs if you're out, zipping up your dress with the kind of reverence that has your stomach spasming violently. he'll run you a shower if you're at home, will stand underneath the stream of scalding warmth alongside you and stare at the rivulets of water trailing across your skin, will follow their path with his tongue if you'll let him. he's attuned to what you want, what you need. sometimes he'll whisper into your neck as he coats his hands in soap and traces the soft lines of your body with a touch so gentle you swear it's not even there. "i love you," he'll say. "te amo, mi princesita."

♡

max verstappen ♡

did someone say light daddy kink? because yeah. sorry, but yeah. max wants you to want him. need him. wants you to despair for him the same way he yearns for you, for your touch and your smile and the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue like a memory imprinted into the ivory of his bones. and he's a firm believer of hard work; if you want something, schatje, you're going to have to work for it. he wants to teach you, and, moreover, he wants you to learn. adapt to him. and when i say it's hard to break him, i mean it. he'll leave you wanting for weeks while he's away with strict orders to keep your hands off what is his—your pleasure is his, so why would he let you come without him? that's just bad manners. if you're good (which you usually are), he'll come home and fuck you to heaven and back. he'd drag you down to hell if you asked nicely, too. and no doubt he's snarling words you can barely understand into the curve of your shoulder: "pretty girl. did i leave you too long?" and when you whimper, nod shakily in response, he'll go mean, bark with bite. "maybe it'll be longer next time, hmm? you didn't learn, did you, schatje? can't ever listen to me, can you?"

but he won't leave you forever, no. max stakes claims the same way he plants trophies on your nightstand. once he has you, he'll do everything in his power to keep you. he'll clean you up (once he's done licking up the mess he can reach), run you a bath, massage the curve of your spine and grin at the way you melt into his touch entirely. he'd braid your hair neatly, pull the up blankets to your chin, kiss your temple with longing you couldn't believe you owned. because you might have been his, but he was equally, if not more, of yours.

♡

daniel ricciardo ♡

i have 110% certainty that this man asked you to sit on his face ten seconds into knowing you. it's simply an aftereffect of his effortless charm, the salacious way he runs his tongue along his canines, inviting thrill. danger. you. and, furthermore, i have 130% certainty that he asked if he could film it. what can he say? he's just getting older. "memory issues," he says with the sort of cheeky, one-sided grin that has a flash of molten heat spreading across your navel. "gotta keep it all up in here somehow," he continues as the blinking red flash of his decades-old camera catches the way his hands search hungrily for skin, more animal than man. he likes you on top, spine arched under the leading touch of his palm pressed to the small of your back, likes the way you sob when he's so far up your cunt you feel him in your ribs. and he likes it when you reciprocate. likes how you're desperate to get on your knees, to brace your shaky hand around his tattooed thigh. he knows you like them, his tattoos. he doesn't spare seconds using that to his advantage. you're easy to rile, easy to calm. wild. his type.

he won't turn off the camera, after. he'll leave it running as he carries you off the frame, cradled in arms he knows are meant to hold you. he'll clean you up (or, you'll let him make a mess of you yet again) in the shower, the shit-eating grin plastered to his face mirrored on your own. you'll kiss the column of his throat as he washes his hair, and he'll breathe your name into the back of your neck. he's gentle with you, steering you with a hand around your waist back to bed, kissing the tip of your nose or the curve of your chin as you drift off. only then will he reach across the bedside table and turn the camera off, tucking it into his bag for safekeeping. it goes everywhere with him, after all. he'd hate to lose it.

♡

lando norris ♡

speaking of cameras, lando isn't above stealing a few flicks for himself, either. he's a fan of fine art, and you're the perfect muse. he doesn't bother being inconspicuous, however; every person within a five-foot radius of you should know about the fact that his black leather wallet—one he continues to 'misplace'—contains a rather risque polaroid of you laying on your back, hands cupping bare tits splattered with his cum. and to make matters worse, he adores mirrors. specifically, fucking you in front of them. he made you watch, of course. made you watch his cock slide in and out of your soaked folds, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other slid up to the back of your neck, breaking the haze of your blurry-eyed pleasure. "look at us," he'd murmur, choking on a laugh as your cunt tightened. "we look good, yeah?" he'd tap the side of your face slightly when the only answer you find yourself capable of exhibiting is a withheld gasp of his name, clicking his tongue. "good girls answer me when i talk to 'em, baby."

he's never domineering. doesn't push you anywhere you don't already find yourself going. it is not an afterthought, to take care of you. he doesn’t let you go, not even when your body goes slack against his, not even when your breaths grow heavier against the line of his collarbones. not even when you hum, too spent to say anything. he just smiles—that boyish, sickeningly lovesick grin that always makes your heart ache, fingers gliding up and down your spine, soothing, grounding. and even as sleep starts to pull you under, he stays right there—holding you like you’re his most precious win. because damn him, loving you feels better than any podium ever could.

♡

note: this is not proofread at all and THIS WAS NOT WHAT THE ORIGINAL ASK WAS AT ALL IM SO SORRY I RAN WITH IT!! + there's a part two in the making obviously w more of the grid so stay tuned!!!!!! LOOOVE FROM GRACIE!!! ♡

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x reader, established relationship, Fluff (maybe some NSFW)

Imagine Remmick and reader enjoying each other’s company while laying together. Soft kisses, nails lightly raking through hair, and soothing touches.

Perhaps teasingly reader lightly bites Remmick’s neck, since he always does this to reader they wanted some payback. Might or might not have known that it would rile him up.

(Would love to see some feral softness from Remmick if that makes sense lol)

Gender neutral pronouns please :)!

Have a great day/night!

P.s glad to see my request/asks are enjoyed! Love your work :D

Drunk on you||Remmick x GN!reader

Summary— reader and Remmick are obsessed with each other.

Word count-1180

Warnings-Explicit sexual content Mutual masturbation (gender neutral reader x male character) Bloodplay-adjacent themes (post-feeding cleanup, references to blood) Vampirism (turned!vampire reader) Established relationship Oral teasing and heavy kissing Soft domination tones (gentle aftercare, power dynamics rooted in emotional trust)Reader is described with fem anatomy Semi-public setting (clearing in the woods, but secluded)

A/n — this can be read as male,female and gender neutral.

A/n#2– oh yes anon I love it when you’re in my inbox!!!

The forest still thrummed faintly with the echoes of the hunt moonlight threading through the trees, the air rich with the scent of blood and pine. The adrenaline had faded, but a different kind of hunger lingered in its wake.

You leaned against a moss-covered boulder, cheeks flushed, laughter bubbling out of you in lazy bursts. The blood was still tacky at the corner of your mouth, but you didn’t care. You felt wild. Sated. In love.

Remmick watched you from a few paces away, one hand braced on his hip, the other dragging a cloth slowly over his jaw. There was something dangerous and stupidly tender in the way he looked at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. Like the sight of you drunk on blood and moonlight knocked the wind out of him.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you teased, eyes half-lidded as you sauntered toward him, hips swaying lazily.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured. “Like you just remembered how much you love chaos.”

You laughed and slipped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. “No, not chaos. Just you.”

His breath caught as your lips brushed against his blood-slick and soft and your body pressed flush to his. “You made me. Isn’t that the same thing?”

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t let go, his hands settling on your waist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Drunk,” you corrected with a sleepy smile. “On you.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue slipping against his with a faint metallic tang still lingering. He groaned into it, fingers tightening just enough to make you whimper.

Eventually, he pulled back. “Come here,” he said softly, guiding you to the old blanket spread near the fire he’d built. “You’re still a mess.”

You sat down without protest, your body humming, eyes glassy and soft. Remmick knelt in front of you with the cloth again, warm now with water from his flask.

His touch was almost reverent as he cleaned your blood from your jaw, your collarbone, the smear on your neck. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face.

“You always do this,” you murmured. “Clean me up like I’m something precious.”

“Because you are,” he said simply, voice rough. “Because I remember what it was like right after I turned you. You were fire. You were fury. I didn’t know if I’d get you back.”

You cupped his face gently, thumb tracing over his lips. “But you did. I came back. I chose you.”

He kissed your palm, then your wrist, slow and deliberate.

The tension shifted between you then not urgent, not frenzied. Just heat and safety, blooming slow and low.

You pushed him gently back until he was sitting against the base of a tree, and you crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. The kiss that followed was softer, your fingers threading into his hair, hips rocking forward just enough to make you both gasp.

“Touch yourself,” you whispered against his mouth. “Wanna watch you.”

His eyes darkened. “Only if you do too.”

You nodded, lips parted as you reached between your legs, hiking your skirt just enough to slip your hand beneath. He did the same, dragging his belt loose with a soft groan, pants undone just far enough for his cock to spring free already hard, leaking at the tip.

You both moved slowly at first, hands buried beneath fabric, matching pace and rhythm. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the fire crackling nearby, the trees your only witnesses.

Watching each other, teasing touches, shared gasps there was something sacred in the act, something unspoken and deeply yours. His eyes never left yours as you rubbed lazy, wet circles over your clit, back arching, while his fist tightened around himself, hips stuttering.

You leaned your forehead to his, breath ragged. “Love you. So much it hurts.”

His other hand gripped your waist, steadying you as he groaned your name. “You’re mine,” he rasped. “Always.”

You both came within seconds of each other soft cries swallowed in kisses, bodies trembling, breaths shallow and fast.

Afterward, you stayed curled up in his lap, limbs tangled, your cheek against his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest.

“You gonna clean me up again?” you mumbled, half-asleep.

He huffed a laugh, already reaching for the cloth again. “Yeah, sweetheart. Always.”

[animelovelover123]

I SWEAR you have done this idea before, but I can't find it, so I'm assuming I dreamed it up or read it on someone else's blog 😭. But what would the DMC boys reactions be to reader squirting for the first time? I can imagine some would be cocky about it/extremely turned on by it, etc. It would be exciting to see your POV on them. Thank you for your amazing work! 🥰

Nope, never done this idea but I like it! Here you go, hope you enjoy making a mess with our demon hunting boys ;)

You Squirting On The DMC Boys

Dante

Dante is a messy lover. He likes clothes ripped off and thrown around the room; lipstick marks on his neck, abs, chest, hell even smudged over his lips; hair tousled crazily; making out so rough and sloppy that your lips are left glistening and connected by a string of saliva; and he prefers cumming ON you rather than in you.

The first time he makes you orgasm he is going down on you, because, of course, he wants to start this stage of your relationship by servicing you.

You get him in the face, much of the liquid going right into his mouth. There is a pause of shock then he suddenly sits up, now 2 kinds of your liquids dripping down from his grinning lips.

“Holly hell baby, do that again.” He flattens his hand and starts aggressively rubbing your clit, trying to force you into a back-to-back orgasm. He’ll even shove a couple fingers in you if he thinks it will help. “Come on, you can do it, baby girl, give me another, please, I need it.”

He already loved you, but finding out you squirt, he is going to get obsessed.

He loves it. The wet patches you leave on the bedsheets, his clothes, or whatever surface you two are fucking on is hot as hell and often has him getting excited for a round 2.

And even when you two are finished, he likes cuddling up against you and dragging his finger through the mess you made, drawing shapes and letters on you. Sometimes it was just to relax, other times it was to try to get you in the mood for yet another round, and occasionally…

“I…” Dante said as he drew the letter I on your tummy with the remnants of your squirt. “heart… U.”

Dante is a mess and we love him despite (or maybe for) it. I did not initially plan for it to get corny at the end there but I think that is also another reason many of us love him.

Reboot Dante

This man has had so much casual sex with so many people that he is unfazed when you squirt on him, he doesn’t act surprised at all.

He will tease you, call you “dirty” or maybe “slut” affectionately.

“I got you squirting already? Just wait till I have you screaming.”

He has no plan to stop, capturing your lips before you can respond properly, biting them a bit, and keeps pounding into you.

If he sees that you are legitimately embarrassed by it though, he’ll reassure you.

“Don’t worry babe,” Dante says as he wipes his hands off on the sheets below you. “I’ve had a lot worse things come out of people.”

His chill reaction continues all future times you have sex, though he does tease you both inside and outside of the bedroom. The amount of drooling and waterfall jokes you have to cover up and reprimand him for is insurmountable.

“Oof, you really gotta elbow me, babe?” He chuckles. “I guess I deserve it though. As payback, you wanna waterboard me with that cute little pussy of yours later?”

Perverted Reboot Dante has probably been squirted on many times, this man knows his way around watersports. But that also means I don’t have much to write about.

Vergil

When you squirt for the first time around him, Vergil devil triggers. He turns back quickly out of concern that the change in his body would frighten you or cause you pain for your first time together, but the strain of trying to keep his demon side from coming out is so heavy that he can’t finish.

That liquid was seeped in your scent, your pheromones. And you just sprayed it all over him and the bed like perfume.

He has to make an excuse, clean up quickly, and rush out of the room lest he ravages you.

When you are more accustomed to sex with him and he has more self-control he will let loose all of his animalistic lust but not yet, he did not want to hurt you or scare you away.

He will not explain this unless you press him and/or seem really hurt that he ran off after your first time together.

He does much training, both with and without you, and does get himself under control, though he and his sexual preferences are forever changed.

Now he’ll catch your squirt with some piece of his discarded clothing, claiming it is just to stop you from making too big of a mess. And besides, he cleans his clothes after every time you two have sex.

That is all true, but what he doesn’t say is that even after cleaning his clothes, when he wears them his demon senses can still pick up on the scent, on YOUR scent.

I was this fricken’ close to making him a pantie sniffer, I swear to god!

Reboot Vergil

Even though he likes to portray a prime, proper, clean, in-control aura always, making a mess of you turned him on like nothing else.

Before he found out that you squirted, he would get his fix by suddenly pulling you somewhere private, pushing you up against a wall, and aggressively start kissing and groping you. And just as you are beginning to process what was happening and get into the mood, he would suddenly pull away and remind you that you have things to do. He would then just watch you reeling, and if he was feeling extra cruel, he would drag you back out into the public space he had stolen you from and watch as you try to come to your senses and act natural.

Now he had something better though. Now he would wait until you were done getting all dolled up and ready for going out or to a house party then strike.

While assuring you that you had plenty of time, Vergil would shove his gloved hand down your panties and start playing with you, cranking up the intensity quickly to get you to that powerful release as soon as possible.

He did not need to be touched as he got plenty of satisfaction from seeing you standing there with shaky legs like a fawn trying to keep your balance with liquid dripping from your core and sliding down your legs. He’ll even avoid helping to support your weight to watch you struggle. He will help eventually though so he can have you wrap your arm around his and he can use that as a shackle.

“Alright dear, it is time for us to welcome our guests/head out. What’s that? Oh, unfortunately, we simply do not have any time to waste. I’m sure no one will notice, now let go.”

Reboot Vergil is a smart, tricky lover and a big ol’ bully.

Nero

Despite trying to act cool, confident, and mature, Nero is a virgin. And with where he grew up and the religiousness of his adoptive family, he was not given a sex education past “don’t do it before marriage” and what little he could learn for himself, which was practically nothing. So the first time you squirt on him he freezes mid-thrust in shock and confusion.

“Did you just piss on me?”

When you tell him what it is or he researches it, he feels stupid but at least knows how to approach things from now on.

He takes the time to lay out towels and clean you up after. That is unless you two get too hot and heavy outside of your home and end up fucking in the van or something. Even then though, Nero makes sure to clean up for your comfort and everyone else’s.

Usually he sees it as just a natural process of making love to you, though he does amusingly point out when you “make a good shot” and “launched it far”.

With his relationship with Kyrie, I see Nero as being quite the gentleman to his lover and her natural body functions, though dense at first. He is a good boy though.

V

V finds sex artistic in a way, and when he is in the midst of pleasure he finds it even more so.

When you first squirt on his hand, as he prefers to finger you before taking you completely, he is pleasantly surprised.

He wants to spread it around, utterly cover your crotch, inner thighs, and lower stomach with it. It makes you shine, glisten, just like when he kisses you enough to leave your lips a bit swollen and shimmering with saliva.

After fingering you and you are recovering, preparing for the true event, V grinds his body against yours in a kind of Nuru massage. Sliding his cock, now covered in your juices, along your drenched folds or, if your core is too sensitive right now, against your legs and stomach or between your closed thighs had him trembling and moaning just as hard as if your hand was wrapped around his member

And once he has pulled out of you and his seed is dripping out of you, the white mixes with the clear, creating a pearlescent liquid that V wants to paint with.

