#this was so cute I’m going to go sob now

[bladism]

every day i wake up with a sigh, brain instantly thinking about moze. every time i see my shadow, i think of his attacks. every time i see a crow, i hear his voice lines. every day, i think, when will moze show up.

“Still, it has since become routine to patch Moze up, and despite your insistence that he take care of himself more, the ashy haired man never listens, instead ending up at your home. You wonder if he does this on purpose.”

omg now hear me out. spiderman moze- explodes. he’s so stray cat 😕😕 i love him

“Heat creeps up to his neck like coiling vines, twisting his stomach, all because of you. Moze's heart thrums, breath stolen away—you're so close, it's unbearable—and he fights to keep himself even remotely neutral. All because of you.”

HAH. HAHAHA. imagine being that downbad LMFAOOOO WHIPPED (i say as if i don’t squeal over this man at least twice a day) THIS IS SO CUTE IM KRILLING 😕☹️ I LOVE THIS PART SM LIKE LIKE i love the whole concept in general tbh of the intimacy of tending to the other’s wounds

“Moze puts a hand to his face, slumping further to a near kneel.”

IM GOING TO EAT. IM GOING EAT HIM, YOUR WRIITNG, HIM, YOU EURGHBFJGBGJF SOBBING

i love your writing mhie :(( i don’t say it enough eurghbfnfngnngnf i’m well fed with this nods nods it’s so cute

latibule.

premise. in which all too many intrusions come in the form of one particular shadow guard. (or, moze always looks to you to patch him up. inexplicably, you let him do so anyway.)

warnings: gn!reader, pining moze but he's too edgy to know, one kimi ni todoke inspired (?) scene, treating injuries, banter (obviously), probably ooc, feixiao cameo, based off of the new quest, kinda mid writing

notes: not proofread i have no excuse i just like him okay???? inspired by @luvether's mozeqiu/reader fic (i love ur works ☹️) ty @lowkeyren for the chinese help!

“You're here again, Moze.”

In the wee hours between 1AM to 3AM, it has become a daily occurence for you to tend to Moze's injuries.

He nods. “I'm here.”

Despite having a perfectly (super) capable healer who attends to even the Lady General personally at her behest, you do not know why Moze always ends up at your window of all things during the ungodly hours of the moon's turn, complete with stupid, easily treatable cuts all across his body.

As General Feixiao's Representative Proxy, such work is not your forte—and rarely do you ever employ your few practiced arts in healing; the result often clumsy and sloppy, just enough to treat the few cuts Moze sports.

Still, it has since become routine to patch Moze up, and despite your insistence that he take care of himself more, the ashy haired man never listens, instead ending up at your home. You wonder if he does this on purpose.

Next time, you think, you're never going to open the windowsill for him again.

You open the windowsill further to let him in. Hypocrite, your mind echoes unhelpfully. Great, you must be losing your mind.

“Got into trouble again, hm?”

His expression tells you that whoever he fought wasn't all that—show-off—internally, you roll your eyes. “...Will you patch me up?”

No, your mind tells you, the words are at the tip of your tongue; you're always sneaking in here at night, and making me go through all this trouble.

(Your actions betray a different tune altogether.)

You don't know when Moze started to make you his personal healer despite Jiaoqiu in the vicinity; a moment of worry led to one thing, and now here you are, Moze's budget Jiaoqiu at home. The thought makes you laugh to yourself. Compared to the foxian, your skills could be described as subpar at best.

(Complaining to your own Lady General was no use. Incredulously, Feixiao believed that it was because—

“You're special.” Feixiao says with a grin. “Is it not obvious that it is because he wishes to see you?”

“What?” Looking at her, your voice is a tired drawl of resignation. “....My Lady, it seems your recent exposure to the Luofu's romance novels have dulled your judgement. Shall I call for Jiaoqiu?”

“Wha- Hey, don't call me senile!” Your Lady General deadpans, “Anyway, I'm telling you, Moze likes you!”)

“Why is it always me?” you grumble under your breath, though it doesn't escape Moze's ears.

It's good that you don't expect an answer; if Moze had to be honest, he doesn't know why he always goes to you either.

“Why wouldn't it be you?” Moze says, not missing a beat.

Your cheeks warm, the heat crawling up your neck from his audacious words. Jeez, he really doesn't know his effect on people, did he?

“...Not to mention, Jiaoqiu is asleep.”

Never mind. “Know the shame.”

“I don't wish to disturb Jiaoqiu as well.”

“Oh, so you see it fit to bother me but don't bother with Jiao-gege?”

“You'll live.” Moze blinks. Frowns. “Wait, did you just call him... gege?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yes, what about it?”

“Since when were you two so close?”

“Mm, since a certain guard stops by my home at twilight hour?”

“....”

Sighing, your hands are nimble against the bandages, looping the white cloth in your palm and dabbing at the corners of Moze's face, gentle. Up close, his face is all sharp edges and harsh lines. Whether he notices how you gulp when you approach closer, swiping the cloth along his lower lip, he holds his tongue, for fear of disturbing whatever it was, permeating between the two of you like a thick haze, afraid of destroying the peaceful silence.

He watches, instead, as you scrub away the little bit of blood on his cheek.

You're talking; something about him being too reckless, taking care of himself more, yet he finds that he can't catch a word of what you're saying, focusing only on one thing.

Your hands are warm.

Heat creeps up to his neck like coiling vines, twisting his stomach, all because of you. Moze's heart thrums, breath stolen away—you're so close, it's unbearable—and he fights to keep himself even remotely neutral. All because of you.

“Moze?”

What are you doing to him? Why does he always come back to you? Is he sick?

“You're burning up.” You press your hand against his neck; and funnily enough, the thought of leaning into your touch crosses Moze's mind—it's maddening how much he wants to do so.

Blinking once, Moze looks to find you pulling away, and before he can think of it, his fingers wrap around your wrist in an iron grip, carefully maintained distance discarded.

“...?”

“Ah, wait, it's fine— Just—” don't pull away.

What?

Moze coughs. “Just continue.”

The night's breeze flows throughout your home; the chuang kou is wide open, with Moze looking less like General Feixiao's most trusted aide and more akin to an obedient dog. It's humiliation, Moze thinks—but when it was you, his dignity could be in tatters for all he cares.

Your eyes soften, just a bit, “If you say so.”

Inexplicably, relief assaults Moze's senses like a balm to his soul. Because the idea of being perceived, heard—by you—affects him in a dizzying, confounding way, and he knows not how to cure such an ailment whose only cure is your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, it's why he can never stop returning to you. Let you think him a fool, an idiot—so as long as he ends up at your window, by your side, it's a small price to pay.

“Okay.” he affirms, loosening his grip, (never you, though) finally letting you finish patching him up as you plaster what remains of the white bandages upon his face.

Noticeably, he doesn't let go of your hand.

“Okay.” you echo, and finally, you're finished with your work. The sight of Moze all bandaged up perfectly and finally getting to sleep makes you happier than you should be, the prospect of sleep way too enticing.

“There, all done. Take care of yourself better next time, 'kay?”

He hums, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“You sure you will?”

“Yes.” Moze looks at you, and he looks at you like it would be a sin of the greatest kind to take his eyes of off you; holding your presence in his irises, emulating you deeply onto his pupils, his tendons and his limbs. “I will.”

(How could he ever not listen to you?)

You release him, much to Moze's reluctance—opening the closed chuang kou. The night breeze welcomes Moze, kissing his skin, with the colors of the rising sun beginning to rise, vibrancy in the darkness of the inky night.

“...Moze?” you call, in the corner of your eye, seeing him already putting a foot on the rooftop.

“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....” you mumble, glad that your back is turned from him, lest he sees the heat dusting your cheeks. You know Moze has probably left, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Well, you'll bring it up another time, then. Something tells you he'll listen, this time.

This time, you don't ignore the flutter of the butterflies in your stomach.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....”

In the darkened corner of shadow, a figure slumps disgracefully with a loud thud. Using a hand to grip the side of the wall, nothing can compare to the burning heat crawling up Moze's skin, positively flushed.

Moze puts a hand to his face, slumping further to a near kneel.

It's warm—just like the ghostly feeling of your hands upon his skin minutes prior.

