#so ofc he is overflowing with love

[anrisimps]

Someone is very happy to be eaten up by his cat lover. Dont be like hamster Kishiar

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i would love to see a poly!marauders fic where they help r fall asleep please! absolutely no pressure at all just a suggestion ofc <3

“Why so moody?” 

You rub at your eyes, standing just behind the sofa. You’d been frowning when James spotted you, not wanting to ask. “I can’t…”

“What?” Sirius asks. 

Remus perks up from beside him. 

Three sets of eyes makes it worse and somehow better. Sometimes it’s easier to only tell one of them when you have a problem, but sometimes you need all of them to know. “I can’t sleep again. Are you coming to bed soon?” 

And listen, four people in one bed is insane but occasionally you manage it. Most of the time you sleep with James, less often Remus. You and Sirius tend to be incompatible while you sleep, because he grabs you around the neck and face for hugging and you wake up with sweat pouring off of you, blind. 

Perhaps that’s why he offers first and emphatically. “I’ll come to bed with you, darling,” Sirius says, a picture of concern as he stands. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just tossed and turned for half an hour and I can’t take much more of it.” 

“She’s going insane,” Remus comments with a severe frown. 

Sirius helps him onto his feet. James, never one to be left out, turns off the television and gathers his throw blanket. “Not on my watch.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to get up,” you say, wringing your hands behind your back. You hadn’t meant to summon them all to bed. You’d just wanted to know when you could expect an end to your agony. 

“Oh, well,” James begins, wrapping the throw blanket around your shoulders, “too late for that. Will you warm my side for me? I’ll lock up.” 

You feel shyer than you’d thought, shuffling back to the bedroom. Sirius’ hand finds your lower back as he enters the room from behind you, encouraging you gently to the side as he goes for the other. You’d left the sheets in disarray, the lamp on. James’ room is messy as always, but it’s your fault as you live from it most days. Remus is immediately put off by the overflowing dresser, closing each drawer with a shush over the runners. 

Sirius makes the bed, peeling back a corner for you. “Here, lovely. Climb in.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to wait on me,” you say shyly, embarrassed at their attention.

“There’s nothing I like doing more.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Remus says, though you’d guessed that already. “Enough room for me, too?” 

“‘Nough room for everyone,” you murmur, rounding Sirius to climb into bed as instructed. 

You and Remus end up in the middle of the bed, thankful for James’ sense of reality —everybody knew when you moved in together that the separate bedrooms wouldn’t last, but only James had the wherewithal to buy a very large bed. You’re immediately comforted by having one of them next to you, and Remus is very kind about it, asking in a murmur if he can cwtch you, wrapping his arm around your chest like you’re in danger of breaking from his touch. 

Sirius is less polite, but not less caring. If he thought you didn’t want him to touch you he certainly wouldn’t, but he knows he can hug you pretty much whenever he wants. He presses his nose to your face, Remus’ against your shoulder, the three of you deflating after a long day never quite this close to each other. You can feel a day’s worth of back ache leeching in your mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ooh, for what?” Sirius asks. 

“Making you come to bed.” 

“Didn’t make us do anything.” His breath warms your cheek as he talks. “It’s late. We would’ve been in bed soon.” 

It’s true enough. Everyone is in their pyjamas, Sirius smells like toothpaste. Still, you feel guilty for asking. And yet… you can finally relax now they’re here. It’s like they know exactly what’s been keeping you awake. Remus had cleaned and now holds your chest, Sirius reassures you and calms your stomach with his palm. 

James gets one good look at you all and rolls his eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Jesus. Babe, could you move over?” he asks Remus, not giving him the time to comply before he’s in bed and smushing everyone even closer together. “This is fun. Sleepover!” 

“Just don’t start climbing on me again, Jamie,” Remus says. 

You close your eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll chill out soon,” Sirius promises in a whisper. 

“Kiss?” you whisper back. 

Three different boys attempt to kiss you in the dimly lit bedroom. All the fuss doesn’t help you sleep, but knowing how much they care about you definitely does. 

[yzashaven]

2023 KINKTOBER︰10﹒01 / 10﹒02

꒰ —♡ B R E E D I N G ﹒ PART 2 ꒱

EVENT MASTERLIST !

FEATURING ! childe, tighnari, gorou, wriothesley x fem!reader

WARNINGS ! ofc breeding!!, "accidental" use of aphrodisiac, mating press, use of handcuffs, bottom-not-so-bottom gorou, ooc idk

NOTE ! yza posting late again... SORRY LOVE YOU GUYSSS i've been trying to balance my sleep sched with school so i've been doing and resting okay lately! ANDDD THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD...... also short.... anyway

event taglist— @yukiitaooo @scara6 @peakalatus @kanaedd @returningluv @im-the-ruler-here @scarafixation @kateybuggi @hanni7 @asimpforpeople @ju1yyyzzz @saturnsapothecary @alexiassleeping @cheeze-noo @supercoolusernameomg @shining_dhei @uchihaeirin @black-rxse @3herri-berri @anon-eu @gojoswife201 @abeitriz @chlebek1 @mechanical-lily @breadybuu @dawning-bliss @poisonedmoonl1ght @scaraismybbgreal @nothingfuninthislife @hellithides @eunchaeluvr @doumastip @pandash @cuntz0ne @zomzomb1e @bitchylillyrose @apocalypticchimera @wolfiafan10 @zxdksimpo @kikosaidbye

—CHILDE

oh, him? another family oriented man, of course daily breeding is a must!! he is straight up addicted to the feeling of your walls surrounding his cock, and when you're cumming? even better.

"just a little bit more, baby~" childe says for the umpteenth time; it seems like he's just making up excuses now to keep releasing ropes of his cum inside your cunt, making you whimper at how sore your body is from the overwhelming amount of pleasure being given to you by him. his body weight holding you down in a tight mating press on his luxurious bed, "feels good, yeah?" he continues his merciless and rough pace, snapping his hips against yours in the perfect rhythm. "you need more, don't you? tell me how bad you need me to fuck you senseless—to breed you full of my seed~"

—TIGHNARI

experiment purposes... and maybe also for pleasure. an experiment including breeding and pushing your limits with the addition of a few drug testing as well to see the possible side effects of a few herbs he's using to create a new medicine. don't mind if i include some overstimulation here too <3

"this is okay, yes?" tighnari's fingers thrust in and out of you at a slow pace, creating a wet sound with each movement due to his cum that was deep inside your pussy, mixing with your own, prior to the encounter from earlier. "still aroused, huh? that drug seems to be a rather strong aphrodisiac then, hehe~" you whine from all the built up pleasure as the sensitivity of your body increases with each passing contact you have with one another. he then abruptly pushes back deep inside you, letting the fluids overflow from the sides, coating his cock in the sticky, white liquid, "let me help you sooth yourself~"

—GOROU

hear me out when i say that he's already extremely sensitive after a few rounds, and by that i mean around 3 or 4 rounds, and it'll take less time to reach that point when you focus on his ears or tail throughout the session :3 btw you're on top for this one but not the one in charge

"d-don't... sensitive..." gorou whimpers softly as your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, ever so often making contact with his ears that twitched slightly upon feeling the warmth of your touch. his hands grab onto your hips and guide you up and down his length, "oh, already so full~" he comments upon seeing how your thighs had your mixed fluids of arousal dripping down them; he then flips you over, laying you down with your legs spread wide just for him as he began to thrust deep and relentlessly, "god—you feel amazing, and you look so damn pretty... all for me~"

—WRIOTHESLEY

handcuffs. yes. he is just so in love with the idea of having you completely at his mercy below him as he breeds you full of his seed, with no choice but to take all that he has to give you. slightly rough wrio !! <3

"fuck, fuck...!" wriothesley curses as he empties out yet another load inside your pussy, the 5th creampie and counting. you weakly moan under him as your body spasms a bit due to how used your body was after hours of continuous fucking. "gotta make sure i breed you right~" he says and slams back inside you, earning a loud whine to leave your lips as you tug on the thin metal that restrained your hands just above your head, "just a few more, alright? shit—your cunt just feels too addictive not to fill up~"

[kilojulietsierra]

Send Me An Angel - Chapter Two (Dr Jack Abbot x nursewife!ofc)

Summary : What do you do after a night like that?

If you missed Chapter One CLICK HERE

(Seriously, I can’t thank y’all enough for the love that chapter one received! Made my whole week!)

Warnings: 18+ content, depiction of a PTSD episode/panic attack, also depiction of two people who love each other handling the situation appropriately, angst, fluff, smut, just a tiny hint of kink mentioned if you know where to look (competency, d/s role play), dark humor, heathy communication, they talk a little shit but they love each other so much

~~~~~~~

The Next Day

Sam knelt down in front of the woman in the wheelchair, "Ok hon, that should kick in here in a second and you'll feel better okay?"

The woman nodded, her whole body still trembled, but her breaths were a little more even. "Thank," she gasped in a breath with a stutter, "You."

"Of course." Sam gave her hand a squeeze and stood up, "Keep breathing okay, deep breaths, and we'll have you out of here soon." She looked over the lacerations on her leg one more time before she moved on.

Bridget met her in the hallway, and they exchanged a look as they both surveyed the ED. "We're starting to get 'em cleared out."

Sam nodded as she snapped her gloves off. The whole department was still a disaster, dozens of patients remained and the EVS staff was busy mopping up as much of the blood as they could. "What else do you need?"

The night shift charge nurse, put her hands on her hips, "I need you to go home."

"There's still…"

"Honey, you don't even work here. They have a relief shift coming in, they'll be here by seven. Go home."

"Did Dana get out of here?" Sam asked as she stripped off her trauma gown and shoved it in one of the overflowing bins.

"I sent her home too, every nurse on the floor now is night shift. Students are gone, I even saw Abbot walk Robby out earlier." Bridget wasn't going to back down.

With a glance at her watch she saw it was in fact almost 7am. "Let me help 'till next shift comes in."

The two nurses stared each other down. Bridgett sighed, "You are the worst." She said it with a smile though, "I have Tina and Shad making a lap to check IVs, you can help with that."

Which is exactly what she was doing at 7:33am when Jack found her. "Let's go home."

She looked over her shoulder and then back to the kid in the gurney, "They are gonna come get you in a bit okay." When the kid nodded she gave him a smile and turned around to see Jack. "How are you doing?" She wanted to reach out and touch him but restrained herself.

He nodded, looked her up and down and nodded again, "Relief shift is here. Let's go home."

Sam nodded and went to follow him down the hall.

Bridgett met them at the counter and before she could say anything Jack held up a hand, "We're going. Which means you are too." He gave her a pointed look.

She snorted out a laugh, like she hadn't been trying for half an hour to get him to leave. "Right behind you."

Jack held an arm out to wrap her in a one armed hug. "Go home and get some sleep. Give the kids a hug."

"Mhmm." She wrapped her own arm around his middlle and squeezed. Then she moved to Sam and the two of them exchanged a hug of their own. "Love you, sweetie."

"Love you too." Sam held onto the hug a little longer. "Thank you for always taking care of him." She whispered.

Bridgett hummed and gave her another squeeze, "You know it."

When they pulled apart Jack was standing to the side with his backpack on one shoulder, and hers in his hand. "Ready?"

"Yeah." She grabbed her pack from him, "You grab the duffles?

"There in there. Night Bridge."

"Good night." She called after them as they headed for the ambulance bay.

It was jarring to see the nurses and doctors that had just arrived, not covered in blood, no goggles, no trauma gowns, just ready to work a regular-ish shift.

When Sam went to take the corner Jack grabbed the back of her scrub top and pulled her towards him.

"I had to park in visitor parking."

He just tugged her again and held out his hand, "We'll come get it later." Sam blinked and after a moment nodded. She smiled and let him take her hand. Jacks face was still stoic, but he gave her hand a squeeze and led her out to the MD parking lot.

As they approached the truck he dug the keys out of his pocket and hit the remote start, then pulled Sam's bag off her shoulder. While she walked around to the passenger side he tossed their stuff in the back seat. "Don't even think about it." He called to her as he saw her move to open the passenger door.

She made a face at him when he came around to open her door for her. Rather than say anything she just stepped up and gave him a kiss, then climbed inside.

~~~~~

Jack held her hand the whole drive home and didn't let go until he had parked the truck. The drive home had been silent except for the music. When they got inside they undressed in the laundry room in silence and climbed into the shower together in silence.

One of the things Jack had always appreciated about Sam was that the silence was never awkward or uncomfortable. It never had been. He found just as much pleasure, just as much comfort in her company regardless if either of them had anything to say or not.

At some point Sam had leaned back into him, her eyes closed and her skin flushed from the scalding hot water, and he wrapped his arms around her. It had been quiet for so long he almost felt bad to be the one that broke the silence. So, he tipped his head to the side and kept his voice soft and low as he spoke beside her ear, "Want me to help wash your hair, or want me to go find us something to eat?"

Sam groaned, conflicted by the choices he had offered, "Both?"

He chuckled, pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, "Gotta pick one." Then let his chin rest against her shoulder while he waited for her answer.

She took her time, apparanently more content to stand under the hot water and simply exist.

Jack smirked, too tired to smile, and kissed her bare shoulder, "Pick or I will."

His wife just groaned and grumbled again, let more of her weight settle against him.

"Ok," He kissed her shoulder, her temple, allowed himself one selfish caress of his hands over her naked body and told her, "Stay here long as you need to. I'll go make some dinner."

~~~~

When Sam had finally drug herself out of the shower, she threw on a pair of shorts and one of Jacks hoodies, and headed into the kitchen. She found Jack there shirtless in a pair of sweats with his back to her as he made two plates of spaghetti. Before she went into the kitchen she took a second to stop and be grateful for him. The reasons why where too many for her brain to process at that moment, but she was beyond grateful for him. Every day, but especially today.

"Quit staring, come eat."

She smiled and joined him to eat at the counter. As always Jack cleared his plate like it would disappear if he didn't. Something that he'd never grown out of even after more than a decade out of the Army. His choice of second career just as inhospitable to sit down meals as his first. For awhile he sat there with her, then got up and tidied up the kitchen and the small mess he'd made.

When Sam still hadn't finished her plate he grabbed his phone and kissed her on the top of her head as he walked by, "I told Robby I'd call when we got home."

Sam nodded and went back to her food. Chose not to acknowledge outloud that the call was a thinly veiled check in. He'd made a threat, or a promise, to Robby on the roof of the hospital early that morning. "I'm going to call you when I get home, and you better fucking answer."

~~~~~

By the time they made it to bed Jack threw the covers back and dropped into the middle of the mattress with a groan, "Jesus Christ, I'm getting too old for this."

Sam went to the closet and stripped the hoodie off over head and traded it for a UC Davis t-shirt. She didn't respond to him right away. Instead she shut the closet and sat on the foot of the bed. She sat there a long time, only half turned towards him, mostly her gaze stayed on her hands, "Am I a bad person?"

Jack groaned again as he turned on his side, propped up on an elbow, "Not usually." He waited for her to look his way, to give him some sarcastic remark, but she did neither. "Can I have some context?

She took a breath, still didn't look his way, but she did turn a little closer towards him, "Tonight was… a terrible thing. I'm exhausted… but, part of me… part of me feels like a shitty person…" She couldn't finish the thought out loud. She didn't need to.

"Felt good didn't it?" Jack kept his voice soft, compassionate. "It felt good to be knee deep in the shit again. To have a different life literally in the palm of your hands every five minutes. Down and dirty, think on your feet medicine. Save this guy, if you can't save this guy then save the next one." He paused to study her face closely, tried again to catch her eye. "To be one of the ones keeping your shit together, when people around you are spinning out."

When she looked up at him finally her eyes were a little glassy, but he knew she wouldn't cry.