Not exactly what I intended but the vibe is there.

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[iraot]

Word Count: 13,138 Content Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, M/M sex, M/F/M sex, knotting, rough sex, copious amounts of body fluids, primal behavior, oral ( m & f receiving ), sex with strangers, no protection, breeding, creampie(s), A/N: I worked on this like non-stop for two days, probably should have slept more but I wanted to finish this so bad before I have to go back to work tomorrow. I don't really have time to write during work days, so I hope this sates everyone who reads it :3 Also thank you to @hyyih for being my beta and correcting my atrocious grammar. ao3 link

Beneath the sleek exterior of the website, Heat Haven was not a Dating Site. It was a lifeline for Omegas in desperate need, with suppressants hard to get due to political upheaval (they wanted more omegas to breed since the population of Alphas was dwindling). The platform bills itself as a "discreet, sophisticated service for Omega-Alphas seeking biological compatibility," but everyone knew what it was: the most reliable way to find someone to fuck an omega through one of the most delirious moments of her life— her heat.

No coy euphemisms. No prose or fake wining and dining or promises of long walks in the park ruminating about shared dreams of the future. Heat Haven catered to primality. It was about survival, desire and need.

The homepage was clean soft gradients of blue and light Grey giving it a calming effect to soothe an omega's frazzled nerves. "find relief, find safety, find who you need." — floated over the serene image of an omega half curled into a bed with her nest surrounding her.

Once logged in, the interface told a different story. This wasn't a place for purity; it was raw, brutal and a little thrilling in its honesty. The Users profiles featured key details like "Rut Status", "Knot Size Preference" and a graphic "Pheromone Match Rating" system that calculated compatibility based on submitted scent samples. Uploading your heat cycle schedule was an optional feature, but highly recommended especially for those Omegas who preferred to line up potential partners before their bodies turned them into a mess of slick and reduced them to a needy fevered haze.

And the reviews? Oh, the reviews. Each Alpha profile came loaded with ratings and detailed feedback from past hookups.

"Knotted me so hard I couldn't walk for two days, 10/10." "Not rough enough, felt like he wasn't committed; Beta? 3/10" But the Omegas left reviews too, their profiles a haunting combination of raw vulnerability and primal sexuality. Alphas could make their own requests, "Experienced Omegas only, no first-timers." whereas Omegas could also leave demands. "Breed me, knot me, leave - no games."

It wasn’t uncommon for pictures of their time to be uploaded; explicit heat photos, glossy-eyes and cock drunk expressions on their faces, a blatant challenge for Alphas who scroll the site hunting for that exact kind of submission.

She was desperate. Her heat was closing in fast just a couple of days now and the clinic had run out of suppressants. Fifteen fucking days until the end of the month, and they couldn’t keep stock? It was her first heat in eight long months, and the thought of facing it unprepared made her stomach twist. If she thought she could tough it out alone, maybe she’d lock herself in a padded room and try to sweat it out. But she wasn’t naive. She knew what would happen if she tried. Going her whole heat without even one knot wasn’t just miserable—it was dangerous.

The slick was the issue.

Without it, an Alpha could spiral. Too many ruts without an Omega’s slick, and they risked going feral—a state that was as ugly as it sounded. And Omegas? They weren’t any better off. Her body wouldn’t just let her skip a heat out of convenience. No, her heat would stretch on, lasting days longer than usual, until her body got what it was biologically screaming for.

An Alpha’s scent.

An Alpha’s knot.

She shuddered at the thought, scrolling over her Heat Haven profile as she fought off memories of the last time. It hadn’t been great. The Alpha had been too rough, angry even, and she left the encounter sore in ways that weren’t satisfying or cathartic. It was enough to make her hesitant now, her finger hovering over the keyboard as she considered her options. Sure, she could try to find someone outside the site, but the odds of getting a decent Alpha without going through Heat Haven’s vetting process?

Not worth the gamble.

She sighed, resigned, and got to work tweaking her profile.

First, she added a few selfies. Nothing too risqué, but enough to grab attention. Heat Haven had a brutal marketplace vibe, and standing out was half the battle. If she didn’t look good, she wouldn’t get offers worth accepting.

Next, she updated her heat schedule to reflect the urgency. Imminent. That single word was often enough to draw in Alphas who got off on that raw, fevered desperation. And fine, maybe she was desperate, but that didn’t mean she was throwing away all her standards. She added a note: Willing to host. That was non-negotiable. She didn’t trust some Alpha to throw together a decent nest for her. It would be her nest, with her blankets, her scent, her comforts. At least then she wouldn’t be starving on some bachelor’s floor because the idiot forgot to stock more than protein bars.

Lastly, she hesitated over the relationship status filter. Did it matter? Did she care if the Alpha was single, mated, or just some guy looking to scratch an itch? No. She deleted the filter entirely. If an Alpha could do his job—get her through her heat safely and satisfyingly, she didn’t give a shit if he had a partner at home or not.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the profile for a long minute. It was all there. The pictures, the urgency, the note about her nest. It wasn’t flashy, but it was honest. And with her heat bearing down on her, she didn’t have time to overthink it. Her body was already starting to turn against her, the low, dull ache in her core an unwelcome reminder of what was coming.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for her profile to start attracting attention. It never did. She was careful to present herself well—clear, direct, and unashamed of what she needed. But as the site gained traction in recent years, it had drawn in more users, including some real risks. A lot of Omegas still hesitated to trust it, worried about whether it could really protect them from predators or clueless Alphas with no sense of boundaries.

What those idiots failed to understand, though, was just how dangerous a scorned Omega could be. Ever heard the saying, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?" Well, multiply that by a thousand, throw in heat pheromones, and give her the instincts of a pissed-off wolf. There were Alphas who’d learned that lesson the hard way—leaving her nest unsatisfied, trying to push boundaries, or outright being reckless. She wasn’t the type to let herself get walked all over. Not ever again.

Her inbox lit up with notifications, the scent-matching algorithm already doing its work. Most of the messages were what she expected: blunt, one-line propositions from desperate Alphas or sleazy attempts at charm. But one message stood out.

A pair.

[AbyssalFlame Messaged You]

It wasn’t uncommon for Alpha-Beta pairs to search for an Omega together. In fact, it had its appeal. A Beta could temper an Alpha’s rougher edges, bringing a kind of balance that made the entire experience smoother for everyone involved. They weren’t just caretakers, though many played that role instinctively. Betas had their own unique place in the throes of biologically driven passion—they weren’t immune to the pheromonal intensity that heat and rut created, and sometimes, they heightened it.

Her eyes flicked to the profile. The Alpha was named Sylus and his presence practically leapt off the screen even through a few lines of text. His profile picture was classic Alpha energy—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a smirk that teetered somewhere between cocky and inviting. His description was just as straightforward: Alpha, mid-rut control certified. Looking for an Omega who values stamina and strength. Knot-friendly, non-aggressive but firm when needed. Paired with a Beta to ensure complete heat care.

Then there was Rafayel, the Beta, who looked like he’d walked out of a painting. His features were softer, more refined, and he had a kind of calm confidence that balanced out Sylus’s intensity. His profile hinted at a creative streak—he was an artist, apparently, with an obsession for oceanic landscapes. He’d added a personal note to the profile: Betas don’t just pour water on the fire; sometimes we fan it. I’ll make sure your nest stays in one piece and you’re never left wanting.

She felt a flicker of intrigue, despite herself. An Alpha-Beta pair wasn’t something she usually considered, but Sylus and Rafayel didn’t come across as your average duo. They’d clearly put effort into their profile, making it known they’d respect her boundaries but wouldn’t shy away from giving her what she needed. And right now? That was sounding more appealing than sifting through a pile of overeager Alphas who barely understood how to handle a heat.

Her thumb hovered over the reply button, her thoughts racing as she reread the message. It wasn’t particularly long or flowery, but it was direct and straight to the point. Sylus had written it, though it was signed with both their names. That little detail made her pause. Most Alpha-Beta pairs that messaged her on Heat Haven usually didn’t bother with that level of coordination—it was always one taking the lead and the other fading into the background. But here, Sylus and Rafayel were clearly presenting themselves as a unit. That alone gave them an edge over the sea of poorly thought-out messages clogging her inbox.

The message read:

"Saw your profile—noticed you’re looking to host and have your nest set up. That’s a good call. I’m Sylus, and this is Rafayel, my Beta. We’ve got experience with Omega care, and we make a good team for heats. You’ll get my focus, strength, and stamina, and Rafayel’s here to keep things balanced and make sure everything stays smooth. If you want to talk specifics or see our heat-session reviews, we can share them. Your profile caught our eye, and we’d like to help. Heat’s a hard thing to face alone. Let us know."

It wasn’t pushy. There were no assumptions, no condescending overconfidence. They didn’t jump right into over-the-top promises of how great Sylus’s knot would feel or how Rafayel could pamper her in the aftermath. Just a straightforward offer, clear boundaries, and a hint of experience without coming off cocky.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at their profile pictures again. Sylus’s eyes practically burned through the screen, that quiet Alpha intensity impossible to miss. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s smile was disarmingly calm, his body language radiating an effortless kind of reassurance. They balanced each other out in ways that felt… solid. Reliable. Like they actually knew what they were doing and wouldn’t treat her heat like some glorified hookup.

Still, she hesitated.

Her last experience had left her wary—an overly aggressive Alpha with a nasty temper and no self-control, who’d turned her carefully constructed nest into a disaster zone. She had promised herself after that she wouldn’t rush into another arrangement, no matter how desperate her heat made her. And it was coming—oh, it was coming. Her body was already betraying her, the dull ache in her core growing worse with every hour. The pre-heat signs were undeniable: the way her skin prickled, the way her scent was shifting, growing sweeter and thicker in anticipation. She had maybe two days, tops, before she’d be too far gone to make rational decisions.

Sylus and Rafayel’s offer felt safe, or as safe as anything could feel in a situation like this. They weren’t asking her to give up control, and they seemed to respect her autonomy. That mattered. She wasn’t about to let some Alpha waltz in and try to dominate her on his terms. This is my heat, she thought, her lips pressing into a firm line. I decide how it goes.

But there was a nagging curiosity in the back of her mind, too. What would it actually feel like to have both an Alpha and a Beta tending to her? Most Omegas swore by it, claiming the dual dynamic was unmatched for heat care. The Alpha for the primal need—his knot, his pheromones, the raw power she’d crave when the heat really hit. And the Beta for emotional steadiness, the touch that wasn’t purely driven by instinct but by deliberate, soothing care. It wasn’t just about survival—it was about satisfaction. Fulfillment.

She inhaled sharply, the ache in her belly flaring at the thought. Fine. She wasn’t going to overthink this anymore. Heat wasn’t the time for overanalyzing.

Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

"Thanks for the message. I appreciate how straightforward you both are. Hosting’s a non-negotiable for me—I need my nest and my space. If that works for you, I’m open to discussing specifics. I’ll need to see both of your certifications and heat-session reviews before we finalize anything. My heat’s imminent, so we’ll need to arrange this quickly. Let me know if you’re still interested."

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. The knot of tension in her chest eased slightly, though the low hum of anticipation in her body only seemed to grow stronger.

It didn’t take long for them to reply. The little notification popped up less than ten minutes later.

[AbyssalFlame]: "Absolutely still interested. Hosting’s not an issue. I’ll send our documents and reviews now—you’ll see everything’s in order. Let us know what else you need. Timing-wise, we’re flexible. Rafayel’s great at helping prep nests if you want assistance before things kick in."

She clicked on the attachment they sent. Their certifications checked out: Sylus was mid-rut control certified, exactly as his profile said, and Rafayel had completed Omega care training. Their reviews? Impressive.

"Sylus is all raw strength, but never loses control. Knotted me exactly how I needed and left me feeling satisfied in ways I can’t even describe. Rafayel was a dream—he kept me hydrated, helped me recover between sessions, and his scent was so grounding."

The perfect balance of Alpha and Beta energy. I was nervous about trying a pair for my heat, but they exceeded my expectations completely. I didn’t even think about the time passing—I just felt cared for the entire time."

"Knots for days. Rafayel’s hands are magic. Enough said."

She found herself smiling faintly, despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Maybe...just maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

She sat back, chewing her lip as she scrolled through their reviews again, feeling her body responding against her will. The detailed accounts stirred something deep in her gut, fanning that slow-growing burn of her pre-heat. Her scent thickened in the room, sweet and heady, and she cursed under her breath. Get it together, she thought, shaking her head like she could somehow shake the heat away with it. But it wasn’t going anywhere. It was crawling up her spine, tugging at her insides, leaving her restless and far too aware of her body’s needs.

Sylus and Rafayel had their shit together, though. That much was obvious. The certifications, the reviews, the way they handled her concerns without a single ounce of pushback—it was all enough to calm her nerves, even if her instincts were screaming at her to move faster. The truth was, she didn’t have time to be overly picky. Her heat wasn’t going to wait for her to deliberate like this. And from the way her core throbbed every time her thoughts wandered to their message, her body had already made its decision.

Before she could overthink it, she fired off another reply.

"Everything looks good on your end. Let’s lock this in. My heat’s going to hit in about 48 hours, so I’ll need you both here tomorrow evening to prepare. Bring anything you might need—supplies, clothes, whatever—but understand this: my nest is sacred. Don’t mess with it. You can add to it, but nothing gets taken out or moved. If that’s clear, then we’re good to go."

She stared at the message for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t exactly warm, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. This was about getting through her heat without losing her mind or her dignity.

She hit send.

The response came almost immediately.

[AbyssalFlame]: Understood. We’ll respect your space. We’ll bring supplies and anything else you might need. See you tomorrow evening—looking forward to meeting you."

Her stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and anticipation settling there as she set her phone down. It was done. She had a plan, and if everything went smoothly, this would be just what she needed to survive the week. Still, the idea of having two strangers in her space, her nest of all places, made her uneasy. An Alpha and a Beta. Sylus, with his smoldering, intense energy, and Rafayel, with his disarmingly calm demeanor.

She wasn’t sure which one unnerved her more.

The next evening came faster than she expected. She spent most of the day distracted, her body increasingly betraying her as the hours ticked by. The ache low in her belly was no longer subtle, and her slick had started to come in spurts, her underwear damp enough to force her into constant wardrobe changes. She was grumpy and restless, her nerves shot, as she fussed over her nest for the hundredth time, rearranging blankets and pillows that didn’t even need rearranging.

When the knock finally came, her heart jumped into her throat. She froze, her hands gripping a blanket as her instincts flared. Her scent spiked, sweet and thick and impossible to ignore. She hated how obvious it was—how they’d smell her the moment the door opened and knew she was close to breaking.

She forced herself to move, smoothing her shirt as she made her way to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Sylus stood in front, and she immediately understood why so many of his reviews had described him as "intense." He was tall, a lot taller than she expected – and broad, his presence radiating that distinct Alpha energy that practically demanded attention. His hair was white—she’d seen it in the pictures but she supposed it still shocked her , like he’d run a hand through it on the way over, and his sharp jawline made her swallow hard. His crimson eyes locked onto her instantly, and the way his nostrils flared as he took in her scent sent a shiver straight through her.

Behind him, Rafayel was the perfect counterbalance. Softer, leaner, but no less confident. His ocean-blue eyes with a shimmer of red or purple hues held hers for just a second before flicking to Sylus, as if silently checking in with him. His calm smile, paired with his easy stance, was disarming in a way that made her chest tighten. He carried a bag slung over one shoulder, and she caught a glimpse of supplies—water bottles, snacks, extra blankets.

He’d come prepared.

“Hi,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady, though she didn’t miss the slight rasp to it. His rut wasn’t far off, she realized, it seemed they were on the same page on that front. Not bad enough to lose control, but close enough that the edge was there.

She could practically feel it.

“Hi,” she said back, stepping aside to let them in.

Rafayel was the first to move, giving her a small nod as he walked past. “Nice setup,” he said, glancing around her apartment before setting the bag down near the edge of her nest. “We’ll stick to this area unless you tell us otherwise.”

Sylus followed him inside, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to scan the room. “Your scent is already thick,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it was almost a growl. “You’re close.”

She crossed her arms, both annoyed and embarrassed by how easily he could read her.

“I know,” she snapped, before softening just slightly. “That’s why you’re here.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk, and for a split second, she thought he might say something cocky. But Rafayel cut in before he could.