Maybe he'll take you up on your offer.)

a/n: sorry for the long sporadic activity :,D this is what a chuang kou looks like btw

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship pt 6

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: language, injury, hospital stay, angst, mention of masturbation and pornography

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309.

This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster. You all know how I like to sprinkle in some angst. Please enjoy. 😀

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Written and edited fast-please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen was true to his word. He would call and FaceTime every night. He had only been gone about a week and I was missing him like crazy. After the kids said their good nights and I got them in bed I called him back. 

I crawled in our shared bed as he sat on his couch in his trailer. “I miss you so much, Y/N. I wish I was laying in that bed with you right now.” I smiled softly, trying to hide the pain I was feeling. I missed him too. When the kids were awake everything was fine, but when the house was quiet, that was the time I missed him the most. 

“I miss you too, baby. Just a few more weeks.” I smiled. “How’s Jazzy doing? She looked a little sad tonight.” Jensen asked. I sat for a second trying to choose my words carefully. How could I tell him she was still missing him to the point she would lay on the couch in his office. I’ve found her in there almost every morning, sleeping in a ball clutching Braveheart tightly.

“She’s still adjusting. I promise she’ll be okay.” I couldn’t look at the screen. I didn’t want him to see the tears that pricked my eyes. Jensen noticed, though. “Darlin’, please talk to me. You can’t even look at the camera. What’s going on?” 

I took a shaky, deep breath, “She just misses you so much. Hell, we all do. I’ve found her in your office the past few mornings. She sneaks in there at night and sleeps on your couch with Braveheart. When I asked her why, she said it’s to be close to you. I’m not sure how to help her navigate this when I’m feeling it too. I’m sorry Jensen, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. You’re doing your job and supporting the family. I should be strong enough to handle my sadness and help the kids through theirs.” 

The tears started to fall but I quickly wiped them away. “Baby, it’s okay. God I wish I was there to hold you, all of you. It’s hard to be apart. What she’s doing is perfectly normal. JJ used to lay in my closet with some of my shirts pulled down to her when she was little.” 

I wiped my face, “Jens, tell me about filming. How is it going, being back in Toronto?” Jensen smiled softly, he knew I was trying to push the feelings that were rooted deep in my soul away. “It feels pretty good actually. The cast and crew are always so amazing. It’s not everyday you join an established show and fall right in rhythm with them. It’s great. Karl says hello by the way.” 

“What?” I almost choked. “Yeah I showed him your pictures and he said you were beautiful.” My eyes went wide, “Jensen, did you show him those pictures?!” Jensen’s head flew backwards as he let out a deep, hearty laugh, “No darlin’, those are for me only. I showed him your Instagram and the pictures I have on my phone. I showed him the pictures of all of our babies.” 

I smiled, “Yeah, we do have some cute kiddos.” I chuckled. 

We sat in silence for a minute. I nervously bit my lip. It was getting late for me and I needed to go to sleep, but I really didn’t want to say goodbye to him. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Jensen called softly. “It’s getting late there. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t we call it a night?” I took a deep breath and let it out, “You’re probably right, but I don’t want to say goodbye yet. God, I miss you so much, Jensen. I don’t know how to navigate this. I feel like I just got you in my life and now you’re gone.” 

I let out a sob. Jensen’s eyes stung with the tears that formed. “I know, baby. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you, with all of you. I can’t be in two places at one time. If I could I would be.” 

I saw a tear fall from his eyes and it caused me to cry harder. It broke his heart to see me cry, and it broke mine to see him cry. “I’m sorry, Jensen.” I kept saying it over and over again. 

There was a knock on his trailer door and I heard him talking to a woman off camera. He looked off camera and then back at me, “Darlin’ I have to go. They are calling me back to set.” I nodded, “Okay, I love you, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N.” Then the call ended. 

I laid down and cried myself to sleep. Jensen went back to set and continued filming. 

Back on set his head was filled with the thoughts and images of me and the kids missing him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw my tear stained face. The image of Jazzy laying in his office broke his heart. 

He was so consumed by the thoughts in his head he didn’t see he missed his mark and he didn’t say his line. 

“Cut! Jensen, you okay man? It seems like your head isn’t here tonight. Is everything okay at home?” The director asked from behind the camera. “Yeah, sorry.” 

Jensen took a deep breath and pushed all his thoughts down and continued with the scene. When the director finally called cut for the night, Jensen was mentally and physically exhausted. 

He opted to stay in his trailer for the night instead of going back to the apartment. Once in his trailer he slipped out of his boots, and went to grab a change of clothes from his bag. When he pulled a shirt out, Jazzy’s bunny fell out. His heart warmed, and then a wave of guilt and sadness washed over him. 

Jensen took a shower and climbed in his bed. He laid down and rolled to his side, staring at the pictures of me, and the kids. For the first time ever in his career, Jensen wanted to be home and not on set. He sent me a text even though he knew I was asleep.

Jensen: Hey babe. I just wanted to send you a quick text and say how much I miss you and love you. We’ve wrapped for the night and I’m in bed. Good night my love, sleep well.

Jensen set his phone down and started to close his eyes when something caught his attention. He saw Jazzy’s bunny laying on the top of his bag. He smiled, climbed out of bed and grabbed it. Placing it softly on the pillow next to him he grabbed his phone quickly and took a picture. It was of him with the bunny next to his head. He sent it to me for Jazzy.

Jensen: *1 image attached* Mr Bunny and I are hanging out, Thanks Jazzy! 🥰

Jensen closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning when I woke up I saw the texts from Jensen. I loved the picture he sent, his smile bright, but I could tell by the look in his eye he was feeling a little sad. 

I got the kids up and ready for school, showing them the picture of Jensen. Jazzy was excited and wanted me to send Jensen a picture of her with Braveheart, so I did. 

After the kids were at school, Gen and I went to the spa, and out to lunch. She helped me navigate some of my feelings of sadness and loneliness. “It gets easier, I promise. Being with the boys is worth the little separations here and there. Jensen loves with every fiber of his being. If he loves you then he’s completely in, and girl, I know he loves you. He wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo of your daughter if he didn’t. Just be honest with him about how you’re feeling, don’t keep it in, and don’t shut him out. The two of you will get through this.” She softly touched my hand. 

“Thank you, Gen. This is all just so new and I wasn’t expecting to be in love this quickly. When you start a new relationship you want to spend so much time together, but with Jensen, we are spending a month apart already. I’m just worried he’ll change his mind while he’s gone.” 

“Oh sweetie, he’s not going to change his mind. He loves you and Jazmyne so much.” I nodded as our lunch arrived. We continued talking about the early years of Supernatural and how she and Jared fell in love quickly. “I bet it was crazy being on set with those two.” I laughed.

“Oh yeah, they were always playing pranks on each other. When Jensen found out Jared liked me, he encouraged him to pursue me, and the rest is history.”

Just as we were wrapping up lunch my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and softly gasped,Toronto General Hospital. 

“Hello?” “Yes, hello I’m calling for Ms. Y/L/N. This is Amy from Toronto General Hospital.” “Um, this is her.” “Ms Y/L/N, you’re listed as Jensen Ackles’ emergency contact. I’m afraid he’s been in an accident and is currently in surgery. Is there any way you can get to the hospital?”

“Oh my god, is he okay? I’m in Texas, so it would take me a while. Oh god, is he okay?” I felt my heart rate pick up, panic was rising in my chest and the tears started flowing. “He’s in surgery, that’s all I know right now.” “Okay, um, let me see about getting a flight.” I hung up and cried. I told Gen what happened. She paid the bill and we left and headed for her house. 

“Hey, Jared. Y/N just got a phone call from the hospital in Toronto. Jensen is in surgery. There’s been an accident. We need to get her there quickly. Yes, thank you baby. We are on our way.”

I cried and tried to focus on getting to Jensen. Gen took my hand, “It’s okay sweetie, we are gonna get you to him.” “Gen I can’t lose another person I love. I can’t go through that again.” “You’re not going to, Y/N.” 

We pulled up at Gen and Jared’s house and got out. Jared greeted us at the door and pulled me in tight for a hug. “I called Clif and apparently there was an accident on set. Jensen had been distracted and didn’t see the ledge and fell. He hit his head, broke a few ribs and broke his leg. He’s currently in surgery to repair his leg.” I gasped, “Oh my god, Gen. This is my fault. He was distracted because of me.” “Shh, no, sweetie. This isn’t your fault. Let’s focus on getting you to him.” 