"No Sam, you're not a bad person. You're someone that thrives in that chaos, and that is an incredible thing." He reached for her shirt and gave it a gentle tug, "C'mere."

She stared at him for a minute and then moved. First she stretched to switch off the light and then she rolled onto her side to cuddle up as close as physically possible to her husband.

He wrapped her up in his arms and pulled the blankets up over them. Jack tugged her closer, guided her leg over his and tucked her head against his chest. With his left hand he traced aimless patterns over her lower back and with the right he held her hand over his chest. Where they could both feel the steady rhythm of his heart. After a minute he added, "That was one of the first things I found sexy about you."

When she scoffed and pressed a kiss to his chest he knew he had her back from that dark place.

She chuckled a little bit and her fingers flexed over his chest, "Is it bad that I found it sexy watching you do that field crike on the cop?"

Jack smiled and tipped his head towards her, "Is it bad I think it's sexy that you found that sexy?"

That earned him a giggle and it was like suddenly they could both breath again. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she snuggled close as they settled in to try and get some sleep. It didn't take long before Sam broke the silence again, her voice a little softer, "Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you, can we keep talking? It feels good to talk?"

He gave her a squeeze and moved his right hand down to stroke over her thigh where it was hitched over his. "Something specific?"

Fingers tracing patterns on his chest she hummed, "No, just… listen to you talk." She sounded almost sheepish.

So, he talked. He started with arriving at the hospital and then talked through each patient he saw, one by one. What they came in with, how they treated it. The whole time her fingers flexed against his bare chest, her thumb stroked back and forth as she listened.

Jack smiled to himself eventually. "DId you hear one of the med students IOed a guy while he was awake and talking?"

"Like on purpose?"

"Yep."

"Ohhh, no…poor kid."

"Poor guy that got drilled in the arm you mean." He pinched her thigh. "Then the Santos girl did fucking Reboa on her own."

"Yeah I heard that, and I heard you gave her an 'atta girl'."

"Like you never stepped out of your depths to save a patient."

"This isn't Afghanistan."

He paused before he responded, "Felt a little like it tonight." Jack pulled her thigh higher up over his waist and held her there, "I think she's got what it takes though, Santos, just needs reined in a little."

"Oh, gee wonder who has a favorite already?" She teased him. "Samira's got it too."

"Yeah she does." He nodded and twisted his head to look down at her, "Worst fucking circumstances," Jack started as he moved the arm around her up so he could play with her hair, "But it was fun to work with you tonight." He kissed the top of her forehead.

Sam tipped her head up to look at him, "Yeah it was," She moved her hand up to his jaw, "Forgot I was married to a badass for a minute there."

Jack huffed out a laugh and closed the distance between them. "Damn right you are." He kissed her even a she rolled her eyes. He pulled back just enough to speak, "So am I." He kissed her softer and slower. "Should get some sleep baby."

"Ok." Her answer was a whisper against his lips and she smiled when Jack kissed her again, "Love you."

"Love you too."

~~

Sam woke up a few hours later with a start, her heart racing and her chest tight, she had to fight to breathe and clear her head. In the split second between asleep and awake she felt Jack jerk in bed beside her and then sit bolt upright. That was when she realized what had startled her awake. "Jack, babe… hey, it's okay."

Jack kicked at the blankets, sucking in air and shaking, one hand clutched as his chest, as his whole body trembled.

"Oh fuck, Jack, hey listen to me." She sat up on her knees and moved to his side of the bed as fast as she could and off the edge to kneel on the floor in front of him.

"Fuck," He was sucking in air, in shallow, uneven, breaths that rattled his chest and he repeated the curse over and over, "Fuck. Fuck."

"Hey, baby i'm right here." Knelt on the floor in front of him she braced one hand on his thigh as it nearly vibrated under her touch, "Jack. Jack, listen to me, look at me okay." His eyes jumped over the room all around them, but never to her. "You're home. You are home, with me, right?" She gave him an exaggerated nod and put her other hand over his on his chest where it still clawed over his sternum like if he tried hard enough he could rip a hole in his chest to breath.

Sam swallowed thick, her mouth dry and her own chest still tight. "You're safe, you're home, with me. You have to breathe. Right? Have to slow down and breathe baby."

He finally gave her a nod and tried for a shaky breath but he almost immediatly started to hyperventilate again as he started to rock back and forth on the bed.

"Hey… hey, hey, hey, nope. Deep and slow, right? Deep and slow?"

He lurched forward and Sam panicked briefly that he might be sick, but clung to the feeling of one of his hands as it wrapped around the back of her neck. "I'm right here, right here, with you. You're home. We are home. You're not there. You're here." She said it over and over again in the softest, calmest voice she could muster, as she moved closer to him and cupped the back of his head and brought it down to her shoulder. Careful to leave some distance, she'd learned the hard way, he could sit up suddenly and catch her in the face. Which hurt like hell and made him feel guilty later.

"You're right here with me, just gotta breathe Jack. Okay? Breathe." Sam drew in a long, deep, audible, breath through her nose as she counted in her head; 1,2,3,4. Then she held that breath and blew it out through pursed lips. Strong and steady to the same count; 1,2,3,4.

The whole time she stroked her fingers through his hair and continued to breathe with him, give him the rythym to follow.

In, 1,2,3,4. Hold, 1,2,3,4. Out, 1,2,3,4 Hold, 1,2,3,4

She felt and heard him fight for it. Fight for the air, for the control over his own mind and body.

She began to count it out loud for him, her voice soothing but firm in his ear.

In, 1,2,3,4. Hold, 1,2,3,4. Out, 1,2,3,4 Hold, 1,2,3,4

Jack spit out a shaky, 'Fuck…me…" His grip on the back of her neck tightened and released through the tremors.

"You're good baby, you got this. Just breath for me, you got this."

His trembling had slowed, his breathing had regulated some. Progress. Sam moved her hand from his hair down to the base of his skull and began to tap out the count and breathe along with him. In. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Hold. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Out. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"I'm, sh-, shit." He fought through a breath, "I'm," His whole body racked with a tremor. "Fuck, I'm sorry." His voice was strained, painful even. "I'm s-sorry."

"Stop that. You're fine, you got this. We got this. Just keep breathing."

He nodded against her shoulder, his body still trembled almost constantly, but each breath got him closer and closer.

Sam didn't relax until she felt the majority of her husbands weight collapse against her and he let out what sounded like the last of the shaky breaths.

"Hey, you with me?" She whispered it into his ear and finally took a deep breath of her own when his fingers relaxed at the back of her neck and what had been a death grip softened to a gentle caress.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Baby…I'm sorry." Another shaky breath as he sat up straight. "Jesus…" He shoved a hand back through his hair. "Came out of nowhere."

Sam watched, still knelt on the floor in front of him, as his hand reached up to rub over the scar on his left shoulder. A nervous tick that he kept such a lock on that she would be the only one to recognize it. "Don't say sorry." She stroked her hand up and down his thigh in long firm strokes in an attempt to keep him steady, keep him grounded. "What you did today, what you had to do today," She ducked her head to try and catch his gaze in the dark of their room, "Of course it hits home."

He looked at her, hand still rubbed over the scar over and over again. "I was fine. Everything was fine."

"I know." She stood and stepped between his legs so she could tip his face up towards hers. "What do you need now?"

Jack didn't respond right away, he looked exhausted all the sudden.

"What time is it?"

"It's early yet," She glanced at the clock, "Not even noon."

He nodded, scrubbed at his face for a second, "You have to work tonight." When he looked up at her he looked sad, like he'd let her down somehow.

Sam shook her head, "I traded with Remi, for next Saturday. They're going to take the kids to the lake. I'm off all weekend." The relief on his face both made her heart flutter and broke it a little. "Let's go back to bed."

Almost immediately he shook his head, "No, I'm not going to be able to sleep."

"Okay, well, go take a quick shower," He was drenched in sweat, "And then we can go watch TV or something."

With a nod Jack stood up which brought them close together and she kept her hands on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something.

"Do you want your phone? Call Shane or TJ?" More than once she'd had to make a call on his phone in the middle of the night, her hand trembling, so one of his battle buddies could talk him down when she couldn't. More than once they'd woken up to his phone when it rang in the middle of the night so he could do the same for one of them.

Jack shook his head, "No, no I'm good." Still a little shaky as the adrenaline dumped out of his system, he put his hands on her waist and stared over her shoulder at the wall. "Just, give me a minute."

"Ok. I'll go make some coffee."

~~~~~

It was the middle of the afternoon, but the house was dark. They'd left the blackout curtains drawn so the only source of light was the TV on the wall as it played whatever show Sam had put on before she dozed off on the couch beside him. He honestly wasn't sure what it was, she knew he didn't care, that he just needed the distraction.

She shifted a little under the blanket, her legs stretched across his lap and her face buried in a throw pillow. Part of him wished he could go back to sleep like her. He'd spent the first twelve minutes on the couch with her feet in his lap, one thumb stroking back and forth over the arch of her foot while he stared blankly at the TV. It had calmed him down some, enough, and it had put her to sleep.

Jack shook his head and tried to focus on the show. He hated the feeling of the imbalance, the aftermath. It was like his thoughts were marbles on a perpetually rocking surface and he had no control over either.

Sam shifted again, "How are you feeling?" Her voice was soft and sleepy.

At first he just nodded, knew that anyone but her would see the scowl on his face and leave it alone. Then he rubbed a hand over his eyes and nodded again, "Better." He gave her calf a squeeze through the blanket. "Why don't you go back to bed."

"Comfy here." There was no hesitation in her response and she twisted slightly so she could see him better. "Need anything?"

He shook his head. Then for the first time since the day before he thought about the young vet, how he'd ended up on the roof of the hospital. He took a deep breath, his voice quieter, "The vet I lost, yesterday, the drunk driver hit and run victim. He was the same age as you." He didn't know why it mattered. He didn't know if he'd even registered it at the time.

She was quiet for a long minute, "I'm right here Jack."

He moved his hands under the blanket so he could feel her skin, warm and smooth, under his hands. He set one hand on her ankle, searched out that faint thrum of a pulse, and the other brushed lightly up her calf then down again. "I know."

For long enough he thought she might have dozed off his wife was silent. Then she let out a little laugh, "You know what I always think of? When we sit like this."

"In Kandahar when I'd go sneak into your hooch?" He gave her an honest grin at the memory.

"Mhmm. Every chance you got." She hummed happily and gave him one of her sleepy little smiles.

"Blame me?" He gave her a smile of his own and shifted on the couch so he could stretch out behind her.

She shuffled around for a minute until she could make room for him and then he pulled the blanket over them both.

He pulled her back, flush with his chest and wrapped his arms around her tight. Once she was settled she chuckled softly. "What?" Jack squeezed her tight and buried his face in the back of her neck.

"Just thinnking. Imagining if I could go back and tell 22 year old me that she does get to marry the sexy Army medic with the pretty eyes and the angry face." She giggled a little then continued, "That he loves her and treats her so much better than she'd ever imagined and she's going to be so fucking happy."

For a moment that tight feeling in his chest returned. but it was not the PTSD this time. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could respond without a lump in his throat and when he did he mumered it so soft and earnest it felt like the first time, "I love you." He pressed his lips to the spot behind her ear and left a kiss there that made her shiver. "So fucking much."

~~~~~

He did fall back asleep, they both did, and when he finally woke up it was nearly midnight and the weight on his chest was long gone. The dread and the darkness at bay. They hadn't moved at all in their sleep. Sam was still wrapped up in his arms, her back to his chest. His shoulder ached from laying on it but he wouldn't move. He pressed his forehead into the back of hers and breathed deep and easy.

"Awake?" She sounded barely so herself, but her fingers curled over his forearm. It was like their internal clocks were synchronized, or that she was just so intune with him after all these years her body knew when he woke.

"Yeah baby." He squeezed her tight.

So tight that she let out a little groan and the breath of a giggle, "How you feel?"

"Good." He tipped his head to drop a kiss on top of her sleep tangled hair. "We slept a long time."

"Mhmm," She shifted and wiggled around closer to him and sunk deeper into his arms. "Felt good."

"Yes it did." He moved his free hand down to her hip and gave it a squeeze. Under the blanket his hand moved from her hip under the shirt she slept in. He stroked over her waist, her soft, smooth stomach and then up to cup her breast.

"Jack," She didn't stop him but her tone was clear.

He smirked, kissed the back of her head again as he swiped the pad of his thumb over her nipple, "Told you, I feel fine." Jack tipped his head so he could whisper into her ear, "Better than fine."

His wife hummed and then twisted around to look at him over her shoulder. She stared at him for a moment, studied him closely in the dark.

While she looked he pulled his hand out from under the blanket and moved it up to cup the side of her neck. "Sam, I'm fine." He traced his thumb up her throat, "Promise." He tipped her face up to give her a quick kiss. His thumb brushed over her pulse and he smirked when she arched up into it, "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, ok Doctor Abbot."

"Watch the tone." He kissed her again, "Nurse Abbot."

His wife laughed into the kiss and nipped at his top lip, "Don't push your luck." Sam moaned as his thumb pressed a little firmer on the next pass and she turned onto her back. She nearly melted into the couch as Jack continued to kiss and caress her.

HIs hand slid from her throat, over her chest and then pushed the blanket aside so he could reach more of her. Jack swept his tongue through her mouth and the sweet little groan it earned him went straight to his cock. He kissed her harder and deeper, slid one hand back under her shirt and groaned a little himself when she angled her hips up off the couch. When he pulled back from her lips, a dangerous grin on his face he whispered, "What do you want baby?"

Sam shifted again, this time to wrap her arms up around his neck and pull him back, "Just don't stop."

The hand under her shirt slid up over her sternum and he stopped when his middle finger dipped into the suprasternal notch. He felt her swallow and then he trailed the tip of the middle finger down, slowly, as it barely ghosted over her sternum, down her stomach and dipped it into her naval. When she giggled and her stomach fluttered Jack leaned back in to kiss her. Her giggle turned into a moan as he slipped his hand into the waistband of her shorts.

He didn't stop. He moved until he felt her and only pulled his lips from hers to murmer, "Fuck baby." Then slammed his lips down over hers again as his fingers found the warmth and wetness between her legs. With one hand he dragged her shorts down her legs and smiled wide as she kicked them rest the way off herself and dug her hand into the hair on back of his head. As he pushed himself up onto his elbow, the hand beneath her cradled her neck, he used his other hand to pull her leg up over his hip. "Stay right here." He kissed her cheek, "Just like that." Jack whispered the last part against her ear before he sucked the lobe into his mouth.

The little shiver that rolled through her when he did that never fucking got old, so he did it again and again until she tugged on his hair. Hard. When he pulled back he could tell he was smiling, an honest to God smile, because she looked like she fell a little more in love.

"There's my smile." Sam leaned up to kiss him, a smile of her own pressed to his as they did.

It was her smile Jack thought. She was the only one that ever saw it anymore. She was the only one he gave it to. The first time she'd seen it, she'd smiled so wide herself it looked like it might hurt, then she had leaned in close and whispered, "Those dimples are dangerous." He smiled a little wider at the memory and then let his hand slip from the inside of her thigh down to her core.

"Jesus." Her breath caught, voice somewhere between relief and desperation, as he so very gently ghoted the pad of his finger over her lower lips. Her whole body trembled as he did it a second time. The third featherlight stroke earned him a whiny, "Ja-ack." as she raised her hips up to try and get him where she wanted him.

With a quick brush of his lips over hers he responded, "I said stay remember?"