“Let’s get things set up,” Rafayel said smoothly, his tone so calm it was almost soothing. He crouched near her nest, carefully setting out a few items from the bag—water, nutrient bars, extra towels. He didn’t touch anything in her nest itself, just added to the edges, respecting her space exactly like she’d demanded.

Sylus, meanwhile, stood back, watching her with that same sharp focus. “We’ll take care of you,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm.

The words sent a shiver through her, and she hated how much she wanted to believe him. But as the first real wave of her heat hit, her knees threatening to buckle, she realized she didn’t have much of a choice.

Her legs felt weak as the first wave of her heat slammed into her, like an invisible hand gripping her from the inside, twisting low in her belly until her breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. The flames that licked under her skin caused a groan to escape her, she tightened her grip on the edge of the doorframe, cursing under her breath as her body betrayed her in front of them. The two men froze immediately, their gazes snapping to her as her scent spiked and pheromones flooded the hair like a heavy mist, heavy and cloying like sweet, overripe fruit. It was suffocating, but it was all she could do to stay upright.

Sylus was the first to react, his crimson eyes darkened as he took a single step forward, his entire posture shifting in that uniquely Alpha way, predatory, protective, and all instinct ready to act. He wasn’t out of control, on the contrary his movements were entirely deliberate. When he reached out a hand toward her, he stopped short, waiting for her permission.

“You’re already peaking,” he spoke, his voice rougher than before. The gravel in his tone sent a shiver down her spine, her body hyper aware of the Alpha before her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice sounded anything but.

“You’re not,” Rafayel said gently, his tone as smooth as silk. He stepped forward as well, his hands slightly raised like he was approaching a skittish animal. His eyes glistened in the light of her room, the ocean blue pierced through her with startling clarity. She noticed the faint stain of red in them now, just enough to give them an otherworldly depth, like a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

She hated how safe he looked, how disarming and steady he felt just standing there, it made her feel exposed.

“I just need to sit down,” she replied, forcing herself to take a step back towards the living room.

Rafayel followed her immediately, his movements fluid and careful as he kept his distance. “Let me help you,” he offered, his voice softer now. “We won’t touch your nest until you say so, but if you fall, I am catching you.”

She hesitated, her pride bristling at the idea of needing help, but another sharp pull deep inside her left her gasping and his arms came around her keeping her from hitting the floor.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, moving her to sit in her nest, his hands on her waist guiding her as her legs were weak, his touch feather light like he was being careful not to set her off. Once she was nestled into the pile of blankets and pillows she’d spent the entire day obsessing over, her body sagged into the softness and for a moment she just breathed.

Sylus stayed near the door, his crimson eyes locked on her as he adjusted his stance. His presence was electric, his scent – like hers, was filling up the room like a heavy blanket, but he didn’t move closer. The amount of control this required should have impressed her but she simply had other concerns to deal with. His gaze flicked to Rafayel, there was a silent communication between them-one that she didn’t miss.

“Let me know what you need me to do,” Sylus said, his voice low and steady. There was a tightness in his tone, and she knew his rut was coming on just as fast as her heat – neither of them quite knew why. His nostrils flared, her scent was pouring off her now, wrapping around him, tugging at every Alpha urge in his body.

“She’s already close,” Rafayel murmured, crouching beside her nest but keeping enough distance to respect her space. His eyes softened as they landed on her, “You’ve been holding back haven’t you?”

Her eyes downcast, then nodded her head a little. The small croon that escaped him prickled her skin with a chill, a smirk curving his lips.

“Don’t worry, Cutie...we’re going to take real good care of you.”

Her body responded all too kindly and she felt her cheeks heat when she felt slick drip onto her underwear. If she were being honest, this was likely her least favorite part – the amount of lubrication her body made was obscene. She knew it was to help them adjust to the Alpha’s incredible size but it didn’t make it any better. It was messy and sticky, like silicone lube that could actually be washed away.

Her body tensed as another wave hit, stronger this time. A broken whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it, burying her face in her hands as heat flushed through her skin. Their gazes too added to the flames that licked at her veins, that centered inside her with undeniable want for pleasure.

“Let me come closer,” Sylus spoke, his voice strained. He wasn’t asking because he wanted to. He was asking because she needed him to and they all knew it. “I won’t touch your nest, and I won’t do anything until you say so but you need me near you.”

She raised her head from her hands, panting softly as her scent spiked again, flooding the room with the unmistakable sweetness that could only be from an Omega. Sylus’s crimson eyes flashed, her defenses faltering  as she took in the sight of him standing there, chest rising and falling steadily, muscles taught with careful restraint. She realized then, as much as she loathed to admit it- she did need him. The heat clawing through her body wasn’t going to ease on its own, and his presence, powerful and ground, was exactly what her body was screaming for.

“Come closer.” Her voice was soft and laced with desperation, her cheeks burned, the vulnerability of the moment hitting her. The walls she had carefully built to keep herself safe from overbearing alphas were slowly crumbling due to the very patient men before her.

“I—I need you here.” she motioned to the edge of her nest.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate even a second, the words left her lips and he was already moving across the room in smooth strides. He knelt at the edge of her nest, his size and presence seemed to fill the space instantly. Crimson eyes locked on hers, but he didn’t crowd her. He remained just where she’d told him to, waiting to be invited in further.

“Better?” he whispered, his voice low and even, unintimidating – just what she needed. The unmistakable rasp of arousal was tinging his tone now, His instincts were clearly pulling at him, but he had unadulterated control of himself, a feat not many Alphas could claim to.

“Better,” she admitted, the tension in her chest slowly ebbing away slightly just from having him closer. Her body still ached, her heat pushing at her limits of sanity, but the sigh of him; his broad shoulders, his sharp jawline and messy hair—was strangely calming.

Behind him, Rafayel shifted into view, his eyes flicking between the two of them with quiet understanding. He crouched beside Sylus and stroked his neck gently with soft contemplation, a delicate smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he felt Sylus leaning into his touch ever so slightly igniting a rumble in his chest..

“Do you need anything else before things get worse?” Rafayel asked, his eyes turning to her. “Water, food...anything you didn’t think to grab earlier?”

“I stocked everything earlier, I just.. I need you both to stay close.” She whispered hating how needy her voice sounded but by the look on her Alpha’s Sylus’s face he didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Rafayel reassured her, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips – a tinge of pink flaming across his cheeks. Her scent was strong, unwavering and, normally, Betas weren’t supposed to feel this affected, However, there was something different here that none of them could place. “This is what we’re here for.”

Sylus leaned in slightly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as his Alpha instincts flared. The scent of her heat was overpowering this close, and she saw the way his jaw tightened as he fought to keep himself steady. “Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

Her breath hitched, her body reacting immediately to the prospect. Every part of her was screaming yes, yet the words stuck in her throat, she hesitated, her fingers curling into the soft fleece blanket beneath her. She was on the edge of losing herself to this heat that was curling around her and dragging her into primal insanity – the pull of her instincts too strong to ignore any longer.

“Yes,” she finally breathed, her voice trembling. “Please.” a beg.

Sylus’s tension eased slightly, his eyes softening as he reached out and curling his hand against her jaw, his touch firm but careful. The moment his skin met hers, it was like a jolt of electricity shot through her, the tension in her body breaking as a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

“You’re okay.” His voice deep and soothing, a rumble sounding  through his chest–a purr.

Rafayel shifted closer as well, his presence a calming contrast to Sylus’s intensity. “You’re in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze settling on hers. “Just focus on what you need, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Her body relaxed slightly under their careful attention, the weight of the heat pressing down on her feeling a little more bearable now that they were here. Sylus’s hand moved slowly brushing her jaw and neck gently, his thumb stroking her cheek softly. “Don’t fight it, kitten,” he whispered a small smile curving his lips, “I’ve got you.”

He was right, and she knew it. There was no point in holding back now—not when her heat was already dragging her under and not when this capable pair was oh so willing to do whatever she needed.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Sylus’s eyes closed and he took a calming breath, “Good,” he said, voice low and steady.

“Then let's begin.”

With that, he leaned in, edging into her nest waiting for her to protest but she didn’t. Her hand moved and pressed to his chest as he was closer to her, his shoes were long gone and he could feel Rafayel behind him rubbing his back in gentle circles. He felt his Beta’s mouth on his neck and he lifted her jaw, “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured before claiming her mouth with his own.

The moment Sylus’s lips met hers, her mind went blissfully blank. His kiss was firm yet, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to savor her. His lips moved against hers with an intoxicating mix of control and heat, and when his tongue brushed against her bottom lip she eagerly opened for him. A soft, helpless moan escaped her, muffled against his mouth, and she felt the rumble of his purr vibrate through his chest against her palm.

Her hand curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and Sylus didn’t resist. His presence, overwhelming and grounding all at once, was exactly what her body craved. The raw pull of her heat sharpened, her instincts screaming louder now that he was finally giving her what she needed. She could feel the controlled strength in the way he cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her cheek as if reminding her she wasn’t alone.

Behind him, Rafayel’s touches were steady and reassuring, the Beta’s fingers tracing slow soothing patterns along his back. The contrast between them was startling, but not unwelcome. Where Sylus was fire—intense and consuming—Rafayel was water, calming the burn and easing her into the storm.

“That’s it,” Rafayel breathed, leaning forward as his breath brushed against Sylus’s ear, “take care of our Omega,” he murmured before gently kissing his jaw, his eyes peering eagerly at where their mouths connected in a heated display.

The sound of his voice sent another shiver through her, and she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lips parted from Sylus's, who was heavy lidded with desire and thinly veiled control, feeling his pants tighten considerably as his rut edged closer the longer her scent was the oxygen he breathed.

“I can’t---I can’t think,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling as her heat clawed at her insides, leaving her slick dripping down her thighs.

“You don’t need to think,” Rafayel whispered, his tone firm yet reassuring. He reached out, brushing his fingers against her temple before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That's why we’re here—we’re going to take such good care of you, cutie.”

Rafayel stroked her cheek moving closer to her, her eyes fluttering close at his touch, the tenderness in his movements almost startling.

“You’re doing good, kitten,” he murmured against her skin, his mouth pressing to her neck as he gripped her waist and pulled her body flush against his own. “Let it happen, we’ll catch you.”

The knot of tension in her chest loosened at his words, and she exhaled shakily, her body instinctively leaning into him. Her heat was pulling her under, dragging her deeper with every second, but with Sylus’s strength and Rafayel’s calm presence surrounding her, she didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore.

Sylus shifted, edging further into her nest as she leaned back into the blankets, his hands moved carefully, one resting on her hip while the other continued to cup her jaw, keeping her grounded as his eyes searched hers. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes,” she breathed, the word slipping out without hesitation. Her fingers curled into his shirt again, pulling him closer as her heat roared through her, leaving no room for pride or second guessing. “Please.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened and he nodded once before lowering his head to kiss her again, this time less restrained and more heated. She melted into the blankets of her nest. Her body arching into his hand that tightened on her hip, his purr deepened, vibrating through her as he kissed her like he just couldn’t get enough.

Rafayel helped him take his shirt off, exposed the muscular expanse of his chest, he could tell his Alpha was warm and the last thing they needed was for him to overheat. Watching him with her had his own pants tightening and he tried to ignore it but the intensity was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Never had he ever felt this way when they were with other Omegas.

Rafayel tilted her mouth from Sylus’s and claimed her lips with his own, his kiss was so different from Sylus’s—softer, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. His hand cupped the side of her face and, his tongue meeting hers as she gasped against his mouth while Sylus pressed wet kisses to her neck, leaving small marks against her skin.

Her heart raced, her body trembling as her instincts took over completely. “That's it, kitten,” Sylus whispered against her skin as he removed the button up shirt exposing her to their gaze. He groaned and moved his lips down her chest rutting against her hip.

Sylus’s growl was deep and guttural as his eyes raked over her now exposed skin, drinking her in like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. His hands slid over her waist and up her ribs, his touch firm yet reverent as he explored every inch of her bare skin. She shivered under him, the mix of his overwhelming presence and Rafayel’s more measured touch creating a whirlwind of sensation that left her gasping.

“Look at you,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arousal as his lips brushed over the swell of her breast. He licked a slow teasing stripe over her skin, making her arch into him with a soft needy cry. His mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against her nipple before his tongue darted out to swirl around it. He groaned as she reacted, her fingers threading through his messy hair tugging gently.

“Beautiful,” Rafayel murmured, his voice soft but laced with hunger. He leaned over, his hair falling into  his face as he pressed a kiss to her jaw, then down the line of her throat. His hands moved with delicate precision, sliding over her thighs and spreading them to give her relief from the heat pooling between them. “You’re incredible, cutie. And you smell so good.”

Her body trembled as Rafayel’s fingers found the slick dripping down her inner thighs, his touch so gentle it almost felt teasing. Her scent spiked, and Sylus groaned into her skin, the sound vibrating against her chest. His hips rutted instinctively against her leg, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her as he tried to hold himself back.

The sounds of Rafayel’s fingers in her soaked heat caused him to groan, “Raf, don’t tease her…” his crimson gaze meeting his Beta’s oceanic one, darkened now with his own desire.

Rafayel smirked slightly, his fingers brushing higher, just barely skimming where she needed him most. “I’m not teasing,” he said, his tone playful, “I’m just making sure she’s ready.”

“I’m ready,” she moaned when she shifted her hips towards his hand and his fingers slipped past her soaked folds.

“You’re so ready,” he murmured his voice in awe of just how slick she was. He pressed a kiss down her chest nipping at her breast, tongue teasing her nipple and sucking it gently, grunting softly. He licked her skin down to her stomach and groaned as he rubbed against the scent gland on her hip before kissing her thighs. Her head fell back into the nest of blankets as the sensations began to overwhelm her, Sylus’s hot mouth on her lips and chest, Rafayel’s skilled fingers working into her heat with precision that had her hips bucking against his hand. The combination of their touches was too much and not enough all at once, driving her higher and higher as her heat burned hotter.

Sylus growled as his rut clawed at him as he watched her come undone around Rafayel’s fingers. He couldn’t hold back any longer, his thick fingers replacing his in her liquid heat and groaning. “Fuck,” hissed, “so fucking perfect.”

Rafayel leaned up, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hand stroked along Sylus’s arm, grounding his Alpha even as he added to the intensity. Their movements were perfectly coordinated, their touches seamless as they pushed her close and closer to another edge.

“You’re doing so good, cutie..” Rafayel whispered against her skin, “let go for us.”

Sylus’s pace quickened, his fingers thrusting into her as the other hand gripped her hip, steadying her. He groaned as her walls clenched around him, his control slipping further with every sound she made.

“Cum for me, Kitten,” Sylus growled, his voice rough and commanding as his fingers curled into her and his thumb stroking the bud at the top of her sex.

Her body tightened like a rubber band and snapped a strangled cry escaped, and Rafayel soothed her with praise as she spiraled. Her body trembled and twitched as he thrust his fingers through her release, lips claiming hers, swallowing her moans greedily. Sylus pulled his fingers from her heat and brought them to his mouth, his eyes blown wide with lust.

“Ready?” Rafayel asked him.

“I’ve been ready,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her after quickly discarding his clothes, wanting nothing more than to be bare against her soft skin.

His skin was feverishly hot against hers as he pressed her back into the blankets, his now bare skin flush with hers. His muscles were taught beneath her fingers, every inch of him humming with primal need. Her hands slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly over the hard planes of muscle, and Sylus shuddered at the touch. His breath was uneven as he buried his face in the crook over her neck, his lips pressing to her scent gland. “Fuck, Kitten…” he groaned, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste her scent directly from the source.

“You won’t break her, Sylus,” Rafayel soothed him, kissing along his spine, his fingers kneading the muscles there, “Breed her,” he whispered, “can’t you see how bad she wants it.”

The encouragement wasn’t needed but Sylus let out a rough exhale, his hands gripping her thighs spreading them further apart. He could feel the heat radiating from her slick drenched core. He felt as if he’d lost his mind; perhaps he had.

“Kitten.” He rasped, "I need to—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, her fingers tangling into his hand pulling him to her. “Sylus, please...Alpha…” she breathed.

That was all it took for his rut to truly snap into place. Sylus shifted, lining himself up, his thick cock pressing against her dripping heat. He hesitated for a second, feeling just how wet she was then pushed in slowly. She felt the burn as he stretched her in the most delicious way while the omega purred for the first time that night.