Jared booked the first flight out for Gen and I. We decided he would keep all the kids while Gen went with me to the hospital. I kissed the kids goodbye and told them they would be coming soon. I just needed to get there and make sure they would be okay to see him.

Jazzy was crying, saying she knew Daddy Jensen wasn’t coming home. It broke my heart, “Shh, no baby. He is coming home. He just got hurt and needs me to get better. I promise baby girl you four are going to be coming in the next day or two. Auntie Nichole is going to come help Jared get you guys up there.” 

I kissed her and the other three goodbye, thanked Jared and headed out to the airport with Gen. A few hours later we were landing and heading towards the hospital. 

My leg bounced all the way to the hospital. Gen did her best to keep me calm, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than getting to him. Walking into the hospital a large, bald man approached Gen and I. It was Clif. He pulled Gen into a hug and extended his hand to me. “You must be Y/N. Jensen has told me all about you and your sweet girl, Jazzy. Come with me, sweetie and I’ll take you to him. He’s out of surgery and in recovery.”

I nodded and walked down the hallway with him. As we got to Jensen’s room I felt my stomach flip. I thought I was going to throw up and pass out right there. My breath caught in my throat as my chest tightened. I took a deep breath before pushing open the door. 

The light above his bed cast a soft glow in the room. I gasped when I saw him. He was pale, had a nose cannula, his leg in a cast and up in a sling, and the monitor connected to him let out a soft beep as it monitored his heart. 

I slowly walked in the room and sat in the chair beside him. I softly took his hand in mine. “I’m here baby. Oh Jens, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I promise you we will get through this. Once you’re better we will figure out how to navigate your schedule together.” 

As I leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek a nurse came in to check on him. “Oh, hello. You must be Mrs. Ackles. I’m his nurse, Abby.” “Hi, no, I’m not his wife, I’m his girlfriend.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you were. I apologize.” “It’s okay. Do you know when he might wake up?” “Well, it just depends when the medication wears off from surgery. He’s on some heavy pain medication too, so that could be keeping him asleep.” 

I nodded as I watched her check his vitals and check on him. She smiled at me and before she left she told me if I needed anything to let her know. I nodded and thanked her. 

Gen came in to see Jensen and to give Jared an update. We decided to keep the kids away until Jensen regained consciousness. Clif took Gen to the hotel as I stayed by Jensen’s side. Clif tried to convince me to leave, but I told him no. 

The nursing staff was amazing. Abby came in and showed me how the recliner actually became a twin bed. She brought me a pillow and blankets so I could get some sleep. 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor lulled me to sleep. Even though Jensen was lying next to me hurt, this was the first time in over a week I actually got some sleep. Knowing he was right beside me brought me some comfort. 

The light from the sun filtered through the curtains. I was woken up by someone calling my name. When my eyes adjusted, I looked over and saw the most beautiful green eyes looking at me. 

I sat up quickly and leaped out of the bed. “Jensen! Oh my god, you’re awake.” I kissed his lips softly. “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?” “Seriously, did you think I wouldn’t come? The hospital called me and told me you were in an accident. Gen came with me. Jared and Nichole have the kids.” 

Jensen touched my face softly, “I’m glad you’re here. God I’m so clumsy. I can’t believe I fell.” “Jens, it’s my fault you were so distracted. I should have done a better job at holding in my emotions. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, shh, no. This isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident. So do you have any idea what the damage is?” “Yeah, you have a concussion, some broken ribs and a broken leg. You just had surgery to fix it. You’re going to be out for a while.” 

Jensen ran his hands through his hair, “Fuck! Now this is going to slow down filming. I need to call Kripke.” “Jensen, honey, stop. It’s okay. I will call him and update him. You rest. We need you better so I can get the kids here to see you. They are worried sick.” 

Jensen sighed and relaxed back into the bed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I leaned down and kissed his lips, he pulled me further in and deepened the kiss. 

“Damn I missed you.” He said as we pulled apart. “I missed you too, Jens.” 

A few hours later I had gotten in touch with Eric and he said he would just adjust the filming schedule. He said any scenes without Jensen would be filmed first and then when Jensen was cleared he would move forward with his scenes. Jensen seemed relieved with the adjustment. “I hope they let me out of here soon. I hate hospitals.” I touched his arms, “I know baby, but I want you to stay here as long as you need to so you can get better.”

“So are the kids going to come or are they going to stay in Texas?” “Well, I wanted them to stay until we knew you were okay and awake. I didn’t want the kids to see you unconscious. I figured it would scare all of them, heck it scared me.” 

The next few days Jensen slowly recovered more and we decided it was time to bring the kids in. Jared, and Nichole flew in with all the kids and brought them to the hospital. I met them in the waiting room. We could only take a few people back at a time, so Gen, and Nichole stayed with the other kids while Jared and I  took JJ, Arrow, Zeppelin and Jazzy back.

“Now guys, Daddy isn’t able to lift you guys up, and if you want to hug him you have to be gentle, okay. He might look tired, but he’s okay. Are you four ready?” I asked, looking at the children. They nodded their heads yes. 

When we walked in the kids were very quiet, taking in the scene in front of them. All four of them looked at Jensen and then at me with tears in their eyes. Jensen spoke, cutting the silence, “Hey guys. I’ve missed you four so much. Come give me a hug.” He lifted his arms slightly. 

I picked the kids up one at a time to gently hug him. When it was Jazzy’s turn she hesitated at first. “It’s okay baby. You don’t have to give him a hug if you don’t want to.” Her beautiful eyes looked up at me, tears slowly filling them. Then she whispered, “I do, I just don’t want to hurt Daddy Jensen.” “You won't, baby, I promise. If you’re not ready to hug him yet, that’s perfectly fine. Daddy understands.” 

Jensen’s breath hitched. That was the first time you referred to him as her daddy and not Daddy Jensen. He loved the sound of it. 

Jazzy sat down with the other three and just stared. Jensen and I talked to them about what happened, and how it was an accident, but he was going to be okay.

“So guys, I’m going to be home sooner than we thought, but I can’t do much so I’m counting on you four to help out.” The four children eagerly agreed. 

*Time Jump-1 1/2 weeks at home*

“Alright you four, let’s get you guys to school. Say goodbye to daddy and grab your bags.” I called from the kitchen. I heard giggles and Jensen’s laugh. It melted my heart. Since his accident I barely heard it, so when I did it was the most beautiful sound in the world. 

I noticed since Jensen’s accident his frustration and depression was starting to get worse. It scared me, because it seemed like he was starting to retreat into himself. 

After getting the kids off to school I decided to stop at the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. I was going to make Jensen’s favorite dish to help lift his spirits. 

When I got home I noticed the house was quiet. I put the groceries away and walked upstairs towards mine and Jensen’s room. As I got closer to the room I heard grunts and whispers. 

My breath caught in my throat as I opened the bedroom door. I saw the movement of the blanket first, then I saw Jensen’s face. His eyes were closed, teeth biting his lip and I could hear the moans from him and his phone. 

The floor under my feet creaked as I stood frozen in place. A mixture of embarrassment, hurt and anger flooded through me. Jensen’s eyes shot open and his reaction to seeing me standing there while he pleasured himself was not what I expected. 

“Don’t you fucking knock!?” He growled as he adjusted himself and turned off the porn he was watching. “I, um, I’m sorry.” I quickly turned on my heels and bounded down the stairs. Hot tears fell from my eyes. 

My heart breaking with each step, his words, the scene playing over in my head. I had tried so many times since he came home to be intimate with him. I offered to help him, but each time I was met with “I’m tired”, or “I don’t think it’s a good idea”, or “It wouldn’t be fair to you for me to just get off”. Each excuse was like a red hot poker to the chest. 

I sat on the couch crying. Trying to make sense of why he would want to get himself off when he had me. Then it hit me, he doesn’t want me anymore. Deep down he really does blame me for the accident. 

My timer on my phone went off, pulling me from my thoughts. It was time to take him something to eat so he could take his medicine. I didn’t know how I was going to face him after what happened.

I took a steading breath, grabbed his food and medicine and made my way to the room. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer. This time I knocked and called his name. “What?!” He yelled through gritted teeth. “I have your food and medicine, can I come in?” 