Her hips returned to lay flat against the couch, but the whine she let out let him know she was annoyed. Jack smiled and kissed her again, Then because he felt alive again for the first time in days, he licked his lips and pulled back enough to see her face. He stroked that same, barely there touch over her again and whispered, "Be a good nurse and do as your doctor says." Then he waited that split second it took for her eyes to flash just beyond annoyance and then before she could argue or snap back at him he slid his middle finger knuckle deep and stroked that hidden spot that made her whole body tremble and her eyes roll back in her head.

"Ohh I'm," Her breath caught as he caressed that little spot again, "I'm gonna fucking," A second finger stretched her a little wider and she had to fight back a moan to finish, "I'm going to get you for that."

Jack just smiled, the one just for her. The big one with the dimples and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he pressed his forehead to hers as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her, "I know you will baby." He kissed her and laughed, because every now and then she'd play that game with him. She'd be his good little nurse and it drove him fucking crazy on the right day. Today though she was his feisty little wife and he wanted to get that rise out of her. See that attitude flash in her eyes and then bring her back.

The grip she had on his hair told him he wasn't quite forgiven just yet, but the rush of wetness and the quiver of her pussy around his fingers told him he wasn't far off. She kept trying to twist and turn, to press her thighs together, anything to get what she wanted, but Jack just kept her there on her back beside him as he played with her. "Jack, please…"

Jack sped up his movements and she arched up off the couch, chasing his touch. "Going to cum for me baby?"

She nodded and the hand in his hair jumped to his back where her nails dug in and reminded him he was hard as a fucking rock and he needed to be inside her, soon.

He moved his fingers slick with her wetness up to draw a lazy circle around her clit. "Goin' to be a good girl and come for me?"

Sam whined but her nails dug into his back and fuck it felt good. He knew they were on that dangerous line where if he wassn't careful, didn't play it just right, she'd turn on him. Then he would be the one on his back with her teasing him until his balls ached. That's not what he wanted tonight and neither did she, because she nodded. She nodded and whined so pretty and pushed into his fingers and he gave her that smile again. Just for her as he watched her, his fingers on her clit moved in hard, fast circles. The kind that always gave her just enough relief to feel good, but left her craving more.

When she came her mouth fell open in a gasp and her eyes snapped shut, Her hips arched towards him and this time he let her. "Good girl." He murmered it into her ear as he coaxed her through that first orgasm. He kissed her cheek, her ear, her throat and felt the rumble of a happy, satisfied moan as she relaxed.

Once her eyes focused he was there, with the smile he kept for her and a kiss that resonated down into their bones.

She wrapped her arms around him again and lost herself in it. "You're too good at that." She whispered as they finally pulled apart. By the time her brain had focused enough to notice Jack had her tshirt pushed up to her breasts and had kissed his way over her hip bone, "Jack," The whine carried more than his name with it. "What're you doing?"