“Fuck..” he snarled, his fingers bruising against her hips as he forced himself to go slow, to savor that feel of her wrapped around him. “So fucking tight…”

Rafayel watched with heavy lidded desire, his lips parted as his hands slid over his back, “There you go, my love,” he whispered against his shoulder as Sylus bottomed out inside her his entire cock sheathed. “She can take you.” it was almost a sentence of awe, how no other Omega had ever been able to take him fully seated without some maneuvering.

She whimpered beneath him, her back arching as the thick length filled her to the brim, their combined fluids seeping out of her aching heat. The fullness inside her sent a shock wave through her already overheated body. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he groaned at the sensation.

“More,” she begged, her voice broken.

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, a filthy, wet sound filling the air as he buried himself to the hilt. She cried out, her hands clawing at him but he didn’t let up—his thrusts quickly building into a steady, punishing rhythm that had her gasping with every roll of his hips.

Rafayel’s fingers slid between them, too eager to include himself in the fun. He found her swollen clit, circling with expert precision. “That's it, cutie,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her open mouth as she panted, “You’re taking him so well, such a good omega,” he whispered into her mouth, swallowing her moans. They were his for the taking and he was ravenous.

Sylus growled against her throat, his teeth scraping against her scent gland. Marking in Alpha and Omega relationships was common, however, marking a scent gland was only done in very specific situations as it tied the alphas scent to the omegas. Bonding them. The fact that he was tempted at all was all too telling; they were a pheromone match and it had made them both delirious. Rafayel’s presence kept him grounded, kept him from completely losing himself in the mindless haze of his rut.

Rafayel chuckled, feeling the way Sylus was fighting himself, “You wanna bite her so bad…” he teased then nipped his ear lobe, kissed his shoulder and nipped it gently.

“Go ahead, she smells like she wants you to.”

Sylus groaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before he did bite—not hard enough to claim but enough to leave a deep possessive mark against her skin. She screamed as her entire body locked up as pleasure tore through her, her orgasm hitting like a freight train. Sylus cursed, feeling her tighten around him– he nearly lost it right then and there.

He slammed into her rough now, chasing his own release as her cries filled the room.

Rafayel kissed her through it, his fingers working her clit mercilessly, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she was shuddering beneath them, boneless and wrecked.

Sylus’s growl deepened, his thrusts turning frantic as his knot started to swell,  attempting to lock him inside her, his body desperate to fill her completely. “Fuck, kitten, I—”

“Do it,” she gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around him, her eyes wild and glazed with heat. “Knot me.”

That was all he needed.

With a final, devastating thrust, Sylus buried himself as deep as he could go, his knot catching and locking them together as he came with a broken snarl, his entire body shaking as he emptied himself inside her.

Rafayel groaned at the sight, pressing kisses down Sylus’s back as he rode out his release, his Beta’s hands stroking over his skin soothingly.

“That’s it,” Rafayel murmured, kissing the back of Sylus’s neck before leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “You’re perfect, both of you.”

She moaned weakly into his kiss, her body still trembling, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of everything. Sylus panted against her neck, his grip on her thighs loosening as he started to come down, his mind hazy but content.

“Fuck,” Sylus finally breathed, his voice hoarse. “You’re incredible, kitten.”

Rafayel chuckled, pressing a final kiss to Sylus’s shoulder before reaching for the water bottle nearby. “She is,” he agreed, bringing the bottle to her lips, helping her drink. “But don’t think we’re done just yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her breath still shaky as she swallowed the water Rafayel offered her.

Sylus smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, his crimson eyes still dark with hunger.

“We’re just getting started.”

Rafayel smirked as he set the water bottle aside, his eyes flicking between them. Sylus was still pressed close to her, his knot keeping them locked together as he pulsed cum straight into her. He craved that feeling. He’d taken Sylus’s knot more than a few times and while his physiology wasn’t necessarily made for it; it felt good. He leaned over her and kissed her softly, “You’re so soft,” he whispered, leaving a path of warmth in the wake over his hands that stroked her skin.

“I can’t believe how good you smell,” he murmured.

She whined softly as Sylus shifted slightly, his breath warm against her throat as he let out a deep, contented growl. He was still stuck inside her, his knot keeping them connected as his cock pulsed inside her pushing more and more cum into her. Rafayel could tell by the way Sylus’s fingers twitched next to her hips that he was watching, waiting, hungry to see what would happen next.

Her expression was dazed, her lips still swollen from the desperate kisses between gasps and moans. He brushed his fingers along her jaw, tilting her face up before kissing her again, this time more slowly, more indulgently.

Unlike Sylus, Rafayel wasn’t in rut; biologically he couldn’t ever be. But something was still pulling him in, something deeper. He had never felt this way before, never had an Omega’s scent affect him quite like this. She was burrowing under his skin, her heat more intoxicating than anything he’d ever encountered.

It wasn’t just biological—it was profound.

And it was making her feel it too.

She moaned into his mouth, her body arching toward him instinctively. Sylus groaned at the movement, but he didn’t complain. If anything, he seemed amused. “You’re already reaching for him, kitten?” he murmured, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder, still dazed from his ongoing climax. “That desperate already?”

“Yes,” she gasped into Rafayel’s mouth where his tongue met hers in a frenzied but passionate kiss. Her fingers curling into his hair tugging him close.

Rafayel chuckled against her lips, but the sound was strained, his own control fraying. He wasn’t usually the type to rush things—Sylus was the one driven by instinct, by sheer force—but right now, he wanted her just as badly. He cupped her cheek and moaned into her mouth guiding her hand gently to the band of his sweats, she didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand moved down his abdomen and into his pants, finally finding what she was looking for, her hand wrapping around a hot and thick cock that was sticky in her palm. She stroked him slowly and he groaned into her mouth, his hips rutting up into her hand.

They stayed like this for sometime, waiting for the swell of their Alpha’s knot to go down.

Sylus’s purring rumbled through her as he lazily nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his nose brushing that scent gland that he desperately wanted to mark. His satisfaction radiated from every breathy exhale, the slow aftershocks of his climax still making him twitch inside her. Yet, even through the lingering haze of his rut, he was watching—his crimson gaze flicking between her and Rafayel with curiosity and hunger.

Rafayel groaned into her mouth, his hips jerking slightly into her hand as she stroked him, her fingers slick with his arousal. His body was burning for her, craving the warmth and wetness he could feel against his fingertips as they trailed over her stomach.

“You’re trouble, cutie,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with amusement and lust. “Can’t even wait for your Alpha’s knot to go down before you start making a mess of me too.”

She whimpered softly, giving him another slow, teasing stroke. “Don’t act like you don’t want it,” she whispered, licking into his mouth, her heat still burning hot inside her, still pushing her toward more, more, more.

Sylus chuckled against her throat, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her thigh. “Raf’s the patient one, Kitten,” he mused, his voice a slow, sultry drawl. “But you keep touching him like that? He’s going to lose all that careful control.”

And he was losing it. Rafayel’s breath hitched as she twisted her wrist just right, making his cock jerk in her palm. His eyes darkened, his usual playful, easy going demeanor starting to unravel. It was then that she felt the knot slowly shrink and Sylus popped free from her a mess of slick and cum dripping out of her making her whimper.

“Turn over,” Rafayel murmured, voice husky as he pulled back slightly, watching her reaction.

She shivered at the command and whined at the loss of Sylus inside her, the underlying authority in his tone sending a jolt of arousal straight through her. The moment she could bring herself to, she did as Rafayel asked, rolling onto her stomach—her cheek pressed into the blankets of her nest.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, his large hands sliding down her back, his fingers kneading into the muscles there. He took his time, trailing his lips along her shoulder blades, soothing her with soft kisses, gentle licks.

Sylus shifted beside them, propping himself up to watch his eyes still hazed over for the time being—they all knew it wouldn’t last. “You going to give her what she wants, baby?” he asked him, his voice dripping with lazy satisfaction but his eyes burned with interest.

Rafayel smirked as he kissed down her spine, stopping at the curve of her ass. His fingers spread her open slightly, his breath hot against her dripping cunt. “She smells like you,” he whispered, voice full of reverence. “Still so needy.”

She gasped as he licked a slow, broad stripe over her slick folds, his tongue teasing her clit before delving deeper.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, her body trembling as his tongue worked her open, lapping at the mixture of her and Sylus like he was starving for it.

Sylus groaned, gripping her hair and turning her head just enough to kiss her. It was deep and filthy, his tongue dominating her mouth as Rafayel devoured her from behind.

“Look at you,” he murmured between kisses, his fingers lightly tugging at her scalp. “So perfect like this—taking everything we give you.”

Rafayel hummed against her core, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through her limbs. His hands kneaded at her thighs, holding her open for him as he worked her with practiced precision.

“Raf...please,” she begged, her body tensing as the pleasure built higher and higher, “I need—”

Placing one last lick on her clit before pulling back, “I know what you need, cutie,” his voice was raspy and low. He pulled his sweats off and kicked them away as he positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her entrance.

Sylus grabbed her chin, making her look at him. “You ready for him, kitten?” he asked as his eyes searched hers.

“Yes,” she moaned, pushing her hips back, desperate for more.

He groaned as he pushed inside, his breath hitching at the tight, slight heat that immediately wrapped around him. “Oh fuck,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he buried himself to the hilt.

She cried out at the stretch, the fullness, her body overwhelmed but craving every second of it.

“That’s it,” Rafayel groaned, pulling out just enough before slamming back in, his rhythm immediately rougher than before, fueled by need. “You feel..so fucking good.”

Sylus smirked, kissing her deeply, his fingers playing with her nipples as he watched Rafayel claim her—he admired the look of desperation on the man's face, his eyes trailing down the expanse of his chest. He felt his own cock twitching but he had more self control than that. At least for now.

Rafayel’s pace was fast, his body moving like he was made for this—like he was made for her. Every thrust sent shock waves through her already overstimulated body, and she could feel her release creeping closer, creeping up her spine.

“Close…” she gasped, gripping the blankets in her fists as her pleasure overwhelmed her senses.

“Cum for me, cutie,” Rafayel growled, one hand slipping beneath her to rub tight, teasing circles over her clit. “Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Unlike anything she ever experienced before, her body obeyed instantly. Pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave, her vision going white as she sobbed through her release. Rafayel groaned as she clenched around him, his pace stuttering as he chased his own climax. “Fuck...fuck—”

He thrust deep one final time before spilling inside her, his body trembling as he came with a low, shuddering groan. His hands held her tightly, his lips pressing kisses onto her shoulder, his body still moving in slow, lazy rolls, riding out every last wave of pleasure.

Sylus hummed in approval, stroking her hair as he kissed her temple. “Told you, kitten,” he murmured softly and lifted a bottle of water to her mouth.

“Drink,” it wasn’t him asking, it was a command. For several minutes he made her drink a little water every time she let out a small sigh, she was contented but he could tell she was falling into a slumber she likely wouldn’t wake from till morning.

He sighed as her breathing evened out, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion of her heat and the sheer intensity of what they had done to her. He brushed his fingers gently over her damp hair, his touch softer now, reverent. She was still working, slick between her thighs but her body was too spent to ask for more—for now.

“She’s out,” Rafayel murmured softly, his voice quiet in the dim light of the room. His hands stroked down her back absentmindedly, his fingers pressing slow, grounding circles into her skin. “She fought it, but I knew she wouldn’t last much longer.”

Sylus hummed in agreement, he studied her peaceful expression, the way her body remained pliant between them, trusting. He had never felt this settled before. His rut was satisfied for now—but his instincts weren’t screaming at him to get up, to pace, to search another fight or fuck. His Omega was here, their Omega, and something about that made his entire body relax in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“She’s not just some random match,” Sylus muttered, almost to himself. His fingers trailed over the possessive marks he’d left along her throat, and shoulders, lingering at the deep imprint of his teeth he had left over her scent gland. Not enough to bond her, but...fuck, he had wanted to.

Rafayel watched him carefully, his eyes dark with thought. “No,” he agreed after a long moment, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s not.”

Sylus let out a slow breath. “This heat felt different.”

Shifting closer, his bare chest pressing against Sylus’s side, his lips trailed over his shoulder in lazy, absent minded kisses. “Yeah… It’s her, she’s different. It’s not just the heat making us feel this way.”

Turning his head Sylus catches Rafayel’s mouth in a kiss, slow and unhurried. It was messy, deep, their tongues sliding together as Sylus tangled his fingers in the soft waves of Rafayel’s plum hair. The beta groaned softly, pressing closer, letting Sylus pull him deeper into the warmth of the nest.

A soft chuckle escaped the Beta, “You’re still wired.”

Chuckling, Sylus shifting slightly, his cock already half hard again, pressing against Rafayel’s thigh. “Can you blame me?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes fondly, sliding a hand down his chest, over the taught muscles of his stomach, before gripping him loosely, stroking him just enough to make his breath hitch. “Poor alpha,” he teased, “Still needy, even after all that.”

Sylus growled, his patience snapping as he rolled Rafayel onto his back, pinning to the nest beneath him. His eyes gleamed as he pressed his weight against him, grinding against his stomach, their cocks flush.

“You knew what you were doing, teasing me like that,” Sylus muttered, dragging his teeth over Rafayel’s jaw before kissing him hard. “You love getting me worked up.”

Rafayel moaned, arching into him, his own cock twitching. “Maybe,”

Grabbing his wrists, Sylus pinned them above his head as he used the slick coming off his own cock to prepare him as he lined himself up. His breath ragged—he didn’t waste time—he couldn’t. Rafayel’s teasing, his scent, her scent, the way his lips were already swollen from their earlier kisses. It was too much.

He pushed inside slowly with a deep shuddering groan, feeling Rafayel stretch around him

Gasping, Rafayel’s eyes rolled back slightly. “F-fuck—”

Sylus didn’t start slow. He didn’t want to be slow. His body was still humming with need to take, to own and Rafayel knew that—wanted that. Sylus fucked into him with sloppy, desperate thrusts, his grip bruising on his hips as he chased the heat pooling in his gut.

Rafayel loved this, loved the way Sylus lost himself in him, fucked him like he was the only thing keeping him from going feral. His moans were breathy, punched out of him with every snap of his lover's hips, his body pliant, open.

Sylus growled against his throat, licking over his scent gland, tasting the sweat and heat on his skin. He wasn’t an Omega, but Sylus still wanted to mark him, to claim him in a way words couldn’t define. His rut was far from over, tamed for now by her slickness, but his instincts still roared for this, for them, for her sleeping beside them.

“Say you’re mine,” Sylus snarled against his jaw, his thrusts becoming erratic, rougher, sloppier.

He moaned, wrapping his legs around Sylus’s waist, his fingers digging into his back. “I’m yours,” he gasped, his nails scraping down his spine. “Yours, Sylus.”

A strangled groan escaped Sylus, his teeth clamping down onto Rafayel’s shoulder, enough to claim. Rafayel cried out, his entire body tensing, his cock jerking between them as he came, his release smearing between their stomachs.

Sylus wasn’t far behind. With a final, broken growl, he slammed deep into Rafayel one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his knot swelled, locking him inside. His body shook with the force of it, his cum spilling deep inside his Beta as he collapsed over him, panting against his throat, laving at the bite mark he’d placed there.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies tangled, sweat cooling on their skin.

Then, Sylus shifted, his knot popping from Rafayel’s tender hole, grimacing softly. He rolled onto his side and pulled him against him, kissing him softly. “You okay?”

Rafayel chuckled breathlessly, “I think you broke me.”

Sylus snorted fondly, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a lazy kiss against his forehead. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” Rafayel admitted, sighing contentedly as he melted into Sylus’s warmth. “I do.”

They both turned their heads toward the Omega sleeping soundly beside them.

“She’s out,” Sylus murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain.

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah,” he whispered, “she is.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

The next time she stirred, it was to the feeling of gentle fingers running through her hair and the distant sound of running water. The room was still warm, the heavy scent of heat and sex lingering in the air, but the haze in her mind had softened, the worst of her exhausting ebbing away.

“You awake, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice was soft, soothing, his fingers still stroking over her scalp. She let out a soft hum in response, nuzzling into the blankets, her body sore but pleasantly so.

Rafayel chuckled, shifting closer to press a kiss to her temple. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fond amusement. “Let's get you cleaned up before you pass out again.”