I pushed open the door and saw him sitting against the headboard, scrolling on his phone. “Where would you like me to put the tray, Jensen?” “Probably somewhere where I can reach it, Y/N.”

Him calling my name like he did caused another crack in my heart to form. His tone was cold and distant. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just nodded and placed the tray on the bed.

I started to gather the laundry from the room and noticed he kept letting out loud, frustrated sighs. “Jensen, is everything okay?” I asked softly. “Just peachy.” “Are you sure, because you keep sighing loudly and you’ve been really short with me.” “I told you I was fine, Jesus! What do you expect me to be fine with the fact you walked into my bedroom without knocking and I couldn’t even finish?!” 

I gasped softly, “I’m sorry. I thought this was our bedroom. I was mistaken.” I whispered, then I turned, leaving the clothes in a pile and left the room. 

Everything was just off and I had no idea what to do. His words, his tone, dripping with venom. Almost like he hated me, like he couldn’t stand to look at me anymore. I was the reason, my daughter was the reason his career was on hold. 

I grabbed my phone and went on the back porch. I called the local hospital and asked if they could point me in the direction of any private duty nurses who could help me. They gave me the name and number of a local agency that specializes in celebrities or important people. I called and scheduled an appointment for an hour from then. 

I went to the appointment and hired them to help. I explained everything with Jensen’s condition and told them it was just a lot for me, to keep up with everything he needed and taking care of four children. They signed NDAs and the first nurse said she could come by in about an hour. I thanked them and left. 

When I got in my car my phone went off with a text.

Jensen: Whiskey

One word was all he sent. I didn’t know how to respond, so I ignored it. Then the next text came in.

Jensen: Now

I was taken back by his texts. Jensen had never spoken to me the way he was and he was breaking my heart. I tried to keep Jared and Gen out of this, but I didn’t know what else to do. Nichole could be a sympathetic ear, but she didn’t know Jensen. They did and maybe they could shed some light on his behavior. 

Me: (to Jared) hey, can you and Gen come by the house. I need to talk to you.

Jared: Sure! We will be there soon.

As I pulled in the driveway, Jared and Gen were too. I climbed out of the car and as soon as Jared pulled me into a hug I collapsed into a sobbing mess. I told them everything that happened, how he was talking to me and treating me, and about the nurses.

“You know what, no, he doesn’t get to treat you like this. Where the hell is he?” Jared was furious. “He’s in the bedroom, but please just wait.” I said softly. Jared touched my arm, “Y/N, he can’t treat you like this. I get he’s mad, but he doesn’t have the right to take it out on you. I’ll wait if that’s what you want.”

“I do, the nurse will be here soon, and I don’t want more tension than necessary.” Jared chuckled a little, “I love that you hired nurses. He’s going to realize what a good thing he had with you taking care of him.” 

A few minutes later the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see a middle aged woman in scrubs standing there. She smiled brightly, and she had kind eyes. “Hello, my name is Terri. I was sent by the agency to help with Mr. Ackles. Are you Mrs Ackles?” “Hi, Terri, nice to meet you, no I’m not Mrs. Ackles. She passed away a few years ago. You can call me Y/N.” She extended her hand, “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you. May I come in?” I stepped to the side and nodded. 

“Terri, this is Jared and Gen Padalecki. Mr. Ackles’ best friends. They might be here from time to time, so you may run into them again.” Terri extended her hand and smiled, “Nice to meet you two, I’m a huge fan, but I promise that will not interfere with my job. May I see Mr. Ackles so I can access his level of need?” 

I nodded. Jared touched my arm, “Let me take her up there.” He said. I agreed, but I was close behind. 

Terri, Jared, Gen and I walked upstairs. Gen and I stayed back, out of sight. Jared knocked on the door, “Hey Jens, it’s me man. Can I come in?” Jensen’s tone was light when talking to Jared, it hurt. “Yeah, man come on. Since when do you knock?” Jensen asked as Jared walked in. 

“Jensen, this is Terri. She’s going to be your private duty nurse to help with your recovery.” Jensen’s eyes went wide. He realized you’d hired a nurse because of the way he had treated you. Guilt filled his heart. With a smile on his face he greeted Terri warmly. 

Terri began her assessment and sat talking to Jensen for about an hour. When she came back downstairs she had a soft smile on her face, but her eyes showed worry. “So I’m going to be honest with you. His recovery isn’t just physical. He’s got some emotional scars too. I can see he’s slipping into depression. Jensen is going to need all of you in his corner to help him. He told me he had been a little snippy with you, (She pointed at me) and how much he regretted that. His anger, his depression and feelings of despair are completely normal, especially for someone who’s drive to provide is as high as his. Just be patient with him, and when he pushes you away, stand firm.” 

I nodded as the tears fell. My heart ached and I wasn’t sure how to navigate this. I know he would never hurt me like Robert did, but his words and actions towards me stung worse than when Robert beat me. The man who rescued me, who I love deeply, was pushing me away, and I didn’t know how to pull him back to me. That scared the hell out of me.

A few hours later when it was time for bed, I knocked softly on the bedroom door. Jensen didn’t answer. I pushed open the door and heard soft snores coming from his slightly opened mouth. 

I went into the bathroom and got ready for bed. When I came out I started to leave the room and Jensen’s voice broke the silence. “Are you not coming to bed?” I froze, my hand on the doorknob, “I’m going to sleep in the guestroom. I don’t think us sharing a bed in your room is a good idea anymore. Good night, Jensen.” 

Before I could change my mind or he said another thing I left the room. Softly closing the door behind me. The sound of the click was like a knife through my heart. 

Jensen laid on the bed replaying my words, “I’m going to sleep in the guestroom. I don’t think us sharing a bed in your room is a good idea anymore.” He ran his hands down his face in frustration. He pushed you away and those walls he so carefully removed, built back up. 

I climbed in the guest bed. It was cold and lonely. I missed the warmth of Jensen laying next to me. His strong arms wrapped around me. I missed the love we made, his lips on mine. I was losing him and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I cried into the pillow. The soft material was soaking up each tear and muffling each sob. 

I was losing the love of my life and had no idea how to fix it, to fix us. Maybe Jazzy and I should just leave. I know it would be hard on her for a while, but I can’t stay where I’m not wanted. The chasm between Jensen and I, growing ever wider, with no end in sight. Jensen and I both stared at the ceilings in our rooms. Neither one of us knowing how to fix this, but both of us wanting to. Two very clueless people, still deeply in love, not knowing how to navigate the hurt and raw emotions the injury caused. 

Jensen knew he messed up, and the guilt was weighing on him. He had to figure out how to make this right before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late. Before he fell asleep he whispered into the air, “I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Before I fell asleep I whispered into the air, “I love you, Jensen. I’m so sorry.” 

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[honeytabbies]

MITSURI TIME!!! i mentioned maybe working on some of the hashira in my last post, and she’s one of my all-time favs for sure!! i kind of want to switch back to lineart with my usual pen (since this takes so much longer) but i feel like the sketchy lines just work better for my style. i dunno, i might experiment with it in the future!

ALSO!!! this design was actually made by our partner system !!! <33 i forced him (/j) to watch kny with us recently so i can get him to make designs for me now teehee (bats my eyelashes)

likes and reblogs are both super appreciated!!!!! 💛

[ascendingtostardust]

Andante, Andante

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: None, just some mutual pining, some flirting and kissing.

WC: 1457

A/N: This came to me while I was driving around the other day and the song came on. I immediately drifted off into a maladaptive daydream with Sam, so please enjoy!

You liked to keep your home peaceful, tranquil, and calm. Little noise if possible. But this afternoon, it was filled with the sounds of learning. A keyboard you bought secondhand at a garage sale propped up on a stand in front of you, you and your friend Sam sharing the small bench as best as possible. Your fingers plunked down on the plastic keys, a few sour notes and a groan from you echoing in the house.

“You’re doing good, don’t worry.” Sam gave you a supportive smile.

“I hate this.” was all you replied, removing your hands from the instrument and pouting. “Why did I even want to do this?”

You knew why. At the beginning of the year, you’d softly mentioned to Sam you wanted to learn to read music, and play an instrument, as a New Year’s resolution. You were tired of being the only person in your friend group without a lick of musical talent, and feeling left out of conversation.