Jack couldn't help but smirk into the soft, silky skin of her inner thigh, "Something else I'm very good at." And then with a wink he ducked his head and his tongue made the first firm swipe through her still wet and quivering pussy, ready to show her time and time again, just how good he was. That he was happy, he was alive, as long as he was with her.

~~~~

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Five (5/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety + telling a partner about self harm. Some awkwardness (obviously. it's them.) Kissing!!!!!!!.

Notes — Ohmygod they’re literally insufferable. I love them so much. I wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the rest when I was supposed to be WFH. Don’t tell my boss.

It took twelve minutes — a stuttered conversation about his plane journey (“Boring. I chose the wrong job for a guy who hates travelling so much.”), him tripping over a random stack of books, and Francesca’s uncontrollable burst of laughter at his clumsiness that cracked through the initial awkward tension.

And then it was just… easy. Like they’d known each other forever.

Oscar fit. He fit into her space. Not seamlessly — his legs hung off the edge of the sofa, and he had to duck to get into the kitchen without smacking his head — but somehow, he still fit. Like there had always been a space carved out for him here, quiet and waiting. 

“You have a lot of books,” he grunted, rubbing his elbow where he’d caught it on the corner of a shelf after trying (and failing) to avoid another tumble. A faint red blotch bloomed across his cheek. 

Francesca pursed her lips in a valiant effort to hide her grin; her cheeks hurt. Had she stopped smiling since he’d arrived? Probably not. “That’s my entire livelihood you’re talking about.”

Oscar gave her a mock-serious nod, eyes twinkling. “My apologies. I guess I just have to get used to feeling like I’m in a library then.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Correct. Insult the books and you’ll be out on the street faster than you can say ugly orange racecar.”

He grinned at that, dimples flashing. “Papaya,” he corrected, automatically.

“Osc. It’s… so orange,” she told him, gentle and sincere. “They’ve brainwashed you.” 

He rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hm. Agree to disagree.”

She huffed her annoyance, but she was smiling, still.

Oscar looked around the flat again, with more intention. Most of the walls were lined with shelves — overflowing, chaotic, personal. Not just books, but little figurines, old mugs repurposed as pen holders, framed photos, postcards, pressed flowers between glass. Her entire world, encompassed inside these four walls.

“I like it here,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

Francesca’s smile faltered, just a touch. She studied him, trying to figure out if he meant it — really meant it — or if he was just being kind.

But Oscar met her gaze with something solid. Unwavering.

“I’m glad you let me come,” he added, softer this time. “Really glad.”

Right. Because he really was here.

Not on a screen. Not in the background of a race broadcast. But here, in her flat, stepping over book piles and stealing glances at her like she was the only thing in the room he really wanted to be looking at.

Henry hopped up beside him on the sofa, gave him a cursory sniff, then promptly curled up next to his thigh like he, too, had accepted Oscar's presence as something entirely inevitable.

“You’ve been vetted,” Francesca said, settling in across from them with her knees pulled up.

Oscar tilted his head. “By the cat or by you?”

She smiled. “Both. Congratulations.”

He leaned back, arms stretched out across the cushions, one foot nudging hers gently. “Worth it.”

— 

Francesca didn’t mean to end up pressed right up against him on the sofa. It just sort of… happened.

One minute they were sitting side by side, knees brushing slightly whenever she shifted to grab her mug from the coffee table, and the next, she found herself curled against his side, her legs pulled up, tucked comfortably between them, a blanket pooled over both their laps.

Oscar’s arm had moved slowly, almost unsurely at first, but now it was settled around her shins, his big hand warm around her ankle, wrapping around it entirely. His thumb made small, absent-minded circles, like he hadn’t even realised he was doing it. Francesca hadn’t said anything, didn’t want to break this spell they’d found themselves in.

Henry was curled on the rug nearby, snoring faintly. Oscar had tried to bribe him with a treat earlier. The cat had blinked once, disinterested, then strolled off with his tail flicking like a snub.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Oscar murmured, glancing at the feline. “He’s kind of a little bastard, actually.”

Francesca smiled, eyes on the cat. “He’s discerning.”

“Is that the polite word for emotionally unavailable?”

“That,” she agreed, “and slightly spiteful. He liked you when you first got here, but now you’re stealing my attention from him, so…”

Oscar chuckled. “Can’t deny he’s cute. I can see why you love him.”

“I do,” she said simply. Then, after a pause, “He makes me feel safe.”

Oscar glanced down at her, the humour in his expression fading into something gentler. “Yeah?”

Francesca took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. He’s quiet — unless he’s hungry and I’ve forgotten his breakfast. Doesn’t expect much. Doesn’t judge me. And he’s just… here, you know? He just exists near me. Always.”

Oscar didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fill the silence with something easy or deflecting. Instead, his thumb traced a slow, steady line along her ankle, grounding her.

“He’s taken good care of you, then,” he said, soft but certain.

She turned her head to look at him — really looked. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

“No,” he said firmly, with a tone that very much implied that he wouldn’t accept any different. 

His hand left her ankle after a moment, fingers brushing up her leg, light and patient, until they found hers, half-curled on her lap. He picked up one of her hands gently, like it might break.

And maybe it already had; in a way.

He turned it over slowly, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist, then the raw, reddened skin across her knuckles and the side of her palm, the tiny pinch bruises, the white scars. His gaze flicked to hers, suddenly cautious.

Francesca swallowed hard. God, she’d known this would come up eventually. She hadn’t expected them to be so touchy so fast, but it was far too late to pretend this was going to be anything slow-burning. They’d already burned for long enough.

“It’s not— I don’t hurt myself. Not… deliberately.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “It’s more like… when things get too much, and I don’t know how to handle it, I pick. Scratch. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it until it’s already bad.” She drew in a breath, unsteady. “It’s been worse before. But this — this is still pretty recent.”

Oscar didn’t let go.

He didn’t flinch or shift away or frown in that way that made people feel like they’d just confessed to something shameful. Instead, he laced their fingers together, slow and certain.

“My parents hated it,” she said after a silent moment. “Whenever they caught me doing anything that made them uncomfortable — biting my nails, needing to leave places early — it was like I was ruining it for them. Like I was an inconvenience on purpose, you know?”

Oscar’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t allowed to talk about how I was feeling. They didn’t… like hearing it. I had to hide everything. After a while, I started hiding it from myself, too.” She gave his hand a tiny squeeze. “And then, one day, it started manifesting itself in other ways.”

“Like this,” Oscar said gently, brushing a thumb over her hand again.

She nodded, eyes burning. “It’s getting better. I- I hardly do it anymore. I can go months without an issue. I know it’s terrible, I do, but I promise, I can try—.”

“You don’t have to try for me,” he said, voice low as he cut her off, halting her spiral. “Don’t ever have to hide how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking. You get that?”

Francesca bit her lip, hard. Her chest was tight — not in her usual twisted panic kind of way, but something much, much warmer. 

“I’m a bit scared,” she whispered, curling closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing him in. “That you’ll realise how messy I am and… I don’t know. Decide I’m not worth the hassle.”

“You are,” he said, without hesitation.

No pause. No doubt. Just truth.

She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“Kinda do,” Oscar murmured. “I’ve got my mess too. Plenty of it.” He paused, his voice low. “You might be the one who decides I’m not worth it. I can’t promise you a peaceful life, Francesca. I’ll try — I’ll do everything I can to give you something close — but I can’t guarantee anything.”

She shook her head before he could spiral further. “Osc, stop. I know. I already know,” she said gently.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, fingers loosely tangled, hearts beating in tandem — not perfectly synced, but close enough. Close enough to mean something.

— 

The quiet felt different now.

Francesca sat on the edge of her sofa, staring at the dent Oscar had left in the cushion. Henry had moved to the other end, curled up into a croissant of cat contentment, but it wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

She'd tried brushing her teeth. Tidying. Scrolling on her phone. All of it only filled seconds.

It had been less than an hour since he’d left, and already the air in the flat felt too thin.

She got up and paced, arms crossed over her chest like they could hold her together.

This is ridiculous. He’s five minutes away. Maybe less. But also, you’ve known him for what? Three months? And then, he didn’t want to go either. You saw it on his face.

She reached for her phone, pulled it back, then finally opened FaceTime before she could change her mind. 

He picked up on the second ring. His hair was damp, he looked freshly showered, and the hoodie he was wearing sat slightly crooked on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft with surprise. “Everything alright?”

“I—um.” She pressed her lips together and huffed out a laugh. “Is it really weird if I ask you to come back?”

Oscar blinked once, then sat up straighter, the movement making the camera wobble slightly. “No. Not weird.”

“I’m not… asking for anything,” she clarified quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. “I just — I can’t really explain it. I just feel a bit off. I thought I’d be fine. I’ve lived alone for years and it’s never been a problem but now that you were here and now you’re not it just feels—”

“Wrong for me to be five minutes down the road?” he offered gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he smiled — lopsided and warm. “I was hoping you’d say something. Didn’t want to be the one to push my luck.”

“I— Really?” She exhaled.

“I haven’t unpacked,” he admitted. “I’ve just been sitting here staring at the ceiling wondering if it was too soon to text you that I miss you.”

She laughed, the sound raw and relieved. “You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said, standing up and already reaching for his shoes. “Give me ten minutes. I— should I bring my stuff?”

“Yeah.” She said, without even a second of hesitation. “I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

Oscar hung up after one last smile in her direction. 

Francesca paced again, but this time it was different — tinged with a manic kind of anticipation, her steps light. 

When the door creaked open, she was perched on the arm of the sofa, kind of just… staring at it. Waiting. 

Oscar stepped inside, shaking his hair out from the light drizzle. “London really rolled out the welcome mat for me, huh?”

“It was wet already,” she said, and then stood there, looking at him. The comfort of his presence settled over her like a favourite hoodie. “Thank you for coming back.”

“I never really left,” he said. 

With a snort of derision, she reached for his hand, pulled him toward the couch, and they collapsed into the same dented cushions as earlier — this time, with no awkwardness, no space left between them. She practically curled up on his lap, in a move that was so very Henry of her.

It was late. Early hours of the morning. They were both tired. They didn’t talk much beyond a few whispered words here and there as they watched a random movie that was playing on Channel 4. Just sat, his arm slung around her waist, her fingers toying with the edge of his hoodie. He kissed her temple once, then rested his cheek there.

Easy. Warm. 

She wanted it forever. 

— 

Francesca moved around her kitchen on careful feet, trying not to make too much noise even though Oscar was very much awake — she was wearing one of his hoodies. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of limbs and cricked necks. When they woke up, she’d shivered, and he’d immediately grabbed his duffle, opened it, and grabbed the first hoodie to hand her. It had a McLaren logo on the front and smelled like him. 

The domesticity of it all was throwing her completely off balance.

He looked up from the mug in his hands when she set down two plates — toast, fruit. Not fancy, but easy. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he, not for a few moments. 

“You make weird tea,” he said finally, peering into his mug. It had a picture of Henry on it. When he’d chosen it out of the cupboard, she’d had to hide her smile. 

She tilted her head at him. “Huh? Weird how?”

“There’s oat milk in it,” he said, nose scrunching slightly.

“I like oat milk,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “You should’ve told me you didn’t. I think I have some powdered cow’s milk in the back of the cupboard somewhere…” She trailed off, glancing toward one of the kitchen cabinets with a furrowed brow.

Oscar coughed, hastily shaking his head. “No—God, no. I’m… yeah. Oat milk is just fine.”

Francesca stared at him for a second, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s easy to forget you’re probably used to, like, fancy coffee. Flat whites with milk flown in from Australia or something.” 

She reached across the table and plucked a strawberry from his plate with deliberate mischief.

“Be nice about my milk preferences,” she added, popping it into her mouth.

“I am being nice,” he said with a small smile. “I’m drinking it, aren’t I?”

Their knees bumped under the table, lightly, accidentally-on-purpose. Francesca didn’t move hers away. Oscar didn’t either.

His phone buzzed near his elbow, but he didn’t reach for it. Francesca glanced at it, then back at him, then said, “Lando?”

He hummed. “Probably.”

She smiled around her bite of toast. “Aw. He’s your Katie.”

Oscar blinked at her. “My what?”

She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “You know. The person you text the most. The one who you think about telling big news before anyone else.”

His expression softened, gaze dropping briefly to his plate before lifting again, meeting hers. “I think that’s you now.”

Francesca froze. Not in a bad way — just long enough to feel it settle deep in her chest, warm and a little scary. “Oh.”

Oscar’s foot nudged hers again, gentler this time. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it’s… very okay.”

They went quiet again, the air between them filled with something lighter now, but thicker, too. Oscar reached out, slowly, fingers brushing the edge of her plate to steal a slice of strawberry. She watched his hand, her gaze lingering as it retreated. And then she reached across and took it — his hand — without fully thinking.

He didn’t flinch. Just let her link their fingers and gave the tiniest squeeze in return.

“So,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You studied English Lit at uni?”

Francesca nodded. Of course he’d noticed the framed certificate stuck to the fridge like a badge of honour. The most expensive fridge magnet in the world.

“Yeah. At York,” she said. “I was going to try and get into the publishing industry, originally. Or proof-editing. But… things changed. I started posting on YouTube a month after graduation, and it just… took off.” 

“Did you like studying?” he asked after a beat.

“Sometimes,” she replied, her voice thoughtful. “I liked the content. Loved the books. The theory, the discussions. Hated the actual, like, uni lifestyle though.”

He smiled, just a little. “Too much socialising for you, huh?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Too much everything. People everywhere, all the time. Constant pressure to be on. And drunk. I hated how loud it all was.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled for a second before they moved again, slow and grounding, rubbing circles on her skin. “I didn’t do uni,” he said, eyes flicking down to where their hands sat tangled between them. “Went to boarding school here, in England. Left after GCSEs to focus on racing full time.”

Francesca’s brow creased, the image of him at fifteen — maybe younger — on the other side of the world, too sharp in her mind. “Did you miss your family?” She frowned, thumb tracing a line over his wrist. “Your mum must have trusted you a lot, to let you make that decision.”

Oscar let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “She did. Does.” His voice dropped, a little rougher now. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, I was pretty lucky — I had lots of people around me, managers, mentors, a few teammates who looked out for me. But there were days when all I felt was homesick, you know?” 

Francesca turned her body more toward him, their knees bumping.

“I can’t imagine being so independent at that age,” she said, quietly.

“I think it taught me a lot,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t know if I’d want the same for my kids.” 

Her breath caught. 

“I- yeah.” She murmured. “I can see that.”

He looked at her then, properly, his hand moving to hold both of hers now, like he wanted to keep them steady. “When did you start reading?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Young. I used to go to the library after school. It felt safe there.” She confessed. “When I didn’t want to be at home.” 

“I- I really hate how you were treated by your family.” He admitted. “Did you— I mean, can you at least tell me that you had one person in your life who took care of you?” 

“Katie.” She said, after a heavy beat. “I met her at uni. She was studying business. She’s a great friend.” 

That wasn’t the answer he’d been wanting to hear, clearly, but he didn’t push. 

Francesca stared at him. There was a beat of quiet between them, soft and golden, and then she said, “You make me feel safe, Osc.”

He blinked at her. 

“I know it sounds like a lot,” she continued, “but there’s something about you that makes me feel like I can just… breathe.”

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment. He just leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against hers.

Francesca let her eyes flutter shut, her breath catching in her throat. There was something cloying in the air between them now — expectant, tender, and so, so careful. His hand moved from hers, brushing up along her forearm, until it came to rest at the side of her face. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheekbone, featherlight, like he was memorising every inch of her.

She opened her eyes just enough to meet his.

He was already looking at her.

Not the way other people looked at her — with pity, or hesitance, or confusion — but like he was enamoured by her. 

“Is this okay?” Oscar asked, voice barely a whisper.

Francesca gave the smallest nod, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Please.”

So he kissed her.

It was slow. Intentional. No rush, no need to prove anything — just the warmth of his lips against hers, the quiet exhale from his nose, the gentle tilt of his head as he leaned in closer. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to do it properly.

Francesca melted into it. Her hand came up to his shoulder, then his neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape. She felt his pulse against her palm, and hers answered in kind, a steady, stumbling rhythm. 

When they eventually pulled apart, neither of them moved far. Foreheads still resting together, breaths shared in the space between them, everything soft and golden in the morning light.

“I really like you,” she confessed, cheeks rosy red, lips swollen.

Oscar grinned, lips brushing against hers as he said, “Yeah. I really like you too.”

And then she laughed, small and slightly breathless. “Good. Because that would’ve been really awkward otherwise.”

He laughed with her, arms tightening around her like he didn’t quite want to let her go. “Yeah, that would’ve been devastating for my ego.” 

—

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bookishgoldie: new video-essay coming to your screens on Tuesday! hint: it’s about a certain singers influence on the contemporary romance genre 🪩🫶

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user21: holy shit my two worlds are colliding and i am NOT going to be calm about this

user17: she’s a HUGE swiftie miss girl isn’t quiet about it either 😭 ive been waiting for a vid like this from her omg

user87: me on tuesday: everybody shut up my show is on

user74: ohmygod real

user6: our girl is collecting piastri’s like pokemons ohmygod. oscar AND hattie in the likes iktr

user54: so her and oscar are definitely dating then lol

user69: maybe hattie just showed oscar one of her vids and he just… follows her? it’s probably completely innocent. she’s not exactly wag material lol

user7: @user69 wish i could be as delusional as you babe

hattiepiastri: if i send u my favourite manga will you make a video about it pls?

bookishgoldie: it would be my first manga ever! but yes. i’d 100% make a video about it if u want me to do <3