She made a noise of protest, but before she could burrow deeper into the nest that smelt of them, strong arms slipped under her, lifting her with ease.

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled against his chest, too tired to put any real bite behind it.

“I know,” he replied with a grin, carrying her toward the bathroom, his ocean eyes gleaming happily. “But you love it.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so damn tired. Instead, she let herself relax into his warmth, her limbs heavy and pliant as he brought her into the steamy bathroom. The shower was already running, warm mist curling around them, filling the air with the scent of clean soap. Rafayel eased her down carefully, helping her step under the spray, his hands never leaving her skin.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

She nodded, blinking up at him. “Yeah,” she murmured, feeling the water wash over her, easing away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. “Just….tired.”

“Figured,” he smirked, stepping into the shower behind her, running his hands over her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. “You were a little busy, after all.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but before she could retort, Rafayel’s fingers worked over her scalp lathering in the shampoo with slow careful strokes. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and she let out an involuntary sigh, her body sinking further into him.

He chuckled, “that good?”

She hummed in response, tilting her head into his touch, the intimacy of it making her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her heat. Rafayel had been so careful with her, so steady. His hands worked over her like she was something precious, something to be careful of.

She wasn’t used to that.

“Let me take care of you, cutie, “he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just relax.”

So she did.

By the time they emerged from the shower, she felt lighter, more grounded, the sharpest edge of her heat dulled—at least for now. The scent of food hit her first, something warm and savory drifting through the apartment.

“You cooked?” she asked, her voice still a little rough from sleep as she leaned against the doorway.

Sylus, who was standing by the stove, shot her a smirk over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweats, his messy white hair still damp from a shower of his own. “Raf cooked, “he corrected, “I just taste tested.”

She snorted, moving to sit at the counter, her body still feeling a little too loose and content to argue. Rafayel slid a plate in front of her—an omelet with onions, peppers, salmon and cheese. On the side, he had cut up some fruit and put it in a bowl with some granola. Simple, but it made her stomach growl on sight.

“Eat,” Rafayel said, nudging a fork toward her. “You need it.”

She obeyed, shoving a bite into her mouth. It was good—perfectly seasoned and warm, filling.

Sylus leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched her eat with an amused expression. “Guess she was hungry,” he mused.

“Told you,” the other replied.

Despite the teasing, something warm settled in her chest as she ate. This—whatever this was—felt natural. Comfortable.

And the way they were both looking at her, it made her heat start to rise all over again.

She didn’t mean to end up on her knees in her nest, but somehow, it’s exactly where she was. Rafayel was beside her, his eyes gleaming with playful competition as they both pressed closer to Sylus, who was now leaning back against the blankets, half-hard already from the way she and Rafayel had been teasing him.

“Think we can make him lose that famous control of his?” Rafayel mused, his lips brushing against her ear as his fingers traced over her thigh.

She smirked, eyes locked on Sylus’s already darkening gaze. “I think we can.”

Sylus scoffed, but there was a tightness to his jaw, his hands clenching at his sides like he was waiting for them to move. “You two are ridiculous.”

Rafayel grinned, reaching to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You love it.”

Sylus growled lowly, his hips jerking slightly into his hand, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up and use that pretty mouth of yours.”

Rafayel laughed, but he obeyed, leaning down to press a slow, wet kiss to the top of Sylus’s cock before licking a long and teasing stripe up the length of him.

She followed his lead, mirroring his movements on the other side, their tongues brushing against each other as they worked Sylus in tandem. The groan that tore from his throat was filthy, his head tilting back against the blankets, his muscles tensing beneath them.

“Fuck,” Sylus hissed, his fingers threading into Rafayel’s hair, then into hers, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

Rafayel shot her a smirk. “Watch closely, cutie,” he murmured before taking Sylus into his mouth, his lips stretching around his length, his throat relaxing effortlessly. She swallowed, heat pooling low in her stomach at the sight.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, pulling back slightly, his hand still stroking the base of Sylus’s cock. "Like this.”

She followed his lead, dragging her tongue slowly around the tip, teasing just like Rafayel had. Sylus groaned, his grip on her hair tightening.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, shooting her a wicked grin before going down again, his mouth hollowing around Sylus as he sucked.

She followed, their movements synchronized, teasing, drawing ragged curses and groans from Sylus as his restraint started to crack. Their mouths and tongues each covering one side of his cock up and down his length soft whimpers from them both at his heady scent as their tongues touched in a partial kiss around his cock.

When he finally broke, he grabbed their heads and fucked up between their mouths with a desperate growl.

Sylus snapped. His grip in their hair was firm, controlling, as he fucked up between their mouths his cock slick with their spit, their tongues working together to drive him over the edge. His growls filled the air, ragged and demanding. His control shattered completely as his thick length twitched.

“Fucking—fuck,” Sylus panted, his head tilting back against the pillows, his muscles tensing as he used them, barely able to decide which one he wanted more.

She moaned as she felt Rafayel’s tongue meet hers as they lapped at his cock eagerly. Rafayel let out a breathy chuckle around his cock. It was filthy, and hot as they shared the taste of him.

Sylus’s breath hitched, his grip tightening and then with a sharp groan he came his cock twitching as ropes of thick cum landed on their mouths and face. They worked together to swallow down what he gave them, licking at him, cleaning him up with soft, slow drags of their tongues until his body sagged into the nest.

He looked wrecked.

But not done.

His crimson eyes flickered open, hazy, dark with the need still lingering in his gut. His rut was still there, but her heat-- the scent of it, the feel of it clinging in the air, still rising—was pulling him back under.

His growl was low, warning, as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her up onto his lap. His lips crashed against hers. His tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting himself on her, his hands slid over her skin, nails biting into her hips.

“You want me again, kitten?” he murmured against her lips, his voice teasing, “can smell it on your-fuck-your heats kicking back up isn’t it?”

She whimpered, nodding, rocking her hips against him, already desperate for him again. Rafayel hummed, licking his lips as he sat back on his heels, watching. “Guess she can’t help it,” he mused, fingers trailing over her spine. “She’s an Omega. She needs you, Sylus.”

A groan pulled from him, his cock already hardening under her, “Fuck, you’re right.”

And then he was flipping her, pressing her down onto the nest, his body covering hers, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread her open beneath him. She gasped, her body arching, and then he was inside her, hot and deep, stretching her all over again.

He didn’t start slow this time. He couldn’t.

Sylus slammed into her, his growl vibrating against her throat as he fucked her rough and deep, chasing the heat, the primal, instinctive need to fill her, to breed her.

“Fuck, kitten,” he panted, his hands gripped her waist, holding her still as he ruined her. “Feel so fucking good—can’t get enough of you—”

She sobbed his name, her body burning, her nerves on fire, her slick dripping onto the blankets. She could feel her orgasm creeping closer, every hard thrust pushing her further into it, making her whimper, making her beg. Sylus groaned, his pace stuttering as his knot began to swell again, one thrust, two thrusts, three and he groaned as it caught the fourth time.

“I got you, kitten,” he growled, “gonna fill you.”

“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails dragging down his back, “Please, Sylus—“

His cock stayed in her, stuck as he filled her with rope after rope of cum. Grinding deep as he spilled, her body opening up for him. She came with a broken cry, her walls clenching down and milking him, making him snarl into her throat. Tempted once again to mark her and make her officially theirs.

For a long moment, they just breathed, tangled in each other, the aftermath still humming in the air. When he slipped from her the sound of his cock slipping out of her soaked pussy made him groan.

Then, Sylus turned his head, eyes landing on Rafayel, his rut in full force now.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” Sylus drawled, his voice rough but teasing.

Rafayel huffed out a laugh, stretching out beside them, his own cock hard and aching between his legs. “You are good at reading me.”

Sylus grinned, “get between her legs.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening, but he obeyed. “Fuck, she’s soaked,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste her, his voice reverent.

Sylus chuckled as he moved behind Rafayel and lifted his hips up so he was on his knees, bent over with his mouth on her cunt. “Lick her clean,” Sylus commanded, his voice edged with something dark and possessive.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched on to her, licking deep, drinking from her, his tongue slipping inside, tasting both her slick and Sylus’s cum as he moaned against her.

The action had him feeling drunk, surrounded by their scent, his own cock twitching in anticipation. She cried out, her entire body shaking, the over stimulation nearly too much.

And then, Sylus was behind him. Strong hands gripping his hips, dragging him back. Rafayel groaned, his tongue still buried in her as Sylus used his cum soaked fingers to ready him for his cock. One finger, then two, then he pressed the head of his length to the opening before pushing inside in a single thrust.

“Fuck,” Rafayel sobbed against her, his whole body shuddering.

Sylus growled, his grip bruising as he fucked into him, his pace immediately unforgiving. Her moans, their moans all echoing off the walls of her room. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against her.

“Good boy,” Sylus purred, his breath hot against his spine as he fucked into him with deep short thrusts. “Just like that,” he whispered, and they all came together.

It was too much. It was perfect.

And none of them wanted it to stop.

The aftermath was a slow, breathless tangle of limbs, bodies collapsing into the nest, still warm and slick with sweat and release. Their bodies were exhausted but sated—for now. The room was thick with the scent of sex… of them. A scent that had become something familiar, something that felt like home.

Rafayel was the first to move, rolling onto his back, his chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. A lazy, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he turned to look at them.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice rough, “that was...something.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh, curling instinctively into Sylus’s side, pressing her face against his chest. “That's one way to put it.”

Sylus chuckled, his arm tightening around her, pulling Rafayel closer with the other, sandwiching them between his warmth. His fingers idly stroked over her back, then up into Rafayel’s damp, tangled hair, smoothing it out as he kissed his temple.

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me now,” Sylus murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something real.

Rafayel sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his Alpha’s touch. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She swallowed, tilting her head up to look at them both. There was an understanding between them, something unsaid but deeply felt.

This wasn’t just a heat arrangement.

This wasn’t just Sylus scratching the itch of his rut.

This was more.

And it terrified her—but it also settled something deep inside her, something she hadn’t even realized had been so restless before.

The desire for a family.

Sylus must have sensed the hesitation in her, because he cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward him, focused. “Kitten,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She hesitated, then let out a small, shaky laugh. “I guess, I just...didn’t expect this.”

Rafayel shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her closely. “Expected what?”

“This,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “to want this, to want you, both of you.”

Sylus’s grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she might slip away. “You do want this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

She exhaled slowly, her body still aching, still sensitive—but there was no denying the truth of it. She nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

His entire body relaxed as he pulled her in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Good.” he murmured against her skin. “Because I’m not fucking letting you go.”

Rafayel chuckled, rolling onto his stomach so he could drape himself over both of them. “Possessive.” he teased, “typical alpha behavior.”

Sylus shot him a flat look. “Shut up, you love it.”

Rafayel smirked, but there was nothing but fondness in his gaze. “I do.”

She felt warmth spreading through her chest as she relaxed into them, letting their scents surround her, wrap around her like something safe.

“We don’t have to define anything right now,” Rafayel murmured after a moment, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. “We don’t have to rush it, but we do have to acknowledge it.”

Sylus made a small disgruntled noise. “I already know what I want.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “I want you, both of you. And I will make you mine.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

And neither of them wanted to argue anyway.

Rafayel smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly, “Yeah?” he murmured against his lips. “That's a promise, Alpha?”

Sylus growled, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him again, slow and deep. “Damn right it is.”

She watched them, her heart swelling in her chest. This felt right. It felt good. It felt real.

For the first time in a long time she wasn’t afraid of it. She smiled, pressing a kiss to Sylus’s shoulder then to Rafayel’s cheek before settling between them. Their warmth cocooned her completely. “We’ll figure It out,” she murmured.

Sylus grunted, already half-asleep, his grip on them protective. “Damn right, we will.”

And as they drifted off, tangled in each other there were no doubts in any of their minds.

This was theirs.

And none of them were letting go.

[quarterlifekitty]

okay, I had been thinking about but after you commented on my post it’s just— [explodes]

maybe a weaknesses post with the CoD men on your monthly? I’m begging on my knees, I’m sure they (König) could fix me❤️‍🩹✨also thinking about how König probably refers to it as “strawberry week” (German euphemism for it) [explodes pt 2]

Maybe? Machveil. For you? Anything. Also, please look at my favorite period euphemisms, found while researching for this post:

ペリー来航 - Arrival of Matthew Perry

Le petit clown qui saigne du nez - The little clown with a nose bleeding

Weaknesses part 9: the red death

cw: period play, breeding mention, exhibitionism mention

Gaz grew up with a sister— he is no stranger to the ill tidings that come with owning a uterus. He’s a man that probably already has pads and tampons at his place for guests. And Gaz is the kind of son of a bitch who kinda likes it when you’re sick, cause it means he gets to spend time nursing you— so he loves your period. Picking up comfort foods, doing a bit of extra laundry, making sure your vibrator is charged. He calls it “Lady time”.

Soap is not very sympathetic in this matter. He finds it kinda funny, to be honest. He’ll still do anything you ask, but he has a condescending little smile on his face. Calls you his little ketchup packet. Tickles you, knowing it makes you gush a little. That said, he will eat you out during it. His doglike nature knows no bounds. Refers to it as being “on the rag”.

Ghost is like a knight in your royal service when you’ve got a rough menstrual. At your command in any matter, no matter the inconvenience, with no complaint. While he will fuck you and make you cum, it’s purely for your benefit. Blood usually reminds him a bit too much of work for it to be a huge turn on. But he does melt under the praise of “none of my boyfriends before would do this for me— they all said it was gross :(“. Makes him feel like a real man. He calls it Shark Week.

Price feels, in just the tiniest way, like resources have been wasted when you get your period. Like… you’re paying rent on an empty apartment (your baby chamber) when it could be full (with a baby). He’ll never say that, but it’s in the back of his mind. And if you loudly complain about being on you’re period a lot he’ll be like “I know a way to make it stop for a while :{)” (the curly bracket is his mustache). Like man, shut up. Also, blame it on being English, but he’s constantly offering tea for every single symptom. He calls it “code red”.

König. This is a sick man. He feels a bit bad about it, but he does like that your period makes you so slick, and so sensitive— he doesn’t even have to do anything to get you going before he fucks you. Despite his career, he rather likes the look of your blood all over his cock and splashing up his pelvis. And he gets super proud if he’s the first man to ever fuck you on your period. He buys you a big, expensive box of imported chocolate truffles when you’re having a terrible period. Calls it “Erdbeerwoche” (strawberry week).

Nikolai… patron saint of your helplessness. Thinks of your period as a part of his responsibility as your man. Happy wife happy life type of thing. He does a lot of cooking. And he keeps you perched on his thigh at every opportunity for as long as you can stand it. He’s got a hand dipping into your panties and playing with you throughout the day (his non dominant, but that’s never stopped him) while he works, relaxes, entertains guests (Price). Makes you cum until you’re a boneless mess, your blood soaked clean through his jeans. Calls it “Красная шапочка (krasnaya shapochka)” (little red riding hood)

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (V)

In a rather unlucky turn of events, you find yourself kidnapped for being in the wrong place during a gang war. Worry not, your yakuza boyfriend is at your service. Yet another bloody reason not to mess with him.

Content: female reader, organized crime, violence, gore, obsessive behavior

[Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

"Damn it!"

The scarred man throws another tile into the pile, clicking his tongue.

"I gotta say, you're pretty good for a foreigner." A second man with an eyepatch remarks, carefully inspecting his set before retrieving a tile of his own. "Pung."

You take another greedy sip of the cheap sake and slam the little cup back on the table.

"Kind of inevitable to learn mahjong when your only friends in this country are yakuza." You look up towards your captor with a frown. "You guys ever heard of board games or something?"

"Try to explain new rules to this dumbass!" A third man angrily pours himself another glass, pointing towards the first. "Fuck, I could iron clothes on that smooth brain of yours!"

"Fuck off, you're not any better." The scarred man continues his turn with furrowed brows. 

"If I were you I'd keep quiet about being pals with the yakuza. They'll question you, too, after the office guy. Don't make it worse." The man wearing an eyepatch mentions in a lowered voice. The table suddenly goes quiet.

"When is he coming out?" You ask hesitantly, bile pooling in your mouth. You already suspect the answer.

"He's not. Bodies are discarded through the back entrance." He pats the ash off and takes another drag off his cigarette. 

You swallow. 