Sam took off running with the idea, of course. While finishing up tour, he had sent you package after package of books on music theory, reading music for dummies, and songbooks and a few pedals for your keyboard.

“Hey, I was just as bad when I started learning.” Sam tried to soothe you, running his large, warm hand up and down your back gently.

“You had the advantage of being a kid and having a brain ripe for molding. I’m old, Sam. Ancient. My mid-twenties brain is fully formed and refuses.”

“You are never too old to learn something new.” Sam chided with a click of his tongue behind his teeth. “Why don’t we try vocabulary? You’ve always been good with words.”

“I guess.” You muttered. Sam picked up one of the books by his feet, flipping through it.

“Ah, here’s an easy one. Forte?”

“Forte means loud.” you answered. Sam grinned, nodding.

“Good, good. Can you use it in a sentence for me?” Sam asked. You sighed through your nose, trying to put together something on the fly.

“Your brother Josh enters the room in a forte manner.” you giggled, remembering the last time you saw the elder Kiszka, how he burst into the room with a bottle of wine in his hand for the dinner party.

“Valid.” Sam hummed. “Piano?”

“Soft. When we talk shit about people, our voices are very piano.” you gently tapped a key, letting the soft sound vibrate out of the speaker. “Also your hair looks very piano today.” Sam blushed, clearing his throat at your compliment.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, your hair looks good. I like it long.” you continued. You had always had a crush on Sam. He was the funny smart guy, who looked like a 70s dreamboat. You had been devastated, secretly of course, when he cut his hair a few years ago, but now that it had grown out, you were going to make sure to remind him of how good it looked any chance you got.

“I missed it being long.” Sam replied quietly, twirling his ends around his finger. Unbeknownst to you, Sam had found out through your sometimes-confidant, Jake, that you preferred his longer hair shortly after the cut, and vowed to himself grow it back. For you. He had only gotten his hair cut short to change it up, and maybe to try and get you to notice him. He thought that if he did something drastic it would be like the movies, you’d suddenly notice he was right in front of you all along. And yet, neither of you had made a single move.

“I did too.” you admitted, reaching up and running your hands through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. “I missed braiding it during movie nights.” Sam closed his eyes at the push of your fingertips through his hair, the gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp. The sound of Rosie somewhere in the house, shaking and clattering her tags broke the moment, and Sam shifted in his seat, looking back down at the book.

"Um okay, uh...how about leggiero?" Sam glanced up at you, a slight, pink blush creeping across his cheeks. You paused, your eyes scanning through an invisible book in the air in front of you as you racked your brain for the correct answer.

"Oh! Light and graceful, something I am definitely not." you chuckled under your breath. Sam felt a sudden surge through his chest. In his eyes, everything you did was graceful. You sipped your drinks with grace, walked down the street with grace, even when he was following close behind when you were tipsy and walking to the car. Hell, you even tripped, slipped and fell gracefully.

"You don't see yourself how others do." Sam's eyes widened as he realized he said it out loud, and your head whipped around to face him.

"What do you mean, Sam?" you asked softly, gazing up at him. He could pretend he didn't say it, try and move on and quiz you on more musical directions, but something in his gut told him to double down. Finally tell you how he felt about you.

"I mean, you're amazing. You keep saying you're not good at things or you're clumsy, but you don't see all the ways you dance through life. Your laugh is one of my favorite sounds ever, and when you walk into a room, the vibe changes, it becomes lighter, more vibrant. I fall in love with you over and over again every time I see you."

"You-you what?" throat feeling tight, you thought you'd misheard Sam. Surely the man who'd been the object of you affections for the past few years didn't just admit he had feelings for you.

"I-um, I..." Sam's cheeks were on fire now, he licked his lips nervously as he tried to gauge your reaction through your shock. Before he could speak again, your lips were on his. Both of you froze for a moment, but once his hands cupped your face, you felt yourself melt into him, the awkward twist of you bodies on the small bench not mattering as the two of you lost yourselves.

When the heat of the moment waned and the two of you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his.

"Well, that was very espressivo." Sam chuckled, swiping his thumb across the apple of your cheek as you giggled. You gave him another peck.

"It's hard not to be expressive when your crush tells you how much they like you." you replied.

"Maybe this is how we should practice more often." Sam suggested.

"Hmm? Making out?" you hummed with another giggle.

"In a way. I'll ask you a direction, and you show me with a kiss." Sam smirked. "Like this. Staccato." you bit your bottom lip as you thought, not being able to figure out the word. You frowned, shaking your head and Sam just smiled, leaning over and pressing short, quick kisses all over your face making you laugh while his facial hair tickled your soft skin.

"Ooh I like it better when you show me." you told him. "Can you jog my memory on andante?" Sam's smirk grew as he cupped your face, bringing you in for a slow, passionate kiss. He let his fingers tangle in your hair as one of your hands rested on his thigh, fingers digging into the jean-clad limb as his tongue softly lapped with yours.

"Now," he sighed when he finally pulled away. "That was a gimmie, because I happen to know one of your favorite songs is Andante, Andante by Abba." you gave him an innocent shrug, batting your eyes.

"Get used to it, Sam." you whispered, still not have having enough of his lips as you kissed him again. "I'm gonna use every excuse in the book to kiss you from now on."

"You don't ever need an excuse again." he mumbled against your lips. "I'll kiss you from sun up til sun down, and as long as the moon is in the sky."

"We should invest in some lip balm and mouthwash then, huh?" Sam laughed and agreed. Scratching his chin, he thought for a moment.

"You know, it's getting close to dinner time, what do you say we go out for a bite?" you found yourself nodding instantly, letting him help you up from the bench.

"Then after, we can come back and practice piano? You can teach me some more?" you asked as you followed Sam towards your front door and the shoe rack. He turned suddenly and wrapped his arms around you, swaying you.

"Oh sweet thing, I plan on teaching you piano all night."

Taglist:

@joshsindigostreak @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvf2 @gretavanfleetposts @sacredthefran @josiee-gvf @highdefkiszka @ascendingtostardust @joshkiszkatoothgap @andeejoness @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @teddiie @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @gretavanbestie @lightmylove-gvf @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @gretavanslut @streamsofstardust @joshkiszkas @jakewhorecore @fictional-duchess @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @sunfl0wer-power @jankandjonch @gvfpal @allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn

[potatoeofwisdom]

Pssssssssst check your doodle box >:D

AAAA?!!?? ALLY!!! I didn’t think anyone would leave any doodles- THESE ARE AMAZING!! Dude it’s so hard to draw on drawme your insane???? How did you do that???? (Mind my French) holy shit??

Look at my guy!! Look at the eeper!! AAAAAAA!!!!!

[satorisoup]

UWAHHH good morning friends & happy sunday !!ヾ(>∀<*) i’m wishing all of you the bestest day EVA & please remember to stay hydrated in this hot weather !! MWUUUAH !! <3 🍓

[micahsbabe]

EVERYONE SHUT UP.

[unriding]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince���s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[starlooove]

Making my vs siblings? More likely than u think

[stunie]

“NEEDIN’ A RIDE REAL, REAL BAD!!”

HAIKYUU + THIGH RIDING ᯓ⭑ ft. bokuto koutarou, daichi sawamura, kuroo tetsurou, miya atsumu, sakusa kiyoomi, & ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

contains : explicit smut (18+), thigh riding / dry humping, phone call (keep quiet n ride!), risky sex / very mild: cw exhibitionism, squirting, teasing, praise, kissing <3, hair pulling (you to them), orgasm denial, usage of pet names — 2.9K WC

note : yayya my first haikyuu post on here ! this is my response to this thirst here ૮꒰˶˃ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა hope u all have fun reading this <3

KUROO TETSUROU.

“Whoa whoa,” Kuroo coos through a breathy chuckle, big hand wrapping around your hip to hold you still against his thigh. “Easy now, pretty thing. Let’s pause for a second, okay?”

The sound of your protests and whines almost make him cave right off the bat. “…Tetsu..” you sulk, corners of your lips curling into a sad pout even when he gives you an apologetic smile before he’s jutting his thumb to gesture at his phone, the irritating melody of his ringtone repeating itself as the screen lights up, “Incoming call from: Kenma!” displayed across the top.

“Sorryy,” he huffs. “Can’t. This one’s important.”