user40: OH SHES PART OF THE FAMILY HUH

user61: stop she’s giving such big sister energy ‘if that’s what u me to do’ IM DYING

landonorris: my sister asked if u would follow her pls she likes your videos @flonorris

bookishgoldie: ohmygod yes of course that’s so sweet. followed her

flonorris: this is the most humiliating day of my life but I LOVE UR VIDS SO MUCH FRANCESCA ahhhhh (lando i fcking hate u)

user76: ok this is getting crazy now

user8: im getting whiplash WHAT IS HAPPENING

—

Francesca was curled up on Oscar’s lap, laptop perched on her thighs, fingers moving with idle precision as she clipped audio and trimmed footage.

He was content to just watch her work. In her element. The furrow of her brow when something didn’t sync up quite the way she’d expected it to. The occasional muttered commentary and nudge when she wanted his opinion on something. The way she mouthed along to her voiceover without even realising.

It made something calm settle in his chest. 

“I like seeing this side of things,” he said after a while.

Francesca glanced at him with a shy smile, tapping the spacebar to pause the video. “A lot of people hate this part. The editing. My management tried to hire someone to take over, but I said no. I genuinely enjoy this. I can just… lose myself in it.” 

Oscar hummed. “Hattie’s the same with her sketching. Just zones out completely. You could set off fireworks next to her and she wouldn’t notice.”

Francesca’s smile widened a little at the mention of his sister. “I like Hattie.”

“She’s annoying. But she’s also one of my favourite people,” he said simply. Then, after a second, he asked, “Do you… talk to your siblings much?”

The shift was subtle. Her smile dimmed. 

“Not really,” she said, voice quiet but even. “I mean, I have a sibling. One. Izzy. She’s older. We’ve never been close. She was like my parents; thought I was just a dramatic attention seeking kid.”

Oscar’s fingers found hers where they sat between them, soft and easy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She gave a little shrug, tried to smile again. “I mean, it’s not. But I’ve made peace with it.”

Oscar was quiet for a second. “My family’s already excited to meet you.”

Francesca’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Wait — what?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve told them about you. Mum asked if I’d started seeing anyone. I didn’t really know how to explain what this is, but I tried.”

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Of course I have,” he said. “You’re kind of hard not to talk about, to be honest.”

Francesca flushed, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She didn’t speak for a long moment, then murmured, “I want to go. One day. To Australia. I want to meet them.”

Oscar looked at her properly then — really looked. Her eyes were glassy, not from tears, but from something quieter. Nerves, maybe. Definitely fear. 

“Scary thought?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “They’ll come to you. They’ve already offered. I told them a little bit—not everything, just what I could. Mum gets it. She said she’s happy to meet you wherever you feel safe.”

Francesca stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… told them that?”

“Yeah,” he said, slightly hesitant. “I—I'm not ashamed of anything about you, Francesca.”

She looked away quickly. Her thumb rubbed absently over his collarbone, shaky and soft.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’d like that. Them here. But that— I mean, I’d want to try. My job gives me so much freedom and I’ve never used it.” Her voice dipped, threaded with uncertainty. “I’ve always been too scared.”

She had a passport, technically. But she hadn’t travelled since she was a kid, since there’d always been a parent’s hand to hold in the chaos of airports, someone else to take charge. Adulthood had turned freedom into something sharp-edged and overwhelming.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple — slow and sure. “We can do as much trying as you want, babe.”

Babe.

The word caught her off guard in the nicest way. It fizzed in her chest, soft and electric, looping like a song she didn’t know she’d needed to hear.

She tilted her head just enough to look at him. “You said that really casually,” she murmured. “So now I feel like a psycho for wanting to scream about it.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, then looked down at her, a teasing glint sparking in his eyes. “Beautiful. Babe. Baby. Princess.” He ticked each one off like a checklist, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Francesca let out an incredulous, half-sputtered laugh as her face flamed red. “Oh my god. Stop. Now you’re just testing me.”

“Actually, I’m gauging your reactions,” he said, gaze calculating. “Seeing which one makes your brain short-circuit the most.”

“It’s definitely ‘princess’,” she muttered, hiding her face in his chest. “You cannot just say that. It’s embarrassing. I hate pet names.”

“No you don’t,” he said, entirely unapologetic, fingers drawing slow shapes on her arm. “You liked them.”

“Did not.” She said petulantly. 

They sat like that for a while. The laptop battery warning popped up and was ignored. The video paused, forgotten. Francesca leaned her head against his chest. 

“When do you have to be back?” Francesca asked, her voice soft, as if she didn’t really want the answer. “At work, I mean.”

Oscar shifted slightly beneath her. “There’s a break between races,” he said. “Just a week, and I’ve got to be in Woking on Saturday. Sim session.”

She nodded, humming in acknowledgment. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hem of his sleeve. “Where do you… I mean, where do you actually live?” she asked after a beat. “I’ve never really thought about it. You’re always travelling so much — it’s hard to imagine you, like, actually settled down somewhere.”

He smiled, tilting his head like the question had caught him off guard. “Australia, mostly. I stay with my family when I’m back there. But I’ve got a few places scattered around — small apartments I use when I need them. I rent them out when I’m not going to be using them.”

“Oh.” Francesca blinked, absorbing his words.

“I want that to change, soon,” Oscar said, his voice low, honest. “It’s been fun, letting myself just… exist. Living out of suitcases, bouncing from city to city, never stopping long enough to feel anything settle. But I want somewhere to be able to call home, you know? A real home. I don’t feel like I have that at the moment.”

She nodded, quiet for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Where would that be?”

He let out a short breath through his nose, a sound laced with uncertainty. “Lando’s been pushing me to consider Monaco,” he admitted. “Says it makes sense. Warm weather, tax stuff… the usual.” He gave a small shrug, like he was a bit embarrassed by how dry and practical it sounded.

“Lando seems fun,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

“He’s… Lando,” Oscar replied, with a fond shake of his head. That alone made her laugh. “He’s excited to meet you.”

She softened at that. “You’ve told everyone about me, huh.”

Instead of answering right away, he tucked his fingers gently under her chin, tilted her face toward his, and pressed a series of light, lingering kisses to her lips. Slow and affectionate and sure.

“Yes,” he murmured in between kisses. “Everyone. Anyone who’ll listen. Don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

She blinked at him, dazed and glowing. “Hm. Well, I get exclusive soft launch rights,” she said, attempting something breezy but smiling too hard to quite pull it off. “If you’re telling everyone about me, I’m telling the internet about us.”

His brow quirked, and he grinned. “You want to show me off?”

There was a low, amused heat in his voice, and she bit back the stupid little sound that nearly escaped her throat.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze flitting to his mouth and back to his eyes. “Obviously.”

He gave a small smile, soft around the edges. “So… what you’re saying is that it wouldn’t be completely ridiculous if I asked you to be my girlfriend? Officially?” A slight flush crept up his neck, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. “No pressure, if it’s too soon, or weird, or—”

“Yes.” Her answer came fast, almost cutting him off, and she let out a little breathy laugh at herself. “I mean… yes, I’d like that. A lot.”

Oscar’s smile widened slowly, and something settled behind his ribs. “Okay. Cool. That’s cool.”

She leaned up to kiss him. “Yes. Very cool. Boyfriend.” 

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Katie 

Katie: 

Update pls

Francesca: 

I AM A GIRLFRIEND NOW

Katie:

Colour me shocked. 

Girl why do u seem surprised by this. 

He is literally so gone for you. 

Francesca: 

i want to eat his face off 

Katie: 

Oh good god. 

Please tell me you haven’t been this unhinged in-front of him 

Francesca: 

yolo 

he’s my bf now anyway 

no escape for him! 

Katie: 

Poor guy has no idea what he’s signed himself up for 💀

CHAPTER SIX

[kortac-sweetheart]

KorTac cuddle pile WHEN ⁉️⁉️ i need all of those men to be put on a very large cozy bed in a warm, dimly lit room so they can serve their one true purpose in life (to be used as pillows + blankets + mattresses + teddy bears) would be best sleep of my life i think . :3333 do you understand the vision

ofc i understand the vision i used to be a serial napper 🙏

they’ve never seen you so tired before, they think. it’s not like you were necessarily chipper after missions, it’s just that… you look like you’re dead on your feet. face wan and stance unsteady, you looked like you were ready to keel over at any second.

you had given könig and horangi a start when your head nearly slammed against the table during post-op debrief, jerking back only a second before impact, only blearily shaking your head and sighing.

they knew there was no use to asking you if you were alright because clearly— you weren’t. not like you’d admit it anyway, stubborn darling that you are. pretending to be ok and awake even if you were only a few seconds away from falling asleep standing. agonizing minutes stretched on and on into what felt like hours— when would this debrief end? why were you here? what series of decisions did you make for you to end up here? god you’re so tired.

finally, finally debrief was over. as soon as it was officially dismissed you hobbled out of there as fast as your sleep deprived body could, nearly bumping into a table and a file organizer on the way out.

was the hallway always this long? why are the lights so bright? it’s so loud.

the door to your room seemed like an oasis in the desert, a wave of reprieve washed over you as you finally managed to pry the door open. (nearly tearing it clean off the hinges in your sleep addled state and slamming it shut with a little too much force.)

oh your bed. your sweet sweet bed, oh welcome salvation. you didn’t even bother to pry off your uncomfy fatigues, instead opting to flop face first into the bed and fall asleep clutching a teddy bear.

your teddy bear was oddly firm and warm when you blearily woke up again. rubbing your sleepy eyes and nearly jumping out of your skin when you realized you were face first in nikto’s chest. did you fall asleep in the wrong room or something? oh dear.

as if sensing you were awake, one icy blue eye opens to peer sleepily at you before closing contently again. a steady arm running up your back and squishing you closer to him, and a firm but kind “sleep, solnishko” is the only thing he murmurs before falling back asleep.

you’re a little more awake now after that little fright. it was only after calming down a bit that you realized there was someone else squished behind you too. a large, meaty hand is gingerly settled on your hip, red beaded bracelet immediately outing him— konig.

he’s sleeping soundly like a log, and surprisingly quiet too. only his soft little breaths and sleepy murmurs giving him away.

it’s warm… it’s nice. and the allure of sleep calls to you once more, almost slipping away once more before your door slowly creaks open. you stiffen, one eye open to peer at the strange visitor(s). that familiar green netting, that camo face mask… you breath out a sigh of relief.

sighing out happily as krueger weasels his way in between you and nikto, planting his face into your tummy and delicately wrapping an arm around your lower back too. horangi opts to just flop on top of you, as carefully as he can to avoid waking you. a small curse leaving him when it take a bit of maneuvering to get comfy.

the two of them get comfy soon enough, settling into a nice position. you’re left squished between the four of them, all sleeping soundly with you and your heart can help but flutter. they sought you out on their own, and they chose to sleep besides you as well, the thought is enough to make your heart feels like it’s overflowing.

you settle down comfortably again, snuggling closer to nikto and you drift off to sleep, loved and content, once more.

[titania-sleeps]

Hello! I’ve been reading your Adonis posts and I love them!! I was wondering how Adonis would react when we finally mark him?

hiii anon, i'm glad you like the posts!! usually i'd respond to this ask with a full piece but i have a crazy physics exam next week so I'll write out the full scene at a different time!

when you finally mark Adonis, he's definitely over the moon. he's every degree of ecstatic. like omg FINALLY you did it, he's been waiting for years. he'll replay the moment over and over again in his head, and he won't ever get tired of reliving it.

in the moment though, you should be careful. his initial reaction is sweet; it's your average "blush blossoms on face" and everything, his body is trembling, and you can tell he can barely contain the sheer unadulterated joy in him. you bite him during a particularly heated session and there's literally no way he's going to let you go. he will keep you trapped in that room, fucking for hours. if you get tired, no you don't! too fucking bad, he's gonna bounce on your cock so you cum more and more in him, until you fill him up to the point of overflow. and even then he'll insist that you stay with him. in the omegaverse, anything goes; that means you're fucking him straight for a week, only taking breaks when you need to eat, piss, or sleep.

after the initial bite... well. if you thought he was clingy before... he's even worse now. he's more open about his obsession with you. he doesn't need to obsess about you biting him anymore, so he occupies his instinctual need to obsess over something with your whole being. he wants your attention 100% of the time, and if you so much as look at another omega (regardless of gender), he'll start complaining and whining. (and ofc that leads to him demanding favors from you; kisses, hugs, sex, and your undivided attention. the whole package.)

anyway post-bite Adonis is a whole nother monster fs. an omega with no inhibitions is a scary one.

more works featuring Adonis: Adonis Introduction, Adonis Rides You, Adonis's First Heat

-> masterlist

[namgyunation]

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I’m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

<- Previous -> Next

——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips. 

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’. 

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit. 

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible. 

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap.  “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure? 

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

[perrywrites]

CAN U DO KAISER, NESS AND KIYORA FOR THE 'Asking them to hold your hand during your first time'?!?!!!?? IK KIYORA'S PART MAY BE CHALLENGING(u don't have to do him if you want ofc)) BUT YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD LIKE.. I LOVE IT 🗣️🗣️‼️

SDFHSDFSFD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SWEET WORDS 🙈🙈🙈 I'm so honoured you like my writing, I hope you enjoy this!

Asking “Can you… Can you hold my hand?” during your first time together, part 6;

NSFW

Includes; Kaiser, Ness, Kiyora

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 2 (Barou, Shidou, Karasu) and part 3 (Reo, Chigiri, Nagi) and part 4 (Rin, Sae, Kunigami) and part 5 (Otoya, Oliver, Yukimiya)

Kaiser: he is smirking down at you, beyond smug and satisfied. Did you think you could resist him for long? Deny what you felt for him? Look at you now, after all that talk, writhing beneath him and whining so sweetly for his touch. Honestly, though, he’s in no position to be teasing you so much, the way his cock is twitching and leaking already - shit, look at what you did to him? He will never admit it to you, but he’s so sure what he feels for you is much stronger than anything you will ever feel for him. That’s just how it is, sweetheart, you render him weak with longing, don’t you see? Beyond the smugness the way he craves you so wholeheartedly? Dark siren eyes trembling slightly as his hands reach forth and claim your innocence in its entirety, his mouth robbing you of your capability to speak coherently as he fans your neck with his hot breath and wet open-mouth kisses. It’s then that you shakily breathe out such a cute little request - and there he is, chuckling against your neck. You’re too adorable. He pulls back to look at you, smirking all the while, and he can’t help but chuckle again at your flushed expression. The way your lips are quivering, you really are too adorable. What, did you think he was going to deny your adorable little request or something? Don’t worry, he’s finally getting to have you now, there’s not much he’d deny you right now. Ask him for the world and watch him condense it within the palm of his hand to slip it onto your finger. But don’t ask for mercy. He can’t give any of it when he needs you so badly. His hand intertwines with yours, and his eagerness is transparent as he leans in to kiss you, feverish, full of need for you. Almost there, he needs to feel the softness of those plush walls, feel you encage his cock in the same way you encaged his heart - the owner of this untameable emperor, aren’t you proud? You get to have him like this, ready to ruin you on his cock and give you absolutely anything and everything you desire - as long as you give yourself up to him. A fair deal, he’ll say.

Ness: You’re so beautiful. And absolutely divine. And all his - yes, his, yes. Reverently, he looks down at you, lovesick, so utterly struck by cupid, the air is thick and hot and his touch is searing. The only time he stops murmuring sweet nothings to you is when he kisses you, overflowing with passion, a well that never stops running - you’re so overwhelmed. But that doesn’t stop him as he loves on you, hushing you softly and lovingly when you whine and cry out for him, for more, deep inside you. You don’t realize what kind of an existence you are to him, his everything, his life, his heart - he’ll decide when it’s enough, when he can enter the sweet heaven of your cunt. Don’t forget it, okay? You don’t know anything, just let him take care of you, please. His mouth is obsessive as he slowly kisses down your neck to your ankle, a soft peck ending his journey of your body before he even thinks to allow his aching cock some relief through your precious cunt. Oh, so precious, all dripping and ready for him to claim you. You’re so pretty like this, all out of it for him, all whines as you cry, flushed, begging for him - he smiles. Don’t forget, he’s the only one that can fuck you this good, okay? He’s the only one that’s allowed to have you like this. Don’t forget it. Gently, he pushes your legs apart, renders you helpless as he positions himself - and then his eyes widen momentarily at your shaky words. You want him to hold your hand? Oh…? Eyes lovesick, he smiles lovingly, holding onto your hand reassuringly. You’re so cute, so naive. It’s good that you’re trusting him to have you, don’t worry. He’ll make sure no man will ever use you - to even get the opportunity to do so. So let him chain you down to him, alright? Well. Not like you had a choice at this point anyways, being so willing to let him have your body. Since he’s claiming your whole body like this, you belong to him forever, right? Right?

Kiyora: he makes a quiet vow to you with each kiss, robs you of your first time gently like a silent siren. You don’t know how much you mean to him, and he doesn’t know how to tell you. So he kisses you, again and again, tenderly at times, like freshly fallen snow, and passionately at other times, as if trying desperately to tell you ‘I love you I love you I love you.’ He pours his all into you to make up for what he can’t say in words, his touch is gentle as he cradles your cheek ever so lovingly. You let out the sweetest sounds, and he melts against your body, his breathing heavy as he nips kiss marks across your tantalising skin. He wants you so much, you have no clue. You’re so pretty, so beautiful. You don’t know, but to him you’re the prettiest girl ever. He grabs a handful of your thighs, his hands are rough but his grip is the opposite - firm but soft, oh so soft - and slowly spreads you open for him. Almost hesitant, but eager nonetheless. The feeling of your skin is addicting, and he can't help but keep being more and more greedy for you. He feels sick with how badly he wants to monopolize you, keep you all for himself. You’ll continue accepting him, won’t you? Accept all of him? You’re the only one for him, please never stop looking at him with so much love, never stop looking at him like he’s your whole world. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but still, if you allow it, maybe still he can indulge in you, right? As long as you let him, he can get to have you like this, right? When you ask him to hold your hand, his eyes widen, swirling with emotion as he tears up slightly. “... Is that all you need?” he asks, voice quiet and hoarse and strained, as he affectionately holds your hand to the bed, and when you say yes, he simply nods silently. Adoringly and ardently, he presses kisses against your face, unstopping, unyielding. He loves you so much, you don’t know. He’ll keep you safe, he’ll make you happy, so please, don’t leave him. You’re his only sanctuary, so please, don’t leave him cold and alone. He’s begging you.