Being involved with the Triad was not part of your new year resolutions, yet here you are about to be interrogated by the local Chinese syndicate. At least the lackeys have taken pity on you, a poor civilian caught in the middle of their rivalry. Hence the fake sense of normalcy as you chitchat at the mahjong table with a cup of sake to ease your wrecked nerves. 

"I'm guessing they won't be as friendly back there." You nod towards the door, where they took your work superior several hours ago. 

"No." 

That's all you get and you can only smile bitterly. Huh. You wonder if this is how Daitou's victims feel, helplessly waiting for whatever is brought upon them. Having to watch him unwrap his tool belt, stuffed with rusty old tools littered in blotches of dried up blood. Pondering his questions while he eyes the row delectably, hovering his hand over the potential ways to loosen up the tongue.

Would they torture you, too? Hopefully not. It should be rather obvious you're just a mere civilian. Then again, if your work superior mentioned anything about you being Daitou's girlfriend...He's never told you anything downright incriminating, but it'll be hard to convince these fellows that you truly are clueless.

Maybe they'll let you go if you offer your finger as a token of peace. Your forehead wrinkles at the thought. Isn't it more of a Japanese custom anyways? And if they say yes, then what? Do they provide you with the required utensils or are you expected to improvise on the spot?

You remember one of Daitou's seniors describing the process in great detail during the Christmas party. You had asked him about it, purely out of curiosity, and he certainly delivered almost more than your stomach was able to handle (Daitou scolded him later for telling you too much). You take the tatami mat and preferably wrap it in cloth, to soak up the blood. Any sharp blade will do, but traditionally you'd be offered a proper tantō that can easily slice through the bone. Obviously you want to cut as little as possible, so you still have some functionality remaining. Right above the joint. You must put all of your body weight into the thrust, otherwise the cut won't be clean and it turns into a mess. 

Hell. You wipe the cold beads of sweat that have formed on your face. You can barely chop an onion. Maybe one of the gangsters has enough experience and goodwill to offer to do it for you. Then you only have to clench your teeth and prepare for the blow. It can't be that bad. Surely the shock will be too great, and your brain won't even register it. Before you know it, they'll dip your hand in ice and rush you to someone fit to perform the aftercare. Yeah. That should to the trick. 

"Hey, foreigner. It's your turn."

"Leave her be, can't you see she's pale?"

You glance up and notice the men looking at you expectantly. They've already showed you plenty of kindness from the moment they shoved you in that black van with the rest of the office workers. Perhaps you can rely on them one final time. You suddenly bow, head pressing against the table. They're somewhat startled by your gesture. 

"I'm deeply sorry to ask, but might any of you be knowledgeable in blades?"

"H-huh? What for?"

You ceremoniously slam your hand onto the table, rattling the mahjong tiles. You struggle to let the words out, but try to maintain a straight face, picturing Shozo Hirono's cool attitude when he performed the deed himself in Battles without Honor and Humanity. 

"Would your Boss be satisfied with a yubitsume? I cannot offer anything else of use."

You feel a harsh hand smack against the back of your neck and you cough, taken out of your focus.

"Dumbass! What the hell are you talking about? Why would our Boss need the finger of a civilian, and a woman on top of that? 笨人!" The man with an eyepatch is red and flustered as he scolds you. The other two are holding back their snickers, amused by the scene.

"Let her! I have a knife on me right now." The scarred man comments with a grin. "Whaddaya say, kid? Or have you changed your mind already?"

"A man never goes back on his word." You bark and straighten your back, crossing your arms imposingly. 

The eyepatch man smacks you again and the other two begin clapping, terribly entertained by your tomfoolery. 

The spectacle doesn't last long. Within seconds, you jump out of your seat at the sound of rapid gunshots and scattered, erratic shouts.

Daitou bows before his Seniors and mumbles a polite, monotonous greeting. It's highly unusual to have the Lieutenants gathered at the office like this. Kazuya is fidgeting in his seat, Boss is away on a trip. What else could require everyone's immediate attendance? He makes his way to the blonde man and drops himself on the sofa, awaiting the details. 

"Wakasugi has been taken."

A chaotic murmur ensues. 

"He's been making offers for a building in a neutral area. That's where the Chinese sell their drugs and they claim it to be their turf. I hear some of our newbies got caught dealing that shit as well. Boss has been on their throats for some time now and this is their way to say fuck you."

Ah. More gang rivalry drama. Daitou presses his lips together, trying his best to hold back a yawn threatening to escape his mouth. Hopefully they'll leave him out of it, he has a date planned with you and he'd rather not show up reeking of rotten flesh. 

If you get kidnapped, think of yourself as already dead. The Yakuza doesn't negotiate. They just get their revenge tenfold. Unless it's someone important, like the Boss himself, the honorable way is to die without betraying your Family. 

"Just put a few bullets in them. Should teach them a lesson." He says while stretching. 

"Yeah, we're sending Oota and his men to deal with it. Just be on the lookout." One of the Seniors responds. 

"Still, the fucking guts on them. To show up at the office, right before our eyes-" Another man cries out, frustration in his voice.

"What did you say?" 

Kazuya flinches. He knows where this is going and he glares at the outraged yakuza, trying to silence him. Sadly he doesn't take the hint.

"Right? They just waltzed in, shot some of our guys and took Wakasugi and whoever was nearby. Heh, what are they gonna do with a bunch of office assistants? Extra weight to carry to the dump."

"Enough!" Kazuya's exasperated yell causes everyone to quiet down.

There are several confused looks being exchanged before everyone's eyes eventually rest on Daitou, now staring ahead motionless. Didn't his girlfriend work at that office? The Senior giving out the initial order has realized the mistake. He quickly clears his throat and is about to speak, but Daitou abruptly stands up and heads for the door.

"Oi! I said we're leaving it to Oota. This isn't your job." 

He tries to repeat his words with confidence, but his voice falters towards the end when faced with Daitou's massive frame. Particularly the barrel that's now pressing into his forehead.

"Mind your fucking business or I'll kill you right here." Daitou threatens.

"D-don't think Boss will help you out of this one, brat. If you go, you're disobeying your Senior."

The tall yakuza smirks mockingly. 

"See if you can run for Boss with your skull split open, bitch."

Kazuya slaps the gun aside and steps between the men.

"Just let him go. I'll take responsibility." He pleads, his friend already slamming the door behind him. 

Once the aggressor has left, everyone exhales discreetly in relief.

"He'll get us in trouble with the cops." The Senior retorts to the blonde in a berating tone.

"What else do you suggest? You know there's no way around it if he's pissed."

No one replies to what seems to be an universally agreed upon truth.

He blows out the smoke and crushes the cigarette under his foot. Fuck. He needs to calm down. They most likely haven't killed you, but if they laid a single hand on you...He's blacking out again. Whatever blinding rage possessed him back in his youth, when his Boss got wounded, would now pale in comparison. His ears are ringing and his vision is foggy. He can't even recall how he made it to their building. Or how he got past the guards. Although that one's easy to figure out, judging from their twisted throats. 

He checks his rounds one final time and kicks the heavy metal door open. Only about a dozen of them, but no sign of you yet. Should take a minute. It is time for him to pay his respects. 

"What the fuck was that?" the scarred man swiftly takes out his weapon and knocks the stool over with his foot.

If it is who you think it is...Your face twists in fear.

"Listen, you've been nice to me so I don't want to see you dead. Could you...could you leave, please? It might be someone I know and I promise you there's no point in fighting back."

The noticeable quiver in your speech might lead one to believe you're awaiting your executioner, not your savior and boyfriend. But you've seen Daitou angry and the ordeal flooded the very marrow of your bones with terror. Naturally he could never be upset at his darling for any reason, ever. Whoever poses a threat to you, however, can't say the same thing. You remember trying to pull him back from a random drunk that had groped you during an outing, and he tightly gripped your jaw with a bloodied hand and nearly ordered you in a ragged growl: "Hey. I said I'll be done in a moment. Be a good girl and close your eyes." 

Thus, from experience, you know he'd never listen to your pleas. Maybe if he was lucid enough, but not in this manic state. The man wearing an eyepatch scans your expression attentively. Your worry is genuine and the other room is gradually becoming quieter, but not in a way that'd inspire him confidence. He certainly doesn't feel like dying today and there's nothing honorable about throwing yourself into a senseless battle. He nods at the other two men and he asks you one last time if you'll be fine by yourself, to which you shake your head vehemently. Please go away already. 

The final obstacle crumbles under Daitou's weight and you fiddle with your glass, alone, at the mahjong table. He seems to be taken aback, and once he confirms you're not in any pain or discomfort, his demeanor switches within an instant. 

"Where's everyone?"

"They ran away."

"Just like that? And left you here?" He stares at you, baffled.

"Maybe there's some still in the back. These ones left because I asked them to."

He approaches you, still bewildered and confused. He looks like a lost dog.

"What? They were nice to me and I didn't want you to kill them. You never listen when I tell you to stop." You huff, pouting and folding your arms.

"Sorry. I got a little bit anxious." He kneels before you and extends a hand apologetically. "Friends again?"

"Wash your hands at least, I don't want to know what organ remains you have stuck through your fingers."

He chuckles and wipes the palm against his shirt. You follow his movements and notice the bullet wounds near the ribcage. This madman. You speedily bend to his level and remove his jacket to inspect the injuries.

"Christ. Take off your shirt and let's at least stop the bleeding before we leave. How the hell can you still stand with all these holes in you?"

Daitou unbuttons his shirt obediently and you try to wrap it around his abdomen. You notice the thick, wide scar crossing his stomach, presently smeared with blood. Either his or someone else's. 

"Now that I think about it, how did you get this scar? From a gang fight as well?"

"Oh no, I got this in prison. I was supposed to serve many more years, but one of the Seniors rang and said Boss needs me for something. They were in talks with the police chief to maybe bribe my way out. 

But I felt terrible knowing that Boss would be wasting money on my mistakes. At the time the place was overcrowded, so I figured they'd let me out for medical emergencies. So I cut my stomach open and they counted it as a suicide attempt." He responds with a proud grin. 

You grimace a little at the mental image. 

The cloth has been tightly, albeit clumsily secured around his gashes and you both get up. It occurs to you that throughout this mess you haven't feared for your life once. It feels like Daitou is always there to get you out of trouble. Despite his unorthodox methods.

You gaze up at him and notice the prosthetic eye has rolled inwards, so you adjust it slightly with your finger. He follows your romantic gesture with a quick peck on the lips. 

"You'll get yourself killed one day." You whine, tired.

"And leave you alone? Never. You're stuck with me for life."

He flashes you a wide smile and pats your head.

"Can we still go on that date?" The yakuza suddenly remembers, guiding you as you zigzag your way among fresh corpses.

So he hasn't forgotten. A faint blush dusts your cheeks.

"Sure, but I'd like to have a bath first."

"Then let's have one together." He suggests cheerfully, completely unbothered by whatever just happened.  

Tags: @yandere-city2 @lokiofasgard12 @zeniiis @lucienbarkbark @channelinglament @your-next-daydream @bath1lda @murder-hobo @zanzie

[magicswordszin]

You're My Witch

“you’re my witch,” the doll says simply when I ask why it was following me.

“I’m not a witch.” It’s a little sad to see an abandoned doll, but it’s more annoying that it imprinted on me. I finish my coffee and stand up to leave. “I hope you find her.”

It doesn’t answer, just stands up with me and follows, walking a few steps behind down the sidewalk. I sigh, hoping people won’t get the wrong idea. Well, it’s not like anyone else will mistake me for a witch. When I go to work, the doll waits outside. I keep glancing out the window, thinking that it will have gotten bored and left, but it’s probably silly to think that a doll will get bored.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” I ask on my lunch break.

It shrugs at me, then after my shift it follows me home.

“Please leave me alone.”

“sorry,” it says, not sounding sorry at all.

It waits outside my apartment building. I consider calling the cops on it, but then I think about what they might do to it if it doesn’t go away. The doll doesn’t deserve that. It isn’t like it’s dangerous. Just a little annoying. I wake up in the middle of the night and look outside. It’s still there, standing still in the shadow between the garages, where it can be seen from my window. It’s not look toward me, though.

It isn’t trying to peer inside like a stalker; it just wants to make sure I can see it.

I put on clothes and go outside.

“It’s kind of chilly out.”

“don’t worry about me, miss. this one doesn’t feel the cold.”

I suppose that makes sense. It isn’t shivering or anything.

“Can I get you anything? You don’t…eat, right?”

“this one does not. but…if you could wind its key, it would be grateful.”

I’m not totally sure I want its gratitude, but it turns around to show the key on its back. I wind it a few times until it says “thank you, that’s enough.” And then I go back inside.

It follows me around again the next day, too. When I go home, I think about it standing out in the parking lot again and get sad, so I ask “Would you like to come inside?”

“this one has no particular preference.”

“Okay,” I say, “well, it’ll bother me, so if you’re just going to stand out in the cold otherwise, then please come in.”

“yes, miss.”

“Don’t call me miss.”

“oh. would…sir be preferable?”

“Listen, just call me Mike.”

“yes, sir, michael.”

*

Letting the doll in was maybe a mistake. It solved one problem, because the doll no longer follows me around all day long. But now I have a roommate that insists on cleaning up after me.

“You don’t need to do that.”

The doll pauses momentarily in cleaning the oven to shrug.

“Please, stop.”

It looks up at me, blinks, and stops. Just fully freezes in place. I panic, then make sure its key hasn’t wound down. No, it’s fine. It’s pouting because I told it not to clean the stupid oven. Well, that won’t work on me. I pull it out of the way, put away the cleaning supplies, and go about my business. But the next morning when it’s still frozen in place in the kitchen I snap.

“Okay, okay, fine,” I say. It starts moving again as though nothing had happened. It pulls out the cleaning supplies and resumes the job. “I’m sorry.”

“it’s quite alright,” it say, utterly without rancor. “it is difficult to become a witch.”

“I’m not a witch.”

The doll smiles at me.

*

I have to watch what I say around it, because if it sounds like I’m giving it an order, it will do it. I have to watch what I do around it, because if I thoughtlessly make a mess, it will immediately start cleaning it up. It’s stressful. I think about what I’m doing all the time now. I didn’t want to adopt this stupid doll and now my whole damn life is based around it.

It’s better, though. My apartment is so much nicer when it’s clean. And it feels nice to clean up after myself so that the doll doesn’t have to. I’m eating a lot better, too, because I don’t want to just eat frozen pizza when it’s watching and it helps carry the groceries. It makes me tea in the afternoon, which I always thought was something I wouldn’t like but is actually pretty good.

The doll doesn’t talk much, but that’s okay because I don’t either. I used to do a lot of online gaming, but I’ve started preferring the doll’s silent companionship.

I still feel bad, though. It’s expecting something from me.

“I’d like to be a witch for you,” I tell it, “but I don’t know how.”

“a witch is not something you do. it is something you are.” It shrugs. “don’t worry. you don’t need to do anything. you’re my witch.”

I’m not, though.

*

I go to a witch bar. I think, maybe I’ll ask someone about what’s going on. A real witch will know what I should do. But when I walk by the doors and see the witches and dolls inside, I feel like such an impostor that I can’t bring myself to go in. I wish I had the confidence in myself that my doll does.

I do my best to take care of it. I wind its key. I make tea for it. I sit in stillness with it.

When I go out with my friends I find I have little to say. My life has gotten fairly simple. “A doll followed me home a month ago.”

“Have you fucked it?”

I leave.

“It’s not that kind of doll,” I hear myself saying.

“That’s too bad.”

At home, it sees the look on my face and says “do you want to?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“you’re my witch. it is perfectly alright.”

“Um. Maybe, when I believe that more. Okay?”

“yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

The doll starts sleeping in my bed. I’m cold a lot of the time now, and it doesn’t warm me up, but it’s something. Something is changing. I get a little excited. Maybe this is what it means to become a witch.

I start taking estrogen. Just in case that will help.

*

a year passes. i hardly even realize it.

i'm still not a witch, but it no longer worries me.

i am cool and smooth to the touch. my doll and i go hand in hand to the grocery store. i lost my job and got a new one. i am better at this one, although it pays less. i have fewer friends, but the friends that I have understand me better. i wind my doll’s key and she winds mine.

and finally one day i say “you made a mistake. i was a doll all along.”

my doll smiles at me and says “you still seem like a witch to me.”