He’s giving you a reassuring squeeze around your hip, a silent reminder that he’ll give you everything you need in a few minutes, but you’re not having any of that. Your arms come to stubbornly wrap around his neck before he can pick up the call, sugar sweet voice already making pleas only a second later.

On any other given day, you would have let him take the call with only an irritated huff— just not today. Not with the way you can already feel your orgasm running away from you. “P-please, please Tetsu,” you sob, “I was so close. Can’t wait any longer.. please?”

His eyes are widening a bit at the unfamiliar desperation in your voice, grunt slipping out when his cock reacts to it too, twitching and slapping against his stomach— a reoccurring habit that seems to only occur whenever you give him that needy little look of yours.

“Awww,” he whispers, and you barely catch the strain in his voice. “Well I’m sorry for ruining your moment, angel.”

You’re practically purring as soon as you feel his hand come to lightly cup your jaw, immediately melting into his touch as he smiles in response. “Ah— fine,” Kuroo caves as soon as he sees your hands coming to cutely hold his wrist in place. “Guess i can’t stop you if you need it so bad. But listen here..”

His thumb moves from your jaw, digit pressing into your bottom lip to angle your face at him. The look you’re giving him is just to die for, pouty lips soft against his thumb and you’re peering up at him through those pleady eyes— as if there was even a single chance that Kuroo would ever deny his pretty girl of an orgasm in the first place.

“Nothing crazy. Deal? Kenma hears and..” he presses a little harder into your lip, watching the way your tongue comes to swipe at the invasive finger. “Me and you? Are never hearing the end of it.”

You’re swiftly nodding as soon as the words register, hands coming to rest on the muscles of his shoulders as you resume your movement the next second, gasping at the way your clit catches against his thigh. “Kenma?” You hear him hum, tucking his phone between his cheek and shoulder— quick and casual.

Maybe too casual.

“Mmm,” his eyes flicker back towards you when you take in a sharp inhale. “So it’s about that. You sure you don’t wanna meet up to go over it?”

A loud gasp slips out from you when he abruptly grabs you by your waist, and your hands slam over your mouth, Kuroo tensing beneath you. “…Hm? Yeah, I’m listening.” He chuckles, regaining his composure in an instant as he starts to rock you back and forth against his leg— and fast.

The roughness has your face contorting, nails digging deep into his shoulders as you try and resist the strong hands guiding you back and forth— try and slow him down a bit, delay your oncoming orgasm by even second if anything at all. You hadn’t expected it to come back so fast, and.. you both knew good and well that you weren’t gonna be able to stay quiet.

You give him a look, something resembling your best attempt at a glare, but he’s ignoring it— casually chatting with kenma about something you can’t quite catch. You’re only left to bite your lip, eyebrows deeply furrowed as you desperately fight the knot tightening inside your belly, thighs clamping against his own as he flexes his quad straight into you.

“Oh,” Kuroo says, hand leaving your waist to pick up his phone again, finger hovering over the ‘mute’ button, and your body is falling limp onto his chest, hands balancing yourself on him as you peer up at him through tired eyes and a heavy pant. “Actually..”

“..Looks like I got a bit of a problem to take care of here first.” He smiles. “So give me a minute, yeah?”

MIYA ATSUMU.

“Gonna have to keep that pretty voice of yours down.” Atsumu’s lips brush against the shell of your ear, big hands tight around your hips as he drags you up and down his thigh. “Or ‘Samu’s gonna hear ya.”

Your hips stutter against his leg, drawing a sharp gasp from you- and he curses under his breath. Osamu would be back any second now, and yet he’s got you seated on him, your lounge shorts pulled to the side so he can draw one quick orgasm out of you before the three of you head out for dinner.

Because you— Atsumu’s impatient lil bunny, or so he calls you, just couldn’t wait until after the dinner to get a quick treat.

“‘M trying.” You whisper, voice breathless and whiny, and you tighten your embrace around his middle, burying your face deep into the fabric of his sweater. “Feels ‘s good… so good— need more..”

“I know, I know— later, yeah?” He sounds unsteady from how roughly he’s moving you against him, muscles of his thigh flexing and hardening underneath you. “Gonna give it to ya real good. stuff ya nice and full. How’s that sound, dirty girl?”

You want that.

You know exactly how easy it’d be for him to get you gushing underneath his cock if it weren’t for your insistence on him not cumming. And well.. it kind of made sense to him— considering how your last creampie went. His mind thinks back to how you looked with his cum dribbling down your thighs as you nervously clamped them together, and how no one seemed to noticed the juices dripping into a neat little puddle beneath you.

It’d be so easy— he’s got you all mapped out and knows you like the back of his hand. He could just push those pretty thighs of yours up to your face, hold them nice and still as he pummels the deep spot inside you that has you chanting his name over and over, and your cunt would be gushing right after that.

“‘Tsumu.” You choke out, tightly latching onto him like a koala, “‘M gonna cum..!”

“You are, aren’t ya? I can tell.” He groans, and his thigh bounces up into you, mumbling a curse under his breath when you squeal at the roughness. “Show me that pretty face when you’re lettin’ go.”

A couple more rolls of your hips and you’re gasping and stuttering against him, Atsumu pulling you just right against his thigh as your eyes slam shut, knot inside you violently snapping in an instant as you tremble underneath him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.” His voice comes out deep and breathy, hands tightening their grip on you. “Ride it all out f’ me, rela- oh s-shit.”

Your eyes widen as soon as the sound of footsteps registers in your mind, and your head swiftly turns back to see that Atsumu’s already pulling your shorts back over your cunt, your juices immediately soaking through the fabric as he holds you flush against his chest, big hand cradling the back of your head.

“‘Tsumu..!” You whisper, but he’s shushing you with gentle strokes along the back of your head.

“What, ‘Samu?” he calls out, his mind putting together a silent prayer that his twin was not about to open the door.

His prayers go unanswered.

“You two ready yet?” Osamu’s asking as soon as he flings open the door, the knob accidentally slipping through his grasp, and your door crashes against your wall with a loud thud a second later.

You faintly hear him mutter an “oops” before his eyes are finally falling on you, brow raising at the sight of you clinging tightly onto atsumu as your chest heaves up and down.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI.

“What?” you can feel your concentration falter as soon as the sound of Sakusa’s voice reaches you, and you’re immediately wiping at the frustrated tears that have begun to collect along your lashes. “Can’t cum like that?”

You’re quick to shake your head, and he doesn’t miss the slight tremble to your lips. Cute.

Sakusa had his doubts about this idea of yours from the start. He knows how needy you always get— knows that despite that innocent face of yours, your cunt’s anything but. It’s greedy. Something like this was probably not gonna be able to get you to finish, and he knew that.. but a part of him was just curious.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was to see you this frustrated. Your chest is rising up and down with each angry pant, arm coming to rub at your nose from the occasional sniffle after being denied orgasm after orgasm.

And him? he’s never felt such a strong ache before. The dark spot on his shorts are a tell-tale sign that he’s been leaking with pre-cum, and he can practically feel it starting to drip down his cock. Neither of you were doing so well, and if he was being honest, he’s on the verge of flipping you over and putting you in a mating press— but the small voice inside him wants to see you come undone on his thighs. Badly.

He’s just gotta see how you look.

“Need your cock, Omi.” You mumble, rising onto your knees to scoot further up, but he’s stopping you only a second later. “Omi? Why..?”

“No.” he says flatly. “You don’t.”

“I do!” You’re protesting immediately after, hands balancing on his shoulders. “Can’t finish without it— ah!”

You yelp when he’s roughly pulling you back down, his quad flexing as soon as your cunt makes contact with his leg. The hands around your hips are tight, and Sakusa’s setting a rhythm only a moment later, keeping the muscles of his legs firm and flexed to better rub against your clit.

“W-wait!” You’re stammering, whining straight into his ear as you frantically latch onto him. He lets you bury your face into the crook of his neck as he works you closer to your high, forcing you into a mind-numbing pace to have you flying right off the edge in a few more seconds.

“You can— don’t fight it.” His voice comes out as a deep grunt, a result of his dragged out attempts at ignoring the borderline painful throb of his cock, and oh- he was so going to take you in a mating press after this. The second you’re finished gushing, he was gonna flip you over and finally rid himself this irritating ache.