Annnnnnd that's the end for this series! Hope you guys enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing these 🤭🤭🤭

[boyfhee]

✶ YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS

aka types of kisses with them!

pairing enhypen x gn reader genre fluff warnings lots of kissing ofc requested

LEE HEESEUNG

playful, teasing— a game of chase. kisses with heeseung are like giggles echoing from a corner of the apartment. they resonate with happiness, yet with an undertone of annoyance. they're abrupt— he could kiss you in the middle of your call, on the stairs for the sake of romance, in the bed where a goodnight kiss lasts longer than it should and you have to push him away. his hands grip around your wrist to pull you closer and before you know it, his lips are on yours, moving in synchrony with yours. kisses where he leaves you dazed, and there's a smirk on his lips. you're used to it, but it's a kiss that you can't do anything for a few seconds after, mouth agape of you to try to process what happened. and when you feel like you're fine, his lips are back onto yours once again.

PARK JONGSEONG

a passionate promise, sheer devotion. it's like the feeling of gravitating closer to him every time you two kiss, like the silver of nervousness that lingers before getting on your favourite ride at the amusement park, one that dissolves amidst the adrenaline. kisses that are used to pass time— kissing against the kitchen counter while waiting for dinner to cook, in the local library till the rain stops, spending a lazy sunday afternoon with your lips on his because you don't have anything better to do. slow yet breathless, his hands in your hair, a few words shared in between. kisses with him usually start with a few pecks— one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, followed by a 'kiss me again' whispered against his lips, and then devouring each other.

SIM JAEYUN

messy, urgent, desperate. soft, innocent kisses that morph into the ones where you're intoxicated with the lack of breath, that is now kisses with jake feel like. they're like a warm hug after a long day, like a cup of hot chocolate shared while talking about your day to each other, sitting on the couch. like the few pecks shared while doing laundry or watching a movie, the kind of movement where soon enough, your hands are grabbing at the clothing, pulling each other closer. there are compliments shared against your skin, sweet nothings and soft smiles against his lips as you two move around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other against the wall or the bed, or anything close by— the kind of kisses that make you fall for him all over again.

PARK SUNGHOON

shy, like the first ones, albeit flirty. kisses with sunghoon always feel like the first kiss shared between lovers, the ones where love interweaves in every breath shared. the kind of kisses that are short and unexpected, stolen while you're doing your make up or while he's helping you do the dishes. they're the ones where the lack of distance makes your heart beat faster, just holding each other closer than possible, moments that lead to cuddles while you both are bundled up on the couch. kisses with him and pure, ones that are broken by his soft nips against your lips, where his hands are pressing against your back, fingertips under you top, drawing gentle circles against the small strip of bare skin that make you pull away with a gasp. the kisses where both of you are obsessed with the feeling, utterly, willingly and wonderfully so.

KIM SUNOO

loud, warm, overflowing with love. kisses where you get lost and can't find a way out, a moment of ecstasy, where one moment you two are kissing and the other, laughing about the silliest things, hands wrapped around each other. they feel like a love confession said out in secrecy, like words whispered into your ears on the subway, like the feeling of your heart swelling up with love when you two run around on dates with your hands intertwined. something where the feeling of his lips against yours gets you giddy, where either of you hide their face in the other's neck, too shy to look up, chaste kisses where the slow movement of lips and his fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress makes you drown in happiness. with sunoo, it feels like love erupting every time you kiss, like drowning in love and breathing underwater.

YANG JUNGWON

protective but hesitant, like home. kisses that are laced with uncertainty, the unsettling feeling of accidently doing something wrong, but the moment he feels your lips on his, all the worries are turned into dust, spinning away in the air. kisses with him can be passionate, physically, metaphorically— ones that speak for a thousand unspoken words. he kisses you like you're the most precious thing in the entire world, brushing away strands of hair from your face and tucking them behind your hair, the soft gesture of him tilting your face to pull you into another kiss. he kisses you delicately, it oozes with love, his arms make you feel safe, and he feels like home. kissing jungwon is like walking into a storm with no worries, because he's right beside you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

exhilarating, yet soft and gentle. the kind of kisses that feel as if you're riding a rollercoaster. you could be kissing for the thousandth time, but the feeling sweeps you off your feet every single time. ones that are so unexpected and playful, they leave you flustered and frozen in your stance, something that makes him laugh at your confused gaze. they're like a busy summer morning, the rush, the urgency, the slight brushing of your lips against his before you two continue you day, the softest kisses that last a little longer before he leaves for schedules, the ones where his lips linger over yours but not touching because he wants to get a reaction out of you— an action that leads to you chase him down the house. kisses that feel like insanity, yet the only thing keep you two sane.

[dilf-docs]

Drunk In Love

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: you don't exactly hate your job as bartender. well, sometimes, like when customers who can't take a no show up. your boyfriend decides to take matters into his hands, or better said, tentacles...

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (ofc), a bit of angst, smut, rough sex??, exhibition kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering, jealous!eddie puts on a show, venom's tongue slurping ur clit like a caprisun, reader gets harrased (is this like a norm for my eddie fics??? lmao)

word count: 3,884 words

side note: this lil' baby is based on this request. that being said, my reqs are still open! keep the suggestions up i say 🗣🔥🔥especially those with classic tropes, cause i'm a deep sucker for them jealousy fics fr most when they get possesive lolz this is me placing my input here *smoothly slides card to the front of the table* ENJOY

If you were to ask your 9 year old self what she wanted to be, she'd tell you an actress. Never a bartender, and most certainly, never the girlfriend of an alien symbiote.

Turns out, life has more on storage of what you expected, certainly. Things haven't gone in the way your kid brain had planned, and going back to the bartender thing, it's one of those things that hasn't been the way you wanted it.

And it isn't the job, really. Over the years, you've grown fond of the drinks you know like the palm of your hand and the scene that occurs behind the bar. Besides, it pays the bills, and there's something comforting in witnessing night engulf the sky, just for the sun to rise again as you're back on your apartment. You're an owl, which really is just how Eddie, your boyfriend, likes to call you with affection.

What hasn't changed and still bothers you after all this years is the people.

It's not like you're an introvert, but crowds aren't really your thing, which is quite the contradiction given the job. The problem lies not on your frequent customers or those who come looking for a good time, but on those who don't know how to take "no" as an answer: most recently, this guy, who won't leave no matter how many times you've told and showed him already.

And it's the wost kind: they don't bother for the drinks, rather the person serving them; and he's been at it for hours, not taking the hint from the one-sided conversation he's been having all this time.

"Hey" the customer speaks again, your back facing him. "So, I want something" he makes a little pause, "but it's not on the menu"

You use a little more force than necessary while cleaning the glass you're holding, "tell me what you want and I'll see what I can do"

He chuckles, and when you finally face him, he seems pleased.

"I want you"

"Too bad" you turn around again, "can't help you then".

"Playing hard to get, I see" you'd think after at least two hours being ignored, he would stop, but he only seems to still not get the cue. "It's fine, I like it this way"

You decide not to add anything, focusing on this drinks for table #2, but he keeps adding comments that drip in annoying drops until your glass of patience overflows.

"C'mon, sugar" he nudges playfully, "spare me a glance, would ya'?"

You scoff, resting your arms on the bar. "If I give you a free drink, would you let me do my job?"

Clearly a mistake, as his hands travel to touch your skin, making it prickle like it burns.

"Still don't get it? The only thing I want is you"

Eddie wanted to surprise you. After some time dating you, he thinks he deserves some credit on to how much he truly knows you; you'd argue he knows you even more than you know yourself.

He knows your small quirks, like the small frown in your lips when you feel sad. He also knows by heart your breathy shrugs, the intricacy of your blinking, the flinch you often do because you get easily scared, and also, how much you hate tuesdays, which is why he's here. Whenever he's free, he drops by, trying to make your night shift a little less difficult. You'd never voiced it out, but he sees it in the way your eyes sparkle when you catch him in the crowd, coming your way, or in the efforts he makes to keep you entertained, your lips curving up in a beautiful smile.

"We are going to see y/n!" chirps Venom in his head, and Eddie can't help but feel a little off at his amount of excitement. "Oh, don't be jealous, Eddie. She sees me as a pet! Still, I like her" he says as Eddie gets inside.

The immediate smell of the alcohol stench place hits him, making him nauseous.

"I hate this place!" Venom agrees, "we should all escape!"

"And get y/n in trouble?" He scoffs, speaking over the music. People don't hear him as he walks by, which helps, since it looks like he's speaking to himself. "Sorry, but I won't be the reason she's gonna loose this job"

"Pussy! You're no fun"

Eddie ignores him as he walks towards you. It isn't until he's almost there, that he notices you're not alone.

"Who's that?" Venom asks.

"I have no idea, buddy" he then notices the proximity, his skin immediately on fire. Not like he's a jealous guy, but never say never.

"He's close to her!" Venom shouts. No shit, thinks Eddie. "We should eat him!"

"He isn't touching her" he butts. Yet, pops the grimy thought up. "Besides, is eating people all you ever think about?" he whisper shouts.

"Yes!" Venom doesn't seem not even a bit embarrassed, "especially bad guys. Like that one"

Eddie is reasonable, he thinks. Feelings like jealousy or possesiveness aren't on his book, yet, seeing the man that doesn't leave you alone, something ugly inside of him burns.

"You judge me, but I know you want the same" he's inciting Eddie, who is angrier than ever. But he doesn't cave in, counts to ten, and breathes in and out, even if he has sped up his walking.

I'm rational. I'm rational. I'm rational.

"Liar" Venom whispers. "You want to kill him"

"Not yet" he can't let his feelings get the best of him, "I can't put y/n in danger so you get some brains. If we do a mess like the ones in Mrs. Chen's store, she'll be fired"

He's being the bigger person here. Eddie just wants you to feel proud of who he is (the lethal protector), and not like you're dating a man child. It happened once (Anne being dissapointed in him, which is worse), and he's not willing to let it happen again. So he'll be polite and politely shove him out of your sight.

At least that's what he thinks until the guy touches you.

"The fuck-"

"Now we're talking!" Venom senses the anger radiating from Eddie, and decides to fire him up, "let's get his brains!"

You're so deep in your shit you don't notice when Eddie walks towards you, his perfume invading your nostrils. In a way, it brings a bit of comfort to your situation.

"Excuse me" his gravely voice goes. Fuck, how you love the sound; you can even feel the nerves going down. It's not like you're a helpless damsel in distress, but sometimes, even if you hate it, a man is needed. Eddie is very much needed now.

"Yes?" the man turns around, and he swears he's screaming when he notices the man is still touching you.

"I'd appreciate if you did me a favor, you see, it's very simple" his tone dripping in venom (hehe), "get your hands off her. Now"

It's stupid, really, how your panties twist at the demading tone, waves of possesivenss radiating off him, considering the situation you're in.

"Why? Are you her guard or something?" he challenges.

"Boyfriend" he spats out.

That would've been enough: at least for a normal person. But some have proven to have worms for brains, like him. Because, even when you've expressed your clear discomfort and Eddie is there, the man doesn't seem the slightlest intimidated, not backing off, by not even a centimeter. All this is very stupid really, and it's testing your patience like it never has in almost three decades alive.

"Yeah?" he stoods up to Eddie, and he's even slightly taller. But Eddie and his strong arms don't back off.

"Yeah" he challenges. God, how you hate men.

"Please, don't make a mess" you beg to no one in particular, because Eddie may be a rational man, but today, all in his eyes are a fury you'd never seen before.

"For your own good, I'm giving you a chance to back off" he threats.

"And what are you gonna do?" he bumps against Eddie's smaller yet built frame, "can't do much, can you?"

The music is on, but it's like it's stopped. All the people have started to stare, and you just want earth to swallow you. The initial wave of arousal is starting to wash away, making you wonder if it's all Eddie's macho ways, Venom or both.

"Eddie, don't" you warn, but it's over: the distraction of your voice makes Eddie turn, and the guy's fist slams across his face, all the regret leaving Eddie's face.

"It's on" he says in a distorted voice.

And it's off for you.

Venom takes over Eddie, the black engulfing his body. People around gasp, and a few do recognize the so-called lethal protector of San Francisco.

"I said" now he towers over him, by various centimeters "...back off"

Punches get thrown, and if you thought he'd cower in fear, the guys tries to fight him off. Some people leave amidst the chaos, and others stay to watch it. How can you take control? Not only is he causing a show, but so is Venom, all rational thoughts flying out of the window.

"Eddie!" you plead, "stop it!"

Your voice falls deaf on his ear. Why doesn't he stop? Eddie thinks he should be scared by now, but he's still fighting. Isn't he scary enough? Isn't he strong enough? Why is he still fighting? He can't loose this fight. No, Venom can't loose this fight.

"You'll pay, scum" he growls, "nobody messes with my girl"

Oh, alright. He got you there; that was kinda hot.

When you get back to your senses, the guy is on the floor, his nose bleeding.

"Eddie, that's enough!" but he ignores you, "Venom!" you try again. Nothing, just alien and guy fighting.

"Have you still learned nothing?"

"Wait!" he shouts, terrified. Nothing like the guy from before, who couldn't take a no, "I'll stop!"

"Good" Venom growls threatening. "I hope you've learned your lesson, asshole" now on Eddie's voice.

The guy scurries away, cowering in fear.

"Alright" you clap your hands, "showtime is over"

You've had enough for today. Really, your hate for tuesdays is justified: an asshole who wouldn't leave you alone, and your boyfriend and his alien pet (derogatory; hey, you're mad!) ruining your day by trying to save it.

"Hey" Eddie's soft voice sounds from behind, "are you okay?"

You laugh, bitterly. "Oh, I don't know. Let's see: a guy harrased me and my boyfriend just fucked up my only income"

His face falls, and you feel a bit bad, yet you can't help it: your nerves are on edge, and your boss not only happens to know you but Eddie too, given all his visits. That means, he sees the cameras and goodbye to your ass, no matter how much you tried to stop it.

This job helps you pay college and your bills. You're fucked: these men's mess will drag you along. Your boss is strict, and the bar reputation will go first: it's a bar, not a brawl. You already hear their stern voice, scolding you (worse) for shit you didn't do.

You start walking away, back to your spot behind the bar. You sigh, deeply: maybe it's the last time you'll ever be there.

"Wait, y/n!" Eddie calls back. The music is going strong and the crowd has long gone, but you know there are still eyes on you. All you want is to curl in bed and cry: you're sad, mad, tired and horny. The week's just getting started: it's not fair.

"What?"

He's taken back by your dry tone; you've never been like this with him. He remembers Anne and their break up, his stomach churning in fear. "Have we fucked up?" asks Venom, but Eddie is too afraid to ask.

"I was trying to help" his voice comes out small, helpless. Funny considering who he is: alien-human symbiote and fearless reporter.

"What does help mean to you? Playing superhero?" you spit. "You'll get me in trouble, Eddie. This job is all I have, yet you seemed to care more about putting a show than me"

"It's not like that!" he argues back, "I was trying to protect you!"

"I know!" you shout, some heads turning around. "I know" you repeat, this time lower, "it's just hard to tell when it's about me, and when it was about you" you confess. Eddie feels bad when he sees your teary eyes, "I don't want you to think I'm angry that you helped me: that guy was scary, and I needed help. I'm just... it's a lot, you know? I thank you for saving me, but I can't thank you for letting your ego take the best of you" you let out a shaky breath. "I want you to know that there are consequences, Eddie, and what started as a noble act ended up hurting me too. Almost like you forgot why you did it in the first place. It was about helping me: for me- Not to, I don't know, prove something..."

He understands, knowing his emotions got the best of him.

"I'm sorry" he rests against the bar, "I know I lost control; you're right. I wanted to help you, talking my way out, like I always do. But then he touched you, and I-, I froze. I hated seeing him touching you, and some jealousy got me there too..." he's ashamed to confess but does anyway, "I don't know... I kinda did also feel a bit... bruised" you're confused, an eyebrow quirking. "Alright, fine. You want me to say it? I will! I felt dumb, you know? That a douchebag like that didn't feel intimidated by me: not first, not second. I didn't know if it was me, that I lost my... well, abilities? My charm? I don't know how to explain it, but that guy was getting on my nerves. It's like-"

"Like he's stupid, Eddie. He's a hard headed idiot who kept fighting an alien symbiote for no reason: despite the disadvantage, despite people watching him loose" you reason, "you can't find logic on something without it. I've already made my peace with it"

"Maybe he was drunk" he ponder, "or high..."

"Or just dumb" you breathe. "You know? Let's stop. I want to enjoy my last day here, definitely not talking about the guy who was harrasing me minutes ago, and also, is the reason I'll loose this job"

"Alright, I'll shut up" Eddie gives up, then "I'm sorry, by the way"

You give up too, "it's okay"

"She won't leave us for this?" Venom asks. Eddie tells you and you laugh. "No, but it's your first strike"

There's some silence, the quiet sipping and chatting of the people sitting close to you, the music now a background white noise for the chaos of your mind and feelings.

"I'm still mad, you know" you drop. He looks up at you, his brown eyes colored in a dark shadow of something dangerous.

"I can make it up to you"

You know that voice. Is he thinking...?

"No" you say hastily.

"The worst already happened..." he starts, voice dropping low.

"We live in a world where superheroes and powers exist. There is always, something worst" you reason.

"Not today, baby" he gets close to your ear, his hot breathe tickling your lobe. "What do you say?"

"Eddie" you warn, but the urge to give in is so bad. It's been a while since the last time you and Eddie were intimate: lack of time, exhaustion and other factors playing a part in cock blocking you both.

"Eddie what?" he mocks, "tell me you don't want it, and I'll stop"

What if you leave the bar unattended? What if you succumb? What if one of the stalls has two people inside, even if forbidden?

"I knew you wanted it" he gasps against your skin. His soft lips kiss along your jaw, his hair brushing your face. His smell always makes you intoxicated, and in the reduced space, the dizziness is excruciating. His hand tightens around your waist, and he looks you deep into your eyes when he says:

"I know I fucked up, baby. So let me help: you won't do anything, just me"

He slams your body against the wall of the stall, which is unhygienic and against the bar norms, but really, why do you care?