[enderlovez]

Oooooo I have a Spencer x germaphobe reader where everyone knows how Spencer is with germs, which isn’t that bad. But imagine everyone’s surprise when they find out he has a huge crush like I mean in love with their coworker who is an extreme germaphobe (think of Ms, Pillsbury from glee) so she’s extra clean but he doesn’t mind he only has eyes on her so he tries to help her while also helping himself and she already has a crush on him but thinks he sees her as a patient in a lab even when he doesn’t but their feelings come to surface and they get a lil dirty lol angst, smut, and fluff thank u❤️

Germaphobe, Too

Spencer Reid x Female Germaphobe Reader WORD COUNT: 3600+ (yeah I got a little carried away)

Summary: You hate germs more than anything else in the world, and Spencer is so very much in love with you, so he's always trying to help you in any way he can — little does he know, that maybe you're feelings about the situation are a little bit different.

Content Warning: reader shows traits of obsessive compulsive disorder, germaphobia and germs, probably misinformation about germaphobia, NSFW content, reader is a freak, dry humping, reader bites Spencer a few times, miscommunication, Spencer likes boobs, groping, nipple play (sort of), unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss on both ends, Spencer doesn't pull out, and I think that's it!

A/N I've never actually watched Glee so I went on a bit of a search-spree to try and find out how I would write this, so I hope I did it justice! Also, thank you so much for being the first person in my inbox, you have no idea how excited I was when this popped up, and I hope I did your idea justice!

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

From the moment you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, everyone knew you were different — from the way you open doors with your sleeves rather than your bare hands, to how you scrub your hands raw after touching something that's not even really that dirty.

And it's not necessarily a bad thing that you're so conscious of these things, it can just be a little... difficult to navigate sometimes.

Take that one time for example, when you were helping out on a case! Morgan had no writing utensils on him, so without thinking, plucked a pen from the breast pocket of your blouse. To anyone else, it might not have seemed like such a big deal, but you were close to tears.

To put it plainly, you are a germaphobe. You're like a female version of their very own Doctor Spencer Reid, but on steroids, and somehow still a whole lot more sociable despite this fact!

Seriously. It's not to say they don't still see you as the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things, nor is it to say they don't frequently talk about you when you're not around, but they think you might just be the sweetest human being to ever grace the BAU.

Which is why it really shouldn't have seemed like such a secret, shouldn't have shocked everyone as much as it did, that Spencer was absolutely and irreversibly smitten with you.

At first, it was just little things like watching you from across the room with this strange look on his face — he was just watching the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things!

When he started spending more time around you than anybody else at work, and when it became apparent that he preferred your quiet company, it was just because you showed some similar traits to him, right? Nobody thought anything different, because come on, this is Spencer we're talking about here.

But in truth, Spencer is beyond mesmerized by you, the most beautiful woman he's ever met, and so kind to everyone even though they clearly treat you different to your other coworkers.

The poor man doesn't think he could ever admit this to you, though, considering he's a blabbering mess of hot skin and stutters every time he talks to you. So instead of further embarrassing himself (and giving Morgan ammunition to tease him for the rest of eternity), he shows his affection towards you in other ways.

Spencer himself is not a big fan of germs, so he can understand, to an extent, how you must feel most of the time. You've explained it to him before, while he was standing beside you at your desk, watching as you wiped the surface down with an antibacterial wipe.

"I know it probably seems like I overreact, but it's not something I can just turn off," you'd said to him in a whisper once. "I don't do this because I want to annoy people or make life harder. It's just... if I don't, I feel like I'll unravel."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Sometimes it feels like the world is too loud. A stranger is screaming in your ear, you can't see them or touch them, but they're there; there's a bee buzzing in front of your face, but you can't swat it away.

How are you supposed to get rid of something you can't see?

You can't — it's as simple as that, but you can try you're very best.

As if sensing that your thoughts are headed somewhere unsavory, Spencer appears beside you on a rolling chair, as he does most days.

Out of all your coworkers, he's the only one that doesn't poke fun at you behind your back. That's how it's been your whole life, people testing your boundaries and teasing you for something you have no control over, so it's... a nice change of pace.

"Good morning, Spencer," you say softly, offering him a warm smile before turning back to your work. "How are you today?"

"Good—um, good morning," he responds awkwardly, smiling even though you're not looking at him anymore. You see it out of the corner of your eye, his little smile and his firetruck-red face, smiling faintly to yourself as you type away on your laptop.

You ignore how he completely dismisses your question, knowing he'd probably just say the same thing as always — 'Yeah, I'm doing great, thank you. As—as long as you're doing alright.'

He always gets so strange around you, and while you try your best to ignore it most of the time, it still irks you.

No, he doesn't join the teasing with Morgan and Jareau when they think you can't hear them, but he still treats you differently.

"I got you something," he says in a quiet voice, reaching into his bag and pulling out a book. You eye him nervously as he carefully places it onto your desk, using one finger to push it towards you. A tiny smile pulls at your cheeks when you see it's encased in a protective plastic film, but it quickly drops when you see what the actual book is.

'Overcoming Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: A Journey to Recovery' by David Veale and Rob Willson.

You peel the plastic away, tossing it into the little trash can under your desk and sanitizing your hands before picking up the bright yellow book, opening the front cover with a blank expression.

It's not like you aren't grateful he's trying to help, of course you're happy he cares so much. But a book isn't going to fix your problems, despite what he may think at times. And right now he doesn't feel like a friend, he feels like a doctor, and you feel like a patient laying on a lab table, vulnerable and stripped bare for the world to see.

For once, you just want to have a normal conversation without it turning into some kind of therapy session.

"Thank you, Spencer — um..." You voice shakes ever-so-slightly as you put the eyesore book in your bag. "I will be reading that tonight, that was very kind of you."

You know you'll probably put that book in a box and never look at it again. He doesn't seem to pick up on your unease, smile widening at your apparent acceptance of his gift.

"Actually," you continue softly, in a voice so quiet it's almost silent, head bowed forward, "I'm actually not feeling too well right now, think I might head home for the day."

The smile on his face falters slightly as you push away from your desk and stand up, packing your things away into your backpack. "Is everything — would you like me to drive you home?"

It's not unusual for your mind to trick you into thinking you actually are sick, but on the off chance that you really are feeling something, he doesn't think it's a good idea for you to drive yourself home.

"You know, about twenty-one percent of fatal car crashes involve tired or impaired drivers."

"I'll be fine," you reply blandly, though those statistics do alarm you mildly, stepping around him and walking in the direction of Hotch's office. "Thank you, though, Spencer."

As you disappear into the Unit Chief's office, Morgan give him this curious look from across the room, eyebrow cocked in question, but all Spencer can do is shrug, his own face twisted with confusion.

Usually when you get like this, there's some kind of trigger that sets you off, like a chain reaction of sorts, but right now, he can't for the life of him come up with something that might've set you off.

You're only in the office for thirty-seven seconds (Spencer was counting) before you reemerge, your head still bowed as you rush out of the bullpen, like there's something chasing you away.

"What'd you do to get Miss Sunshine all blue and teary-eyed?" Morgan asks mockingly when you're out of earshot. "She looks like you just kicked a fluffy little kitten in front of her!"

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer's never been to your apartment before — nobody on the team has, the only reason he's standing here now is because your address is on your information.

It feels a bit like an invasion of your privacy being here when he's not even supposed to know where you live, but Morgan was right. You did look like Spencer smushed a kitten under his shoe as you were leaving, and he couldn't in good conscience not check on you.

He reaches a tentative hand up, hesitating for a (very) brief moment before knocking thrice.

There's some muffled shuffling behind the door before it opens, revealing you, wearing a cream colored cardigan with delicately embroidered flowers on it. And while you're still neatly put together, there's a more casual air about you now, like you're more relaxed.

"Oh — Spencer, what're you doing here?"

Your voice rasps slightly, and when he takes a closer look at your face, Spencer finds that your eyes are a little red.

"I was just..." He pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed upset when you were leaving work."

You purse your lips and give him as once-over, then shift out of the doorway — inviting him inside? You close the door behind him once he's inside, guiding him towards the living room with a gentle hand on his back.

It's shocking, to say the least, that you're actually touching him right now, but he doesn't say a word.

"Would you — um — like some tea, or something?" you ask awkwardly, pushing him to sit on the sofa. "Or — or some water?"

"No, but thank you for offering."

You leave the room for a few minutes, presumably to make yourself something to drink, but come back with two steaming mugs, placing one in front of Spencer regardless of what he said.

Another couple of minutes pass where neither of you say anything, sipping on tea and glancing at each other every now and again. He's pleasantly surprised to find that you've used lavender tea.

Your apartment is very clean, looking more like a set you'd find at a department store than anything, but it's still so warm and inviting. You have a couple of candles lit around the place, and Spencer's fighting the urge to warn you about candle safety.

"I don't want you to try and fix me."

Spencer turns his head away from the tall bookshelf across the room to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Fix you. What do you mean, he's trying to fix you?

"The book," you reply meekly, "I don't want you to try and fix me."

That catches his attention, the emphasis on that one little word — it's not that you don't want anyone to help, you just don't want him to help.

You must see the flash of hurt cross his expression, because you're rushing to elaborate, stumbling over your words.

"It's just that — um — I really like you, Spencer, and — uh — when you're giving me stuff like this..." You gesture to the coffee table, where the yellow book he'd given you is sitting. "I don't know, you kind of make me feel like I'm a patient in a lab. Something to be studied and prodded at and — and fixed."

"There's nothing about you that needs to be fixed," he murmurs, trying his best to ignore what you said — 'I really like you, Spencer.'

You place your half-empty mug of tea onto the coffee table and pull your feet up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them.

"I wasn't trying to fix you — everything about you is perfect," he says, quiet and without thinking. "You just seemed so uncomfortable at work all the time, and I wanted to help you out."

"Why, though?" you ask sadly, a faint heat rising to your cheeks. "Why not just join in on all the teasing and mockery? It would be easier than dealing with me all the time."

"Because..." You raise an eyebrow at his entire face quite literally turns the same shade as a tomato. "Because I really like you, too. I didn't think about how it might come off, and I'm so, so sorry for—"

You hold up a hand to shut him up, leaning a little further towards him than he would have thought you'd like.

"Spencer, it's alright," you assure him, placing your hand on his knee, much to his surprise (and embarrassment). "You didn't need to worry, though — you're really the only person at work I spend much time around, and I'm not uncomfortable around you."

"You're... not?"

A soft smile graces your lips. "Not even a little bit. Not even at all."

Spencer deflates into himself, every inch of his his skin uncomfortably hot — this is news to him.

"That's a relief."

Your voice takes on a teasing lilt. "Why? Because you really like me?"

And just like that, his face gets infinitely hotter, but he gives you the tiniest nod, knowing that if he said anything, he would fumble.

"I don't understand why you're embarrassed," you whisper fondly, "I am the one who said it first, after all. You should be teasing me."

He might be the only one you'll accept it from, just like how he's the only person you'd ever accept physical contact with, the only person you'll ever trust enough to put your mouth near him, like right now."

Spencer has to restrain himself from physically recoiling in shock when you press the softest of kisses to his blazing cheek.

Your instincts are screaming on the inside, but if you're being honest, you couldn't care less.

This isn't a stranger, you assure yourself, this is Spencer, and he could never make you sick.

Spencer could never make you sick.

"Is this alright?" you ask as you press another slightly firmer kiss to the skin under his jaw, your voice dripping with something unfamiliar.

Unable to form a single word, Spencer nods, reaching to place a hand on the back of your neck, gasping when your teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.

It's a complete one-eighty from the shy, germ-conscious girl you usually are, but he can't find it in him to complain.

The girl of his dreams, the one who can't even bring herself to touch his hand at work, currently has her mouth on him, she's biting him, and his mind is in a frenzy.

"I'm not gonna freak out if you touch me, Spence," you tease lightly, lips fluttering over the space just beside his mouth. As if to prove your point, smirking against his skin, you take his hand in yours and settle it on the space just below your breasts — under your clothes.

Where you're not wearing a bra.

His mind reels and melts into goo at the feel of your bare skin against his hand, so soft and warm.

An embarrassingly loud whine escapes his mouth as you bite down on his neck again, sucking the skin into your mouth. His hand drifts slightly upwards, brushing against the supple skin of your breast and gently grabbing onto it.

Your breath hitches as he gropes at your chest, lips pulling off his neck with a little pop and head resting against his shoulder.

"Can I take your shirt off?"

Your question leaves him speechless, but he nods nonetheless, reluctantly letting go of you to help you get his shirt over his head.

The sigh of his bare chest has your mouth watering, and you want nothing more than to leave a trail of hickeys down his stomach, but first, you press your lips to his, hands threading through his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs into your mouth, hands resting on your hips as you grind down onto him. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering as your hips wildly buck down on him. You've never been like this, desperate for the touch of another person, let alone a touch so intimate.

Spencer's grip on you tightens some, and he uses this new leverage to guide your hips, carefully pressing you clothed heat against the hardness straining against his pants.

"P-please," you choke out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, gripping him for dear life as he moves you.

"Hm?" he hums quietly, shifting the angle so he's rubbing right up against your covered clit.

"Please," you breathe out again, clenching around nothing. "Please, Spencer."

You're not even sure what you're begging for, only that you want — no, need more of this stimulation.

He seems to understand what you need better than you do, gathering your body to him and laying you on your back.

Your thighs automatically fall open for him, allowing his body to fit between them, one hand holding himself up. He presses himself against you again, drawing a desperate moan from the back of your throat as he works on undoing the buttons of your cardigan, letting the fabric slide off your body and pool at your sides.

The hand he's not using to support himself reaches for you, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches upward as you arch up against him, eyes screwed shut.

"You like that?" he asks genuinely, doing it again. You nod frantically, mouth dropping open, but no sound coming out of it.

"Yes," you pant, bottom lip catching between your teeth. "Yes, I like that — please."

"Please what?" His mouth descends upon your neck, fingers continuing their attack on your sensitive nipple, clothed cock still rubbing up against you oh-so wonderfully.

"Please... please touch me," you beg, unable to stop your hips from bucking up against him. "I need you to touch me, Spencer."

Such vulgar words coming out of your mouth. It shocks the man, but he complies, shifting his body backwards so he can pull your skirt and underwear down your legs.

The sight between them is magical — your folds glistening in the soft light of the room, you writhing in anticipation in front of him — and something he has, admittedly, thought about once or twice.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asks, running his middle finger through your slick and pressing down gently on your clit. You shake your head lazily, face screwed up in pleasure, a sight Spencer will cherish forever.

A strangled moan rips out of you as Spencer presses a finger against your hole, thumb rubbing soft circles on your sensitive bud, and enters you with little resistance.

"Neither have I," he admits sheepishly, pumping his finger in and out of you rhythmically, curling it until he finds that spongey spot within you that has you crying out his name and spilling over his hand.

"Two virgin germaphobes," you mumble jokingly, trying to wiggle closer to him again. You fumble with his belt, somehow managing to pull it through the loops, and toss it on the ground carelessly.

He helps you to push his pants down, just enough for his cock to slip out.

"Two virgin germaphobes," he agrees quietly, adjusting your bodies so you're both in a more comfortable position, sliding his heavy tip through your slick folds. "Are you sure—"

"I'm sure, Spence," you abruptly cut him off, running your fingers through his hair, subconsciously pulling him towards you. "Please just — just fuck me."

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, slowly pushing into you, gasping as your warm walls suck him in, gripping his cock like a vice. He holds his breath, trying not to immediately blow his load.

You're writhing, gasping, clawing at his back, whispering his name out into the air, and it only works to make him more hungry for you. But he stills one he's fully sheathed inside you, giving you time to adjust.

"Does it — uh — does it hurt at all?" he asks in a whisper, directly into your ear.

"N-no," you gasp back, the small pain slowly morphing into one of pleasure. "It doesn't hurt, you can — fuck — you can move, when you're ready."

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, with how tightly you're gripping him, but he still finds himself pulling out until only his tip is nestled in you, and slowly pushing back in all the way. You hum shakily, trying to press yourself closer to him as he repeats the action, then again.

Already so sensitive from your first orgasm, you know you're not going to last long with his slow movements, thighs clenching around his. Pressure grows in your abdomen as he thrusts back in, slightly harder this time, grunting into your neck.