“Omi!” You sob, eyes clenching shut as your hips start to stutter, and he can feel you trembling underneath his hands. “Omi.. O-omi— ‘m close!” He only responds by roughly pressing his thigh up against you, thick muscle hitting your clit just right as you choke out a scream, finally gushing all over his thighs.

“See?” He exhales, breath hitching in his throat when your nails dig deep into his back, his hands slowly moving you up and down to ride out your high.

“You can.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA.

“Feeling good, huh? Don’t try to fight it.”

Daichi grunts when you tug at his hair a little harder, face buried deep into his front as you desperately hump his leg. He’s gentle with you, strong hands guiding you up and down his leg, but he’d be lying if he said his patience wasn’t starting to wear thin.

The sweet nothings he’s been whispering into your ear this entire time are starting to sound a lot less like cooing and a lot more like grunting.

He couldn’t help it. He can feel you so so vividly, feel your juices dripping down the sides of his thigh and hear you moaning straight into his chest. You were soaked through and through, and it’s taking everything in him to stay patient and let you have this.

“There you go.” He’s praising you when you grind against him particularly hard, ignoring the way his shorts are feeling painfully tight around his cock. “Just like that— move exactly like that.”

“Daichi,” you whine. “‘M getting so close— feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He exhales deeply, and the way his cock twitches suddenly has him groaning, hands squeezing a bit too hard against your hips as you wince. “Daichi..?”

“Oops, sorry princess.” He’s clenching his jaw, giving you a weak smile as you wrap your arms around him. “That’s my bad. Don’t mind me, okay? Just.. worry about yourself— this is all about you right now.”

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI.

You weren’t as subtle as you thought.

His legs just looked so strong, so perfect to sit on, and you couldn’t help yourself. He didn’t seem to think too much of it when you first sat a little lower than you usually did, straddling his mid thigh as he flipped through another manga that Tendou had lent him earlier that week.

Just subtle movements up and down his thigh was your original plan, but it didn’t take very long for him to catch on.

“What are you doing?” Ushijima’s voice has you jolting from where you’re seated on his left thigh, his gaze now on you and the way you’re frantically waving your arms around in defense, barely able to stammer out a “N-nothing!”

You just barely catch the way his eyebrow raises in suspicion. It has you moving off him the next second, but he’s tossing aside the manga, big and strong hands easily wrapping around your hips to keep you planted on him.

“Don’t leave yet.” He says, stern and flat, but you catch the hint of curiosity swirling deep in his eyes.

The familiar heat of embarrassment is flooding to your face in an instant, and your head hangs low. “S-sorry, Toshi.” You mumble, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Your thighs just looked so big, just wanted to… ride them.”

It’s silent.

You work up the courage to snack a glance at him again, now faced with the sight of his head tilted a bit, as if confused by your confession. “B-but!” You continue, mouth already running off on its own. “Forget it, okay? It might be weird— Toshi..?”

It was just one little flex of his quad, one that had the muscle pushing up against your clit, but the way his name rolled off your tongue sounded sinful. You can feel his grip around your hips tightening a bit, and he’s leaning in to close the gap between the two of you.

“Wouldn’t it feel better like this?”

BOKUTO KOUTAROU.

It started off with an accidental brush of his knee against your cunt.

Bokuto had always been eager with his kisses. He had you pinned down on his mattress, body hovering over yours as he moved his lips against your own— and he hadn’t even noticed anything different until he heard you suddenly moan into his mouth. He’s pulling away the next second, eyes wide as he tries gauging your reaction again, bringing his knee back to rub over your cunt. And … just like clockwork, your eyes clench shut and you choke back a gasp.

He swallows thickly.

Only five minutes later and he’s got you seated on his thigh, moving you back and forth with a needy grunt, his free hand squeezing your cheeks as he forces you to look up at him. “Don’t look away, ‘kay?”

“You look pretty— pretty like that. I just wanna see.”

The look on his face isn’t much different from yours. His mouth is slightly parted in desperate pants, deep red spreading across his cheeks at the sight of you feeling good on his leg. He’s swallowing deeply before he takes in a sharp inhale right after, already pussy drunk and his dick hasn’t even touched you yet.

The way your face starts to contort when you’re rapidly approaching your high has him just hoping he doesn’t end up finishing untouched. It’s throbbing— absolutely aching with need and as soon as you start sobbing his name, he can feel his patience shatter into thin pieces.

You let out a loud yelp as soon as your back hits the mattress, Bokuto looming over you with a strained look on his face as he rushes to line his tip up with your hole. “S-sorry.” His voice is just above a growl. “I can’t help it after all. It’s okay though, right? Gonna make you feel good.”

[tonycries]

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Synopsis. The question isn’t whether he can make you squírt - it’s how and where.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, squírting, unprotected, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s and Choso’s), bréeding, Shiu cameo, messy, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s thigh tattoos, thigh ríding chokíng, overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. I think I’m in some early ovulation week because…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Prove it.

Now, does Toji know he’s the best you’ve ever had in bed? Of course.

Is he proud of how he’s done everything and anything - had you folded in half underneath him, stuffed from all ends, and cumming harder than any other loser before him did? Hell yeah. 

Does it bother him when Shiu makes some off-hand comment about how he’s able to make someone squirt? Well, it was hard not to when the man just laughs right in Toji’s dumbfounded face, saying something about how your pretty pussy is “missing out” and to come to Shiu if you want to have a good time.

Surely, that stupid conversation doesn’t bother him, right? Right?

Wrong. 

He was going to prove that bastard Shiu wrong. 

“Damn. Not that one either.”

If you could, you’d probably let out a sob - but right now, you’re too cockdrunk to even think let alone cry. Unsure if you’re even breathing as Toji wrestles your limp body - still twitching and sensitive from your nth high - upright on his lap. Whispering a ragged, “Guess we just hafta try again. Right, doll?”

“Please!” you let out a strangled yelp as Toji’s big hands snake down to steady your hips, all stuttering and messily sucking up his aching cock. Again. “I-I don’t think I can- ah-”

Whatever plea on the tip of your tongue is shut up by Toji pulling your teary face towards his, kissing your swollen lips so softly. Reverent, even. 

The complete opposite of his hips down below, not even bothering to move anymore, hands on your ass just dragging your sloppy pussy up and down his swollen dick. Up and down up and down up and-

“Toji–”

“Aww, c’mon, pretty.” Toji groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he spreads your puffy folds further, bullying his cock so impossibly deep. “G-gotta prove it to that f-fucker that I’m the best, right?”

Ah, there it was - if you were in any better state of mind you’d have cursed out Shiu already. Taunting your boyfriend into this stupid little challenge that had him storming into your apartment and ripping off your poor panties. And you split apart on his cock and cumming over and over again like he wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop until you squirted. Like it killed him to make you miss out on this little thing. 

“Now now, doll.” you jolt as he gives your sopping pussy a little smack! Grinning at your nails digging into his thick shoulders, “Focus. Hah- we gotta have her squirtin’ all over me now, right?”

You really can’t help the way you’re giving him a delirious little nod. Hips bouncing back pathetically in an attempt to meet the way Toji was bouncing you so sinfully on his cock like his favorite toy. And it’s so cute that Toji’s murmuring a low, “Use your words, doll.”

“I- ngh-”

Not like he was giving you a chance to, rolling your ravaged clit between his fingers, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “Louder.”

“Gonna- gonna squirt for you, Toji…”

If he was any lesser man (Shiu) Toji thinks he might’ve just cum in your snug pussy right then and there. Filled you up till you’re bloated and forgetting any promise of squirting - but no, that’s for later. 

Right now, he’s flattening his feet on the mattress, falling onto his back - two big arms pulling your overstimulated body to rest against his muscles. Not even wasting a second before fucking up into your tight cunt like such an animal.

Sloppy - so, so desperate. 

Just rough, jagged movements of his hips because shit if Toji doesn’t make you squirt this time then he’s gonna lose his sanity. Might’ve already lost it, actually, with each adorable ah! ah! ah! falling from your kiss-bitten lips each time he hits that one spot so easily. 

“Bit- bit more-” he grits out, feeling that familiar way your plushy walls were trying to squeeze him dry. Your cunt too heavenly. The stimulation too much. “Jus’ a bit more, pretty.”