"Just wanna taste you, baby" he kisses you again, full of your flavor on his lips. Your gloss coats them in a pink sticky layer, "missed you so much"

It’s shameful for him to admit how easy he seems to fall at your feet: how much he is willing to beg for forgiveness. But he can give and not receive, not having a problem with it; it's the least he can do for you, and you deserve it.

Yet you return his kisses with full hunger, your hands digging in his cheeks, pressing on the skin while diving to his neck, nipping on his sensitive spots. His hold becomes stronger, looking at you with a need so primal it dampens your folds.

"I need you to do something with this" he motions the bottom of your uniform, "be a good girl, yeah? And take this off"

Once your tights are bare and the pants are over his shoulders, he gets to see your sticky panties on their full glory.

"Fuck..." he mutters hazily.

He tears the panties down, while his knee gets his way in the middle of your tights, parting them.

You tug at his jacket, pulling him closer to you, making his knee crash against the wall of the stall.

"If you wanna taste so bad" God, you sound so demanding and it's driving him nuts, "don't keep me waiting, pretty boy"

He hovers over you, kissing you hungrily.

"I'm sorry, won't happen again" he kneels down, breathe hot and close to your puffy folds.

"If you want to fix it, then fucking do so" your hands went to his hair as you felt his teeth lightly press into your thights, sucking and tugging when needed.

"Eddie" you whine, feeling his tongue trail, taunting you, his hands circling around your thighs, the mocking flick of his tongue putting you on edge. Your folds drip, reacting to him.

"Let me help this pretty cunt, yeah?" and there's a sudden swipe at your clit by his long tongue.

You claw your nails into his scalp; the tight grip has his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let himself get lost in the taste of your pussy.

Long forgotten is the teasing, as Eddie lets his mouth fall open, pressing his starving mouth against your wet heat. His tongue kisses between your folds, finding your hot needy clit.

"Right there..." you let out a shaky breath, hips slowly bucking into his face.

His teeth graze softly the plushy skin of your pussy, knowing how sensitive you get.

"Eddie" you plead, "more"

He lets out something that sounds like a huh, pleasant vibrations against your core.

"Deeper" you mewl, "now"

"Let me try, Eddie" Venom's voice sounds inside his head, "I want to apologize too" he's about to argue but he adds, "Besides, you promised I was going to eat. I'm hungry"

Even in the dark of the bathroom, you can see black cover the front of Eddie's face, nesting in between your legs. You let out a yelp when his now longer muscle gets again inside your bud, a failed suppressed moan escaping your lips.

Brock sucks your clit into his mouth, lips wrapped around tight walls while his tongue swiped against the tip. He began a repetition of that, and when you let out a weak cry, he knows he's found your weak spot, sucking your labia into his mouth, making you press your back hard onto the wall, pushing until it starts to hurt.

"Eddie" you softly moan his name, fingers tugging at his hair roughly.

He doesn't pull his mouth from the feast, instead, his ministrations grow rougher. He lets go of the support he has on your thigh and wanders to your pussy, his fingers touching your labia. The trail is dangerously close to your entrance, his fingers get coated with the taste of you. Without thinking, he takes them to his mouth, pupils blown wide.

"So sweet" he praises, longue slicky tongue tasting your leak. Your body was filled by pleasure, coming to its peak when Brock presses his long middle finger into your needy cunt.

"That's it" he kisses your now trembling muscles (how long have you been standing?), sending butterflies to your chest. He's really earning that pardon, isn't he? Eddie is really making it hard to keep mad at him, and Venom isn't helping. "Cum for me, darling"

You whine as he pushes a second finger in. "Are you sounding louder in purpose, babe? Do you want them to find us and see what I'm doing to you? How just my mouth and fingers fuck you up? What a whore you are, fucking in a public restroom?"

You let out another loud whimper that barely gets muffled by the music coming from outside, defiant.

"I'm already fired" you pant, "I don't fucking care"

He feels it; he knows you too much: moving upwardward past your pubic bone, easily finding that soft sensitive spot of yours. Your folds clench around his fingers, Eddie knowing you're close. So now he's back to just being him (he's still warm on his chest for all those jealous feelings from before; no more sharing), his plushy lips around your clit while he thrusts into the wet sweet spot.

Your legs tense, and before you know it, you slam against the wall, arching your back as you shake with release, "Fuck!"

Your juices coat all his fingers, and without thinking he tastes again, licking the release in a rather whore-ish way. "Mm, Venom was right: sweet"

You try to catch your breath and come to understand what had just happened: you just fucked in the bathroom of your soon to be ex-job. Jesus.

Eddie gets closer to kiss you again, cupping your face, but his fingers are still wet. Without thinking, you take them into your mouth and lick your own release off him, mirroring his sensual lick movements from before, all while mantaining eye contact.

"You're gonna be the death of me" he confesses without thinking, his eyes swimming between something dark and soft.

You suck on them with your cheeks hollowed in. His breath hitches, "does this mean I'm forgiven?"

You laugh, throwing your name tag on the trash bin next to you.

"Yes" his mouth falls open, and before he says anything, you're cutting him with a kiss, still as hungry as in the beginning, to Eddie's surprise. Of course: your age says it all. "And you're next"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif (unknown pinterest source)

[bombuni]

contains: soft dom!jjongsang x sub!fem!reader, established relationship, a dacryphilia kink awakening, ofc mean jongho, everything is consensual

minors dni

It starts with shiny eyes and the tiniest kitten sniffles.

Neither of them are very good at comforting, but they’re quick to surround you as soon as they sense the slightest hint of sadness. Their worry sort of suffocates you to the point where you start to forget what you’re crying about. Yeosang rubs circles on your back, his gentle hands touching your skin so you have an anchor to Earth. They both stare incredulously, waiting uncomfortably for the first tear to fall.

You chuckle sorrowfully at your introverted boyfriends, “You guys are being so awkward right now,”

Yeosang looks away bashfully, “Well, this is the first time you’ve cried in front of us. We’re not really sure what to do, angel…”

Jongho’s still staring with a focused intensity, “Why are you sad?”

You bite your lip in thought, “I don’t think I’m sad, necessarily. I mean, I’m with you guys-“ Yeosang coos at that, “I think I’m just having an overflow of emotions right now. It was a long day. Now I’m home and I’m with you two, so I’m relieved.”

Yeosang’s soft-albeit slightly confused-smile sends warmth through your body. He opens his arms and you lunge into him. Hugging Yeosang is like being enveloped with a robe that was spun with clouds by cherubs in the sky. Jongho makes no signal that he understood any of what you said, but you don’t feel compelled to explain or reason yourself with them. They just appreciate you as is, and the thought makes you want to cry all over again.

Jongho glances up at Yeosang in united concern when you muffle your tears with Yeosang’s tummy. Your emotional outburst due to an abundance of love (?) is cute, but Jongho is too used to tears being a bad sign. It’s hard to rewire that feeling.

“Are you…sure you’re okay?”

Your head raises and they feel their hearts fluttering at the pretty sight on your face. Your lips are plump and your eyes look like they hold galaxies, and Yeosang sort of understands why you’re crying out of love. He feels things overflowing inside him too.

Yeosang can’t resist the instinct to kiss you. You’re too pretty right now, and he hopes that maybe a kiss could heal your heart-or at least show you he’s teeming with love too. He’s surprised when you kiss back feverishly, hands pulling him in by the nape of his neck. You’re desperate and hungry to prove you’re ok. Yeosang is out of breath and panting when you finally let him go.

Jongho spectates with rapt interest, your ache and ravenousness catching onto him. He wastes no time when you let go of Yeosang, his lips crashing onto yours. His hands roam your body, forcing you closer to him like he can’t fathom letting you go. Jongho always knocks the breath out of you, and Yeosang always brings it back to you.

He mumbles into your lips, “You’re…okay, right?”

They’re holding back, their last check-in and warning to you before they finally let everything unleash, “I really want you guys to fuck me right now.”

Yeosang’s on your neck in seconds, suckling on your sweet points and trailing kisses so you’ll remember the path of his lips forever. Jongho pulls your shorts down slowly, taking his time to admire your plush thighs in your pretty, blue panties. Already, their attention is causing the pieces of you to fall entirely to them.

Jongho’s hands leave a trail of warmth, skin buzzing where he touches and probes. His hands consequently raise your shirt as he roams, greeting your tits with soft and delicate kisses. He chuckles when he feels your hips buck at his suckling, tongue lapping like you’re a lifeline.

“Jjong-“

Yeosang kisses you to stop your cries, fearing the power your pathetic and broken voice has over him.

From your spot in Yeosang’s lap, Jongho has full view and access to your weeping cunt. It’s cute how it’s just as wet as your eyes.

You whine in impatience again and Jongho tsk’s, “Don’t be bratty.”

Yeosang chuckles at the pout on your lips, “He likes it when you’re bratty,”

Jongho takes your guys’ cheeky giggles as a personal challenge, intending to keep those sparkling tears rolling down your cheeks. To give you so much to the point it’s overwhelmingly wicked.

He suddenly pulls your panties down with his new stubborn goal in mind. The cool air against your core is a shock to your senses, the new sensations only bringing fresh tears to your eyes. Jongho figures this will be easier than he thought. His fingers slide up and down between your folds, playing with your wetness. He adds pressure every time he reaches your clit, his sick smirk growing every time your hips buck. He glances at Yeosang, who immediately brings one hand to hold you down. That’s all it takes.

Yeosang’s voice is breathy, his eyes entranced by the sight of Jongho using you like his toy, “Why are you running away from Jjong, angel?”

“‘M not, ‘m not, I swear Sangie-“

Jongho suddenly licks a stripe in between you, tongue slipping into your entrance and sending a new electric wave to your nerves. A tear rolls down your cheek. Jongho feels his pants constrict just a little more. Your attempts to writhe under him are stopped by Yeosang, your body shaking as you can’t do anything but lay as Jongho absolutely ravishes you. His hands kneading your thighs gently are the complete opposite to his unapologetically depraved mouth. Your high pitched moans are pathetic.

Yeosang’s cock throbs when his spit drips onto your clit and like it’s a siren calling his name, he brings his fingers down to your button. He spreads the wetness, the lewd sounds your pussy makes spurring him on.

Yeosang can’t help but admire you, “Oh, look at you, baby. So nice and sweet for us, always, are those tears for Jjong?”

You nod haphazardly, entirely unaware as to what you’re agreeing to but responding to Yeosang’s voice. Jongho pipes up, “Does your mouth not work?”

“‘M crying cause I feel so good Sangie, so, so good,”

Yeosang smiles devilishly, “What a sweet girl we have, Jongho.”

Jongho has taken to pumping you full of his fingers to make you cry with his words now. Their hands are touching all over you, sending shockwave after shockwave into your body. Enthralled by your glistening, starry eyes, they work in tandem with each other as Jongho reaches deep inside you and Yeosang keeps rubbing circles to keep you flowing. They fill you with themselves and their words to make sure you burst.

Jongho’s lips shine with your slick as he smirks down at you, “Nah, she’s a crybaby. Cryin’ from her pretty eyes and her pretty pussy,”

You feel the moment every one of your nerves set alight, and they can too. Yeosang’s words flow right to your core, “Can you cum for us? Pretty please, baby?”

Now, your nerves detonate inside you. Waves of pleasure rupture through you, reaching you from head to toe. Their voices talking you down are in the back of your mind, pulling from inside you and bringing you back to reality.

When you blink in realization, Yeosang is wiping your tears away. They’re sheepish now, the smallest blush dusting Jongho’s cheeks as he slips your panties back on.

“I didn’t think you guys would like me crying that much,” you mumble sleepily.

Yeosang puts his hands in mock surrender, “Ask the other guy. That was all him.”

You can’t do much as your forgotten shorts are launched at Yeosang’s face right in front of you.

bom note: i seriously just need jjongsang to take care of me mentally physically and financially i think i was born to bring them breakfast in bed every morning (feminism be gone).

[hwallazia]

SKIN – 정윤호

⋆ synopsis. yunho soothes you after your boyfriend breaks up with you.

pairing. bsf! jeong yunho & fem! reader

taglist. @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho @yyaurii | apply to join my taglist ♡

wc. 2,4k

warnings. angst + comfort, cursing, slight degradation (yn is called a “bitch” by her boyfriend), lots of tears, yn’s got a boyfriend whose name is never mentioned, yn in here has dark hair (sorry for my light-haired babes, it’s just for the plot), sabrina carpenter sad songs (yes, that goes as a warning), physical and psychological insecurities, cutest pet names (princess, baby, love, yun & more), body worshipping, just softie bsf yuyu showing all his love to reader ><

nic’s notes ⋆ this fic has a piece of my heart, i put all my poet ass in it lmao. ofc it’s inspired in “skin” by sabrina carpenter (song rec alert !!). enjoy, dearsss <3

“come to my place. now” was what you had told yunho when you called him. and no more words nor explanations were needed for him to rush into your studio apartment’s door.

a soft knock reverberated across the gloomy room while you were too busy rotting on your sofa, a feather pillow was pressed against your pale face by your hands as they grasped the fluffy material. you groaned before forcing your body up, your stocking feet idly searching for your black and white slippers. tired body shuffling its way to your door.

you swung your door open revealing your best friend’s figure, enveloped in an oversized hoodie, hands busy holding a basket full of your favorite sweets and scented candles. you also could take a peek at some teabags, also of your preferences. “bought some things on my way here. you sounded a bit off so i thought these could make you feel better.” he muttered as he analyzed your state, smudged mascara on your cheeks catching his attention.

your boyfriend of two years had called you to ask you if you were free tonight. as excitement rushed through your veins, you accepted frantically; you hadn’t seen him in so long since he was on some sort of business trip, you didn’t know. he didn’t clarify what it was for and you didn’t even bother asking, limiting yourself to only wish him the best and tell him how much you love him and to be safe. your small studio apartment felt so small and empty without his joyful presence, yunho having to fill the void. but finally, finally, the two weeks; fourteen days; 336 hours, and fifty minutes passed, though they did at the pace of a turtle.

you tracked the flight of the airplane he was in as the two-weeks-accumulated anxiety was overflowing you. when your screen informed you that he’d arrive in only ten minutes, you changed your clothes, did your makeup as fast as lightning, and drove, ignoring a few traffic signs, to the airport. and you waited, and waited, and waited. he never showed up.

with all the people that passed you by while you lingered in that airport, you tried to convince yourself that maybe he was there or that his flight was delayed. the most nonsensical excuses were formed in your head. you were quick to grab your phone, slide your finger across your screen, and type anxiously against it, your eyes moving from side to side, up and down, looking for his contact.

to love: “where are u”

to love: “have u arrived yet?”

no response. your feet were starting to feel your weight too much, feeling sore as the minutes passed. a teardrop threatened to roll off your cheekbone but you resisted, holding onto a miserable bit of hope. and then it started raining, the heavy drops hammering the walls made of glass of the airport and you heaved a sigh. a part of you refusing to accept that he wasn’t there and that you had to rot in a cold, lonely bed again for god knows how much time. your index finger was firmly placed on the on and off button of your phone, checking your screen every five seconds, envisioning the relieving sound of a “ding” indicating that he had finally replied to you. sadly, it didn’t.

although, he had taken the time to answer to your desperate messages four days later, you were still excited to meet your lover again, after being apart for such a long time. you were supposed to have a pretty dinner date at his place, or at least that’s how you interpreted his words. actually he had said “we need to catch up! come to my place by 6”, but you still dolled up as if you were modeling on the fucking red carpet. and you regretted it so much.

a few sips of the sparkling champagne were enough for you to start confessing how much you had missed him and everything you had done in his absence. your crystallized bubble crumbled down so fast, though. only five words, five damn words were necessary for your eyes to start welling up with precious teardrops.

“we need to break up.” he had said. emotionless. as if he was giving you the fucking hour.

“what. why?” your eyes peered down his soul as you tried to retain a few tears that already demanded their release. you processed his words and spoke, “and what do you mean by need?” 

your scattered voice didn���t hurt him. not at all. “i’ve been hiding something from you for… too much time.” you gasped. your ears tickling in anticipation. “sorry, but i’m in love with… someone else.”

the glass of champagne that rested on your hand on the edge of the table slipped off it and met the floor, the crystal and liquor spread all over it, messing its neatness up. tears started to flow down your heated cheekbones, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “how long?”

your simple question received a simpler answer. “eight months.”

your throat ran dry but you still managed to speak back through gritted teeth. “eight months. was i not enough for you? were those eight months happier for you?”

he stood up, now both of you speaking face-to-face. frown brows decorated his expression. “why bother telling you?”

“answer me!” you demanded, your voice and heart naturally breaking with each passing second near him.

“fine. those were the best months of my life. she’s the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen, her soul is just as bright as her blonde hair. she treats me like a king, yn. and what have i gotten with you? nothing but just shitty nights, crying myself to sleep because of our never-ending fights.” he breathed before continuing, “don’t you understand that you’re nothing compared to her?”

he deadpanned and you couldn’t bring yourself to hold eye contact. your knuckles turned clearer as you tightened your fist. “fuck you.”

you didn’t think twice before standing up and making your way out of that unforgettable apartment, not daring to look back; you managed to hear a faint “you asked, bitch!”. once you walked out of the building and entered your car, you fell apart. mascara stains all over your face and smudged lipstick around your mouth. the tight grip you maintained on the steering wheel was alternative in function of not breaking your fist by punching a concrete wall. you turned up the radio, desperately looking for a song that’d cheer you up. but “opposite” by sabrina carpenter started playing.

you drove home with the singer’s soothing voice and melody in the background as the lyric was blabbered by your broken self, hitting naturally differently. at this point, your face was a mess, unlocking a new feature of you. before arriving home, you thought of yunho. yes, he’d definitely be the solution —or distraction— of all this disarray. so you typed “yuyu” on the contacts’ search bar, rapidly hitting the call button.

and he picked up so fast, promising you to be at your place in 10. and here he was, wrapping your core with his large arms in a warm, much-needed hug. you allowed the rest of the teardrops that hadn’t fallen to do so, a patch of wetness on yunho’s hoodie.

“do you wanna talk about it?” his soothing voice comforting you. he waited patiently for you to recompose and be able to formulate non-blabbered sentences.

“it’s him, yun.” your words were muffled by his cloth, yet still audible for yunho to comprehend. “he cheated on me.” you lifted your face up his chest, teary-eyed. “for eight fucking months.”

genuinely, yunho never liked your boyfriend. there was just something about him that triggered yunho, so he rejected him from the very first start. still, he didn’t say anything about his repudiation towards your boyfriend since he was a witness of how much you adored him. the little girl grin your lips would form every time you talked about him was so cute. a facet of him wished that smile to be caused only because of him though. he’d tell you how he felt about your boyfriend, but not now. not when he has you breaking down on his arms.