"God, I'm already so close," you choke out, head thrown back, sounds you didn't even know you could make raking out of you. Spencer can't get enough of them, leaning down and catching one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive nub.

Without warning, you're spasming around him, drool dribbling out of your open mouth as you come, body going slack against the couch.

"W-where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you mumble incoherently, biting your lip hard enough to leave marks, tears building on your waterline. "Please, Spence, I want you to come inside me."

Your words alone are enough to have him spilling inside you, thrusts sloppy and unrhythmic. Your hum in content, clinging to him like a koala as he gently pulls his softened cock from inside you, rubbing soft circles onto the skin over your breastbone. It's comfortably quiet.

And then...

"Hey," you whisper in a tired voice, "you wanna go on a date with me?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hip. "I would love to," he whispers back fondly before standing up from the couch, "but first, we need to get you cleaned up and rested.

[no-144444]

making moves- l.norris

a/n: HI AND WELCOME TO MY FIRST FIC-TOBER FIC I HOPE YOU ENJOY :)))))

Day 1 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Lando and you don't exactly get along and now you're quitting, he'll surely take it well, right?

pairing: lando norris x fem! mclaren publicist! fem! reader

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You turned the corner of the media pen with Lando’s arm in your hand. If he stepped one foot out of line, if one hair was out of place, one unnecessary giggle or joke, you’d lose your mind. You were getting sick of this, of him, of cleaning up every single one of his messes. 

“I said I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you sighed. You hadn’t studied mechanical engineering and sports journalism for years in college to become a goddamn babysitter. “Just do your interviews and don’t say anything about your relationship status, please Lando.”

He rolled his eyes but obliged, moving past you to start an interview with some sports journal.

You watched the room around you. You would miss this, the buzz of the media pen, the entire paddock, being so close in the action of your favourite sport. You wished it hadn’t come to this. You didn’t want to quit, but you were being driven mad by a 24 year old man-child, and you couldn’t take it anymore. A year and a half ago, you were being driven crazy by how much you wanted him, now, it was his party-boy ways and arrogant smirk that set you off. Lando had always been a popular driver, you understood the attraction on every level. He was a pretty, sometimes funny, and rich man. He was on the younger side of the grid, and he was talented. Christ, was he annoying to work with. He was conceited, self-centred, a manwhore, and downright difficult the majority of the time. You disregarded almost every time he was kind to you, because less than 48 hours later he would do something dickish and ruin your weekend off, or make you cancel a date to come get him from a club because he was drunk and his friends left him alone, blah, blah, blah. You were excited to finally be free of Lando Norris and his asshole-ish ways, yet, maybe you’d miss his face. Anyways, just one race left, and your two-weeks are up. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ Team dinners were simple, you usually sat beside Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, and chatted with her about her course (the same one you took) and whatever else came to your minds. As the night came to a close, you walked Lily and Oscar back to their rooms with Lando trailing behind, texting on his phone. 

Lily pulled you into a hug. “I’ll miss you so much!” she sighed. “It sucks you’re not even finishing the season with McLaren.”

You shrugged, hugging her back. “I’ll call you, I promise. And we have Greece in January,” you reminded her. She nodded and pulled back. 

“See you in the morning,” she smiled, then disappeared back to their hotel room. 

“See you in the morning,” Oscar smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “You better call her once you land in New York, or she’ll lose her mind,” he chuckled. 

You nodded, smiling. “I will, don’t worry. And I’ll miss you too, Osc.”

He smiled, pulling back. “I’ll miss you too.”

You turned to go to your room, but Lando stopped you. “Why are you going to New York?”

“For my new job,” you explained calmly. “I’m leaving on Sunday night.”

Confusion flashed across his face, and you took the silence as a chance to leave. You brushed past him and continued on your way down the hall. 

“What do you mean you’re ‘leaving’ on Sunday night? Are you going on holidays for the weeks we have off?” he asked, catching up with you. 

“No, I start my new job the next week and I need to get my apartment unpacked and sort out my office,” you explained. 

“What? Why are you doing that?”

“Unpacking my apartment? I’ll be living there-”

“No, moving? You have a job, y-you work here, you work with me,” he stumbled through his sentence and you raised an eyebrow. 

“Did Stella not tell you? I’m leaving after the race this weekend. I sent in my two-week notice almost two weeks ago. I got a job offer from the New York Jets and I took it. Anyway, good night Lando, I’ll see you in the morning,” You continued on your way to your room. 

“You can’t just leave! What will I do without y- someone to-”

“Get your laundry and fix your mistakes in the media? You’ll be getting a replacement when I leave. His name is Will, he’s organised, and he’s quite funny. I think you’ll get along.” 

“What will I do without you?” he gritted out. “You’re meant to be here, with me, and now you’re leaving? How am I supposed to feel?”

“Imparcial I’d assume.”

“Imparcial? Y/n, come on, you can’t be that blind?” This was a different version of Lando than what you were used to. He was usually a brass and confident arsehole. Yet, here he stood in front of you, upset that you were leaving. 

“Blind to what? The way you abuse your power? The way you make me do your bidding? The way you make me cancel important things in my personal life to fit your schedule of heavy drinking? The way-”

“The way I’m in love with you?!” He practically shouted. You clapped a hand over his mouth and a surge of panic ran though you. You pulled him into your hotel room after you and sat him on the bed, then proceeded to pace the room. 

What did he mean he loved you? He hated you. He made your life a living hell. He made sure you’d have to see him everyday. He made sure you’d be in his apartment building. He made sure to-

Oh. Shit. He loved you. 

“Y/n,” his voice was soft. “You need to calm down.” 

You turned to him. “Calm down? What the fuck do you mean ‘calm down’? I’ve just spent the last fucking year and a half burying any and all romantic feelings for you, tried to hone in on all of your flaws to make myself hate you, quit my job to get away from you, and now you’re telling me you love me? What the fuck Lando?!” 

“You had romantic feelings for me?” He blushed. 

“That’s what you got from that?!” 

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, alright. We can work this out, just tell Andrea you don’t want to quit-”

“Lando I’ve accepted the job offer in New York, I’ve signed the contract. I can’t back out,” you sighed, putting your head in your hands. “You really have great timing,” you scoffed. 

He smiled, placing his hands on your waist. “Then we’ll make it work,” he shrugged. “I want you, if you’ll have me.” 

You looked up at him. Were you really doing this?  Lando Norris was your typical male celebrity in his twenties. He had everything he could ever want, any girl he could ever want, and he wanted you? Every insecurity and logical bone  in your body told you to run away. You’d seen what the internet did to girls he was seen in public with, let alone a girl he actually came out and admitted to dating. Was he worth being torn apart for? 

“You’re killing me here,” he laughed to hide his fear. He’d waited a year and a half for this moment. He wanted you more than anything. He wanted to be able to call himself your boyfriend and get to call you his girlfriend. He wanted you around him all the time. Every time he’d found out about a date you’d been on or met a guy you’d been seeing he was filled with jealousy. He was yours, he just needed you to be his too. 

“Lando, I don’t know if this is a good idea-”

He pressed his lips to yours and it was undeniable. This was what you had been searching for. That stupid ‘spark’ all those rom coms talked about all the time. Kissing him was like fireworks. He brought your hands up to wrap around his neck and smirked when you kissed him back. You fit together so perfectly, his lips against yours, your skin against his, everything. 

You pulled back slowly. 

“So can I be your boyfriend now?” he whispered, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Only if I can be your girlfriend,” you smiled back.  He pressed his lips to yours again. Maybe he was worth being torn apart for.

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[adieutristana]

Well, reader and Jinx matching rings (maybe even wedding rings), and when Caitlin shoots Jinx's finger, she destroys this ring. Jinx’s honest reaction?

of course! thank you for the request <3

i decided to make them promise rings since she lost her middle finger. i hope that’s alright!

summary; jinx’s promise ring being destroyed, and fem!reader comforting her after the fact.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, mentions of poor mental health, medical talk ig? (patching up), s2 spoilers

men dni.

you’re sat in jinx’s hideout watching her tinker away with… something. a new type of explosive she’s experimenting with, she says. something that only requires one hexcrystal instead of two or three, since she can’t keep using so many. she’s unceremoniously hunched over the workbench, goggles over her eyes as she messes with the piece of scrap metal in her hand.

“having fun?”

you ask, sitting back in the chair she got you.

“mm… this is more difficult than i thought it would be. who knew this could be so challenging? but i like a challenge.”

she smirks to herself, not taking her eyes off of her project.

“well, you’ve never let ‘difficult’ stop you. you’re a right genius.”

“oh, stop. you’re biased!”

she teases, but she’s got the lightest rouge dusting her cheeks. got her. your gaze continues to follow your girlfriend, the way she moves so freely and carelessly. getting her face impossibly close to power tools, using her nails to clean up dirt, teeth capturing her bottom lip when she’s particularly stumped.

“alright! that’s enough for right now.”

she proclaims, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

“already?” it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since you asked her how she was doing.

“yeah! besides, i’ve got something for ‘ya.”

jinx springs up from her seat and skitters over to yours, quickly turning it around. you hear cheerful humming from behind you as she shuffles through piles of belongings, clearly looking for something.

"a-ha!"

she spins you back around, both hands on your seat and quickly rises. she's got something clasped in her left hand, but won't reveal it, not yet.

"what's that?"

"you have to be patient, toots! i've got a speech prepared, don't distract me!"

a speech? jinx never gave speeches. was she breaking up with you? so many thoughts began swirling through your mind as your palms began to sweat, gripping the chair- and then jinx revealed what she was hiding. a wooden box. a... ring box?

"isn't it a little soon to be getting engaged, jinx?"

you chuckle dryly, looking up at your girlfriend. she playfully rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, blue bang swaying.

"yes it is, that's why we're not getting engaged."

she clears her throat.

"not yet."

she turns her attention back to the box, and she opens it. inside lays a thick silver ring, with a circular blue gem in the middle. it looked eerily similar to a hexcrystal- but carved into a gemstone. 'JINX' is shakily engraved on the inside, something she undoubtedly did herself.

"this is a promise ring. i've been working on it for a while, and well... it's kind of stupid." she looks off to the side, sheepishly. "but this is me promising myself to you. to show you that i'm serious about this, ya know?"

you look over the ring for a moment, taking it in for all that it is. it's obviously unprofessional, the metal is a bit dull, and the shape isn't precise. but god dammit if it isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. you glance back to your girlfriend, noticing her observing you- likely for any signs of disapproval. poor girl. as much as jinx had improved since meeting you, she still had the habit of expecting the worst. you didn't think that part would ever go away.

"jinx, it's beautiful. i- you made this?"

you ask, your eyes flickering back to the ring she's holding out. noticing how her grip is becoming a bit less stable.

"with my own two hands."

you chuckle, giving her a little grin.

"well? come on, put it on."

jinx doesn't need to be told twice. she gently takes hold of your left hand, removing the ring from the box and slowly slipping it onto your finger.

"there! it's on your middle finger, so your ring finger is open for the real thing."

not an ‘i do,’ but an ‘i will.’

you hold your hand up to the light, admiring how the ring catches it, before leaning forward to press a flurry of kisses to jinx's face.

"ah- hey! stop, you goof!"

she laughs, arms coming to wrap around you as a fit of giggles erupts from her.

"nope! i get to do this!"

it's not a week later when you arrive to jinx's hideout with a promise ring of your own to give her. a thick gold band to contrast the silver jinx had given you, with a rose quartz to accompany your own hexcrystal. pink and blue… she had a theme going, didn't she?

it wasn't handmade, but held the same sentimental value. you weren't as handy as jinx, and you'd learned to accept that a while ago. you had strengths in other areas, one of them being finding perfect gifts. it didn't take you long to find a jeweler in piltover who had exactly what you needed.

"oh, my god- you didn't have to do this."

she gasps, rosy eyes blown wide. both hands are on her cheeks as jinx gently approaches the open box in your hand.

"you promised yourself to me, didn't you? this is my promise to you."

jinx lets you put the ring onto her own left middle finger, her eyes never leaving your face. watching you so intently, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. what did she do to deserve you exactly? she could never quite figure it out, but that doesn't matter right now. you glance back up at her, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"i… you're too good to me, toots. really."

"i am not. i love you, remember?"

"mm… i love you too. i still think you're too good to me, though."

you let out a low chuckle.

"c'mere."

you bring the girl into your arms, tilting her chin with your index finger to gently bring her closer to you. pressing your lips to hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

oh- and of course, your name is engraved on the inside of the ring.

✧.*

you're posted at your girlfriend's hideout, going over notes in preparation for an exam. it's nerve wracking, sure, but the odd tranquility of jinx's desk is useful in its own way.

jinx swings open the door to the hideout, and as soon as she steps onto the panel of the wind turbine supporting her hideout, you can tell she's in hysterics.

the girl is wailing. she's pacing back and forth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. but most importantly, her hand is gushing blood. you immediately drop your notes, papers scattering across the desk to rush over to your girlfriend.

"jinx? jinx?! what the hell happened, oh my god..."

you kneel down in front of jinx, taking her hand to examine it. her middle left finger is completely gone, blood rushing out from the wound. it seems to be a clean cut, at least, you won't have to deal with any extra bits to clean up.

"the ring, the ring, it's gone-"

she sobs, a hiccup following and her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. you gasp, looking up at jinx, then back down at her finger.

"jinx, seriously? you just lost your finger and you're worried about a damn ring?!"

you breathe out, exasperation and worry weighing heavy on your voice.

"the ring is important! it's- it's our promise!"

she cries, hanging her head low. jinx is so ashamed, it hurts your heart to see. you let go of her hand and frantically sweep along her workbench for anything. you knew you had a first aid kit somewhere, you'd gotten it after seeing jinx patch herself up in a way that would make any doctor shiver. but god damn it, where was it?

there.

you quickly swipe the kit and a bottle of peroxide from her workbench, rushing back over to jinx. you take one of her wrists and quickly guide her over to her beaten-up couch.

"sit."

"but-"

"sit."

jinx huffs and sits down on the couch, you sitting down beside her. you open the kit and bottle, pouring peroxide onto a cotton square and taking her hand into your lap.

"this is going to sting. a lot."

jinx winces at just the thought, but nods slowly. keeping her eyes on what you're doing-

"agh- fuck!"

she yelps, tossing her head back as you press the square to the wound, holding it there to both disinfect and stop the bleeding.

"i'm sorry, baby, it'll be over soon. i just need to stop the bleeding."

you coo, trying to do anything in your power to calm her down. yet it's obvious the injury itself isn't what she's upset about.

"that- that fucker vi is with shot it off, she shot the ring off..."

jinx seethes through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure as you hold the peroxide to her wound. ah.. that makes sense. caitlyn was never fond of jinx, especially after the stunt she pulled with the council room. part of you was simply grateful that she didn't just take jinx out, as much as you knew she was probably trying to.

jinx was always putting herself in so much danger, both for the sake of necessity and the fact her ego was just so damn inflated. she said it herself- she just can't seem to die. but she got impossibly close way more than you would've liked her to.

you take out a roll of gauze and begin to wrap it around her hand, the wound being in the center of it all. it's far from professional, but this will have to do until you can get her proper medical attention. which you were trying to avoid talking about, since jinx was the last person to ever admit she needed help.

"jinx, i'm just happy that you're alive. i don't care about the ring right now. what if she had shot you somewhere more... vital?"

"then i would've gotten to keep the ring."

god damn it. she could not be serious right now. you finish wrapping her hand, bleeding having come to a halt and wound disinfected. you'd grab some painkillers in a moment. you quickly take both of her cheeks in your hands, forcing her to look you directly in the eye. the cold metal of your own ring against soft skin.

"jinx. again, i'm happy that you're here, and you're alive, and losing your finger was the worst thing that happened. i will get you a new ring, first thing tomorrow. okay?"

she sighs, her lips coming into a slight pout. at the very least, she's not crying anymore.

"but..."

you press your index finger to her lips, shushing her.

"no. just because you don't have the ring anymore doesn't mean the promise went out the window, okay?" you whisper, brushing your lips against her forehead. "i still love you, and still have promised myself to you. that won't change.

jinx closes her eyes, and leans into your kiss. she seems to have finally resigned, and is snaking her arms around your waist.

"i just- i love you so much..."

"i know, baby. i love you too, which is why i'll get you a new ring. a better one, even."

your hand still cupping her face, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

"just stay here, with me. you've had a hell of a day."