“come on, princess. let’s lie on the couch.” he mumbled as he scooped you in his arms, holding you soundly. idly, you enveloped your arms around his toned neck and hid your messed-up face in the crook of his neck. due to his height and the small space of your apartment, five steps were enough for him to lay your core all along the fluffy, light-colored couch, your ankles hanging off of its armrest. he sat next to your head and you lifted it a bit, indicating him to put his legs under your nape to use his thighs as a pillow.

he trailed his hand up and down your untied hair, alleviating your pain away. “what did he tell you, hm?”

you exhaled deeply, remembering his harsh words, your irises being covered by a watered shield for the nth time that night. yunho’s thumb rushing up your eyes and brush them away. “nonono, baby.” he whispered tenderly, swelling your heart up even more. a moment of silence was given to you by him. “take a deep breath for me.”

your chest rose and fell as you followed yunho’s instructions, your teary eyes locked with his, full of sweetness and affection. his thumb still working on the constant waterfall that kept flowing down your cheeks. you kept your breathing pace calm and collected, a proud, beaming smile adorning his face. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that” he kept quiet for a moment before speaking again. “whenever you feel ready, just vent with me.”

five minutes passed and yunho didn’t seem bothered because of it. hell, he’d give you all the existing time for you to get over that jackass. he adored you way too much and thought that you were too beautiful to be crumbling down because of him. and he didn’t have to say it, his eyes spoke for him, perfectly reflecting his devotion to you.

your deep sigh pulled him out of his trance. and you finally started spilling out all your thoughts. “i asked him if i wasn’t enough for him and if he had spent those eight months with her happily. i don’t even know why i did that. i must be some sort of a masochist” you said causing yunho to let out a breathy chuckle. “he said that they were. and that she’s the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, with a soul as bright as her hair.” his words tattooed on your skull. your voice nearly broke. “and that i’m nothing compared to her.”

“and did you believe him?” he questioned. “do you?”

“i—“ you stammered, not knowing your response. your misery and self-love were tearing you down to pieces. “i don’t know, yun.”

“and you’re so wrong for that.” he stated and you tilted your head slightly in confusion. “honey. look at you” his hand flew down your thighs, caressing the upper part of them. “your legs, so smooth and strong. ready to take your beautiful soul to any corner of the world.” he continued his path up to your arms, stroking them. “your arms, so slimmed and powerful. they make you look like a little defenseless girl when in reality you can knock tons of people with just your fist.” you choked a chuckle, flattered because of his praise, which seemed to be never-ending since he kept on going, his long palm rubbing your covered abdomen. “your perfect sized-belly with the most hypnotizing curves known to man.” he dedicated a few seconds of his journey along your core to draw soft circles on your waist. and he moved on, reaching your neck. gentle fingers grazed its sides. “your neck, covered in the most perfect constellation of freckles.”

you giggled, your skin way too flushed since you were locked in a prison of praises. “okay, yun. we got your poin—“

he shushed you right away. “mm. i’m not done yet.” his right hand cupped one side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “your cheeks. so cute whenever you’re nervous or embarrassed. like right now.” he admired the view of your pinkish skin for a bit longer before locking his honey-dripping gaze with yours, now completely absent of tears. “and your eyes. your intoxicating, saturn-like eyes. the little beam that always shines in them reminds me of the stars, y’ know?” he confessed. “and don’t even get me started with your endearing, beautiful soul.”

the palm of your hand cradled his face, his head tilting against your touch as he covered it with his own. “yunho..”

your whisper tickled his heart. “yes, love?”

your heart ached for healing, its wounds crying out for solace. you firmly believed that yunho’s lips held the remedy you so desperately sought, a cure capable of mending the fractured pieces of your soul. you stood before him, every beat of your heart echoed with hope and longing. when yunho finally leaned in, his kiss was more than just a touch—it was a gentle balm that eased your pain, restoring a sense of wholeness you hadn’t felt in months. in that moment, you knew that the healing you had yearned for was not only possible but was unfolding before you, one tender kiss at a time.

as yunho’s lips lingered on yours, you felt a warmth spread through you, an escape from the lingering chill of your recent heartbreak. even though you knew in the back of your mind that you should give yourself time to heal, to focus on your own recovery and self-discovery, the desire to be close to yunho overpowered your rational thoughts. his kiss was a sanctuary from the storm of emotions, a fleeting moment of solace that you clung to desperately.

when he finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours with a mix of concern and affection. you could see that he understood the uncertainty you were feeling, but he chose to respect your vulnerability. “you don’t have to rush anything,” he said softly, “i’m here for you. no matter what.”

you nodded, a mixture of gratitude and confusion in your eyes. “i know,” you whispered. “i just... needed this.”

yunho took your hand gently, his touch comforting and reassuring. “take all the time you need,” he said. “i’ll be right here.”

as you let the tender moment just end, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you. the healing process was far from over, but yunho’s presence gave you a glimmer of hope. you knew that it’d take time to rebuild and to understand what you truly needed, but for now, you allowed yourself to cherish the connection you shared with him. the road ahead was uncertain, but at least you weren’t walking it alone.

| masterlist

[shurup-overt]

don't ever let go of what's beloved

these bastards made me cry! THRICE!!

@mari-lair I wanna thank you from the bottom of my heart, also this will be LONG. I'm sorry skdjkls

SPOILERS UP TO CH27 BELOW

(not super detailed but still can ruin the experience)

I'VE FINALLY read ycit after half a year of putting it off it just because I "didn't like the idea of akane being dead&doomed" skslsks I was wayy too superstitious. anyway I'm glad I stopped being stubborn

IT WAS HELL OF A RIDE (positive) and I finished it (27 chapters at that moment) looking like nene in ch107

I'm not even joking

where do I even begin.

the amount of research and thought and love poured into the fic is INSANE. it's always so nice to feel the author's passion through the work and this one overflows with it.

am I being too sappy? I dunno, I speak what's on my mind lol!!

as I said, it's noticeable that it's written with so so much love to the characters and this love is INFECTIOUS!! I didn't know I'd get attached to aka, so fast too. it's like my thought process was almost the same as teru's all the way through chapters 0-20 lmaoo

a small digression from the main topic - the thing is, what I wait for the most in tbhk is a flashback about terukane's first meeting & how the glasses were made. ofc there's always a possibility they were made by teru just for fun and as a way to make akane owe him (although this might be ooc) but the possibility of it is thankfully really really small because teru looks at them and handles the topic very gently. too gently for it to be just a forced prank. also akane has been keeping them with him on his bead near his head while sleeping (not even the bedside table or smth! who the hell keeps their glasses with them on the bed at night?? <- comes from a glasses person)

so, especially because of teru's wording ("he said he wanted to live his life like he used to"), I've been STRESSING over the possibility of akane BEGGING teru for help there, like what if he was struggling with switching forms at first and hence wasn't seen by students? what if the clock keepers didn't explain him almost anything about the supernatural world and so he was scared and confused? what if teru cornered him there and he had to prove he's human? (by the warmth of a touch?) what if he cried? what if teru comforted him? (or tried to lol) what if there were more struggles??

and so I was soo glad to see this topic being expanded!! I know it's an au and all (and the contract's gone worse here) but what I mean is, I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks about it!! reading akane's backstory was Painful As Heck but really Good.

my godd I wish the boy had some comfort. I can't look at ycit akane because I start tearing up immediately.

"I hope akane managed to use the bill" "I hope the seals helped at least a bit" I HOPE SO TOO. JESUS. THE POOR BOY WAS LEFT ALL ALONE WITH A TERRIFYING KNOWLEDGE AND THE TWO DIDN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE TO EACH OTHER PROPERLY

and his backstory hasn't even been fully revealed yet. I feel like I'll die when that time comes. shaking

alright I don't wanna whine here too much now moving on-

this idiot. /affectionate

the attention to the smallest details!!!!

the amount of canon things implemented?? HELLO? I mean it's natural to expect a canon character act according to canon but it's the first time (I think??) I've noticed SO MUCH small facts THOUGHT THROUGH and carefully weaven into the fic to fit the narrative perfectly. sometimes they're really small and almost insignificant but it's like finding easter eggs!!! it fills me with so much joy to feel the love to the kids through the writing (I repeat it again ahahaha). teru's complicated (VERY MUCH SO) feelings towards his father, akane liking raspberry sweets, akane (and aka) liking when pride of a certain someone ( ^^ ) shatters in front of them and their facade falls, teru itching to jump headfirst into research as soon as there's a reason to mess with exorcist tools and invent something (oh I so adore this in canon I can probably ramble about this a lot), teru being eager to play in the snow, teru covering his face when he cries!!!! and that's just the things I remember right now THERE WAS A LOT MORE

it all makes me point at the screen with an "AH!!" expression and think "YES THAT'S MY BOY/GIRL!!"

YAKO AND TSUCHIGOMORI TOO!! I was so glad to see yako being involved so much and her character handled perfectly with all her traits and quirks and sillyness /affectionate hehe I love her so much and although tsuchigomori hasn't showed up as much, reading the scenes with him was a delight as well

also when I said about the passion, I meant not only the love to the fic's main cast, but also the passion to analyze the og medium itself as a whole. (am I making sense? I don't want to sound too creepy) explaining myself: take aka: his character, his quirks, his abilities, his drama, worries and experiences - for it all to be as deep and believable ( = excellent) as it is, it was necessary to take all the smallest bits about ghosts' and supernaturals' mindset we have in canon, be it hanako or sousuke or mitsuba etc, analyze it, and make aka one of their kind but still very much unique and closer to akane than to them, even though he doesn't remember being him. even if you didn't do what I said entirely on purpose, I'm just amazed by how aka is written. it's awesome

squeezes him.

thank you for being the extremely stubborn "leech" you are. mwah

aidairo sadly have given us very little info about exorcism and supernaturals in general (I'm biting the table as we speak) and the way you still took the crumbs, thought them through, added bits here and there, and made it all work perfectly is just amazing. I was overjoyed to read about mimics, other kinds of supernaturals, how spiritual energy feels, how touching a ghost feels in detail, weakening seals, blood pacts, boundaries, etc etc. it's like it's all canon, it doesn't make the reader question it whatsoever, so well-made. I'm clapping.

the description says you've never written a teru pov before and I'd say you nailed it from the very beginning!! you understand his mindset so deeply, reading your works is the best experience. the picky bitch in my ear never goes "he would not say that" and instead is just as amazed as I am

the first chapters before the bonding are HEAVY as heck. they're extremely hard to binge read but I mean this as a good thing. they're extremely painful by just how realistically they are written, so good you can't help but sync with teru and feel the same emotions as he does. And his life is SHIT at that moment so I was SUFFERING with him both the first and the second going through the chapters :'D again though, it's not bad, it's the opposite - it makes the happy moments thrice as good and the overall bonding brings A LOT of warmth. I feel like it healed me in a way after punching me in the stomach 10 chapters in a row

also I love it so much just how much the fic focuses on teru's everyday life before the manga's main plot. I mean, well yeah, it's a 14-15yo teru pov, but still. so detailed, filled me with warmth.

*slaps roof of ycit* this bad boy can fit SO MANY fun ideas and good concepts in it

seriously, the range is insane. a questionnaire, a quarrel (multiple), siblings talk, beach episode, dancing, hugging, both crying, possession?? hello?? BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! summer festival, sleeping on the other, fighting for the other, fighting together, even working in food service together (aka the thing I'd expect out of a trkn fic the least lol). the list goes on. and despite how bizarre and random it sounds out of context, nothing from it feels like a filler, everything fits into the plot perfectly. I have no words mari how are you doing that

ever since I've read the bloodpact chapter, I was worried about how encounters with mimics will go from now on because now aka can go anywhere and, how it was stated before, aka's and a mimic's energy feel the same… the boys will need to come up with a strategy of some sort (which is tricky if mimics learn from the memories) ourghh makes my head hurt! but in a good way. or will mimics struggle picking a target between aka and teru now? what if they're weaker when faced by multiple opponents because of that? that would be fortunate. anyway! mimics leap at the target eventually, so that eases the task. and whether the boys encounter them or not, they will have each other's backs, and it warms my heart.

I've wanderend off the main topic again, oops. as you see, the fic made me think of all sorts of things lol and it's an incredibly good sign.

what if teru did take a picture of the swing set in ch13…..... ourghh I don't even know if it'd be better or worse...... it's over now though, so I'm glad either way

and ch27 has destroyed and rebuilt me several times I think .

I drew this before ch28 but then it came out and oh boy. I don't even know what to say. Good for them. so proud of them

I HAD SEVERAL SONGS FOR THIS but I don't want to make this too overwhelming so I've tried to pick the faves among faves (still kind of failed so . no pressure)

Bullet by Saint Motel (lyrics) for teruaka

The Song with Five Names a.k.a. Soapbox Tao a.k.a. Checkmate Atheists! a.k.a. Neospace Government (A.K.A. You Can Never Know) by Will Wood and the Tapeworms (lyrics) for aka - this one may be too extreme. it kinda clicked for me but I might be delusional

quiet room by ewe (has eng subtitles) for teruaka - makes me feel things similar to the ones 'therefore you and me' does

Yakusoku no Overture by Toki Shunichi (akane's VA hehe) - I haven't found a full version of this arrangement on youtube but it should be on spotify? or other streaming platforms I'm pretty sure? sadly, I've only found a russian translation (as unusual as it is lol) so I've tried to adapt it in english here, hope it looks right!

I might be delusional here sdslkds but what's certain is that I enjoyed the fic all the way from the start. thank you for creating this, truly

p.s.: please let me know if I made you in any way uncomfortable. I myself didn't expect to write so much; I only wanted to express my gratitude but this might be overwhelming. (I'm a very anxious person so I felt like I needed to say this sdskldj) you aren't obliged to respond in any way and this isn't me asking you to continue working on the fic. just saying thank you for the things you've made

that's it! wishing you a great day :)

[neowinestainedress]

hi, is it okay to request mark breeding kink later if you have a free time? its up to you to make it as drabble or full fic. like both of them are ready to settle down and he intends to speed things up. he even tracks her ovulation period to make love intensely in that week and won't stop until her pussy ruined. another new day would start with her swollen pussy. thank you!

w!: unprotected sex (ofc), breeding kink, pregnancy talks, implied overstimulation

a/n: this turned out pretty soft and romantic overall, hope you like it!

You’re not surprised that trying for a baby meant to fuck a lot, but surely when you and Mark talked about it, you wouldn’t have expected him to be constantly over you. 

Truth be told, it shouldn’t be shocking, you know him for too long to act unaware of 1) his breeding kink and 2) his want to be a father. So it’s only obvious that as soon as you both felt ready for this big step, he’s not letting any opportunity go to waste. 

“Mark,” you chuckle when you feel his arms wrap around you, pushing you back into his chest while he presses his lower half against your ass. “Come on,” you giggle, turning your face back, squirming a bit at the ticklish sensation of his lips on your neck. 

“What? You’re ovulating,” he whispers against your ear. 

“Yeah, I don’t need you to tell me that,” you joke, rolling your eyes back. “Wait, are you keeping track of it?” 

Your boyfriend shrugs, kissing the corner of your lips. “I might, is that a crime?” 

You shake your head while chuckling, “No, but damn, you really want that baby.” You turn around, letting him push you against the countertop in the kitchen, biting your lips when you look down, his half-hard boner pressing into you. 

“Wasn’t it already clear enough?” 

“You surprise me a bit more every day,” you say, caressing his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. Mark doesn’t pull away from it when he lifts you up in his arms and walks swiftly to the bedroom, closing the door behind with a kick of his feet before he lays you on the bed. 

That was when you realized how truly deep into it Mark was, and to be honest, it just turned you on even more. There was something new about him and all of this that made your brain spin. Mark had never been so feral and needy. 

“Mark,” you breathe out weakly, back arching off the bed as he keeps fucking into you. “Too fucking much,” you mutter, eyes rolled back in pure bliss, and whole body trembling. 

“No, pretty, just once more. Gotta pump you full of cum, don’t you want that?” 

You nod weakly. “Yeah, want that, but, please,” you cry out, feeling the known sensation build up inside again.  

“Please, what? Only fucked you twice today,” Mark whispers as he quickly moves you so he can fuck deeper into you, your legs pressing flat against your chest while his body applies pressure on you, almost bending you in half. “I’m sure you can take more.” 

You whimper, nodding quickly as you feel another orgasm approach, but not quite sure of what Mark has in mind, you try to keep it in. It’s true that it’s ‘only’ your second orgasm but you two have been fucking like rabbits for a week now, and pretty much with only one goal in mind, so every fuck lead to at least three orgasms because he needed to be sure you were full of cum. 

His thrusts are fast, desperate even, and his moans are louder than usual. You have no idea how long it lasts, and only when his movements start to get messier, you realize that he’s close too. 

“Want my baby? Yeah, you’d look so pretty carrying my baby around, love. I just know.” 

You nod quickly, trying to open your eyes to meet his, melting on the spot when you do and see him look down at you with so much love and lust. “Please, Mark, please, breed me,” you beg, voice high. 

A soft smile curls his lips as he leans closer to kiss you, pushing your legs further down to fuck deeper into you. “You’ll make the best mom ever.” 

You feel like you’re overflowing when he comes inside you for the third time, lewd sounds of cum squelching out of you making your head spin as your orgasm ripples through your body, pussy squeezing hard around him until he can hardly move in and out of you. 

“Gotta make sure you keep it all in,” Mark groans, pumping into you another time before stilling inside your swollen pussy, keeping your hips up. “You okay?” Mark asks, still inside you, as he gently caresses your forehead. 

“Tired,” you smile weakly before sleep takes over you.  

You’re woken up in the morning by Mark’s dick rubbing between your thighs while his hand gently caresses your boobs and his lips leave gentle kisses on the back of your neck. 

“Mark?” You whisper, trying to shake off your sleep and turn around to see him. 

“Morning, babe,” he says, kissing your face, and moving his hips against you. “Can I fuck you or are you too sore?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head before humming. “I’m sore but I’m also horny, so why not. We gotta make the best of this, if our wish comes true, in a few months you won’t be able to have me this easily.” 

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