“Oh my god- Toji- ah- Toji Toji Toji-” It’s all you can do to whine, writhing as he holds your hips still, rocking harder into you. Clawing at the soaked sheets, his shoulders, his hair - anything to try and hold onto whatever semblance of control you had left. “M’so- close-”

“Yeah?” And Toji sounds so utterly wrecked already, looking up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. Voice strained, awe-struck like he couldn’t even believe it. His pretty girl - cumming for him again. “Squirt f’me, doll.”

You don’t even realize it when you are at first - just that something snaps and suddenly you’re soaking Toji’s cock in all your sweet sweet juices. Until it was dripping down the side, onto the mattress. 

So messy and sinful - gummy walls squeezing his dick so fucking tight it almost hurt, covering his abs till they were glistening. Toji can’t bring himself to do anything but watch, for once in his life actually grateful that Shiu goaded him into doing something. Jaw-dropped at the way you’re gushing all around him - like you couldn’t stop. Again and again and-

“S-see? Fuck- What- oh shit, doll. All f’me? Good girl.” Eyeing that phone propped up by the bedside, Shiu’s face watching over the obscene mess on the bed. “What did I tell ya?”

“Heh, well whatever. Can ya make her do it twice?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Love is blind

Now, it’s not often that Nanami Kento took off his glasses. Rarely when he cuddled, not usually when he was kissing you - his pretty lil’ wife. And never when it was your lips down below that he was making out with.

“So messy.” Nanami mutters, muffled around your puffy folds. Each word making you arch against the soft mattress. “Are you this messy just f’me? M’so lucky, my love.”

It’s all you can do to yelp as Nanami slides his tongue warningly between your folds, flicking at your swollen clit just enough to have you gripping so tightly at his blond strands. Pulling Nanami’s face up from between your thighs with a strained groan.

And oh you assumed he was exaggerating, but it was so fucking difficult to look at Nanami, too. Glasses slightly foggy, cheeks flushed. Your sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily, dripping all the way down his jaw. Head tilting back ever-so-slightly to let it slide down his throat.

Making your head spin as he reaches over to press a chaste, wet peck to your lips. “Jus’ let me take care of it.”

And take care of it he does. Immediately taking his favorite place in-between your legs, stuffing his face nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue giving one, long lick up your folds, just barely dipping between them. The slow torture was delicious. 

“Kento-.” you let out a pouty little whine, one that goes straight to Nanami’s aching cock. Ankles hooking around his broad shoulders to pull him impossibly closer, “D-don’t tease.”

He’s letting out such a dark chuckle, hot against your sloppy hole. Awe-struck at the way you’re glistening and clenching around nothing - so much so that Nanami almost considers taking off those tinted glasses to see this heavenly view better. 

But no, instead, he’s breathing out a little, “Fine.” Interrupting your soft sigh of relief to continue, “But you better not get my hah- glasses dirty, darling.”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response - he doesn’t have to. Already knowing that you’ll be giving him a delirious little nod in agreement. So he’s digging his neat fingernails into your hips, pulling you closer to spread your lips with his tongue. Lapping so obscenely at the slick beading at your cunt over and over and-

It wasn’t enough.

“Shit. Fuck-” you flinch - maybe from those depraved little profanities hissed into your cunt. Maybe from the cold metal of his glasses hitting your heated core. Probably from the way Nanami was bullying his soft tongue into your tight pussy.

Pushing past that feeble resistance, one hand reaching behind to arch your deeper into his mouth. The other toying with your sensitive clit. Rolling the nub between two long fingers while he dips in and out of your hole at such a ruthless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck, Kento-” you’re grabbing at the expensive sheets so hard you worry they might tear. Thighs shaking and sliding off his shoulders. “S’too much- too deep.”

And ah, for how much Nanami pretends to be annoyed as he wraps your legs back around his head - it sends all the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock at how wrecked his cute wife was.

Moaning around your entrance, “Remember what I mm- said.” Your juices starting to drip down the corners of his mouth now. “Get it dirty and-”

“Kento! Oh my god-” You buck wildly as he starts drawing lewd little circles on your clit. Nanami’s little warnings the last thing on your mind as you feel yourself losing more and more of your sanity with each drip! drip! drip! of your slick down onto the mattress below. 

Glasses completely fogged now, he makes out with your cunt through pure, feral need. Tongue matching in time with each yelp of his name leaving your mouth. 

“F-fuck.” Nanami’s smacking his lips against your own. “You taste so good. So heavenly.” Your gummy walls sucking him up so sinfully that it was almost difficult to move faster, more erratic. “Gonna make a mess f’me now? Gonna hah-” 

And, well, you did always manage to surprise him.

Because Nanami doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, before your slutty pussy is gushing all around him. 

Everywhere. Making such a mess as he tonguefucks you through your high, letting you use and angle his mouth all you wanted. So so sloppy with the way you’re soaking him in all your juices - down his chin, his tongue, all the way up to his sharp cheekbones and even-

“My glasses.” Head so fucked-out already, you almost miss Nanami’s dangerous little mutter. Raising your eyes to meet his and oh. Shit. “You dirtied my glasses.”

As if to prove his point, Nanami them off, running a long finger down his frames. Slowly. Agonizingly. Pooling all your sweet slick on his fingertips, so tauntingly inspecting it in the dim lighting. 

In a split-second, those dripping wet glasses are resting on the bridge of your nose, forcing you to peer over them at a dangerously looming Nanami.

“Told ya not to dirty my glasses, my love.” Smiling so dangerously, “Think this naught cunt of yours should be taught a lesson for that.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Favorite part

Geto thinks that this might be his favorite part, whispering a ragged little, “God, do you know how pretty you hah- look right now?”

You didn’t - and it’s all you can do to even try and understand what your boyfriend was even cooing from behind. Too caught up in the way your legs were so pathetically trembling with the need to bounce back on his swollen cock. 

“Hngh- f-fuck Sugu- I-”

Sure to leave such lewd little marks for Geto to ogle at tomorrow, his toned pelvis against your ass, heavy balls on your clit, fingers on your hips to steady your fucked-out self. Sloppy - bruising, even. 

So it only made sense that your high was the same - and he can only watch, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, jaw falling slack in disbelief at the way your cunt was just gushing all around him. Fucking him over and over through your high. 

“Shit- shit shit shit.” you hear him breathe, fingers toying with your pretty clit desperately. “Jus’ like that. Good girl.”

Your sweet sweet juices soaking his painfully hard cock, dripping down, down, down his heavy balls, glistening against his thighs. Squirting so obscenely around his twitching cock and shit- he just can’t help but go over the edge as well. 

“Oh- oh god.” Geto throws his head back, giving you one, harsh thrust before he’s spilling all into your quivering cunt. Coating your walls such an obscene white, “This pussy is ngh- magic, gorgeous. Fucking love her.”

Loved how you were squeezing him so tight. 

Loved how you were so messy. 

Loved how it made him think that you could squirt all over his dick again. 

And he can’t stop - couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Hips still moving in quick, ragged jabs to your poor cervix, eyeing the way your poor, abused pussy was still drooling all around him. A lewd little mess of slick and cum, forming a pool on the sheets below. 

And Geto can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted - why would he? After all, this was his favorite part, right? 

“You can mm- gimme another one, right?” You shiver as he flattens his feet on the damp mattress, kissing up your arched spine. Keening at the change in angle as his cock bullies impossibly deeper. Stars behind your eyes at how unfairly easily he finds that one spot. “Your slutty pussy’s gonna s-squirt all over me again?” Fat head hitting it over and over and-

“Suguru!” you squeal, and Geto raises his brows. Knowing you were absolutely fucking wrecked already - you never called him by his full name until you were fucked so dumb you couldn’t remember his nickname. “S’too- much. M’too ngh- sensitive.”

Your hands reach out to grab for the headboard - nails digging into the wood. Geto’s throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls so agonizingly that you almost miss him mutter a quiet, “Now, that won’t do.”

And before you know it, his big hands are prying yours off the bed, intertwining them so gently with his. Romantic - but you knew better, Geto just didn’t want his pretty girl to run away. 

Not when he knew you were so close - could tell by that breathy little ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips. 

“Please-”

Huffing in amusement, “Please what?”

And you don’t even know what you’re begging for - maybe for mercy? For Geto to let you fucking breathe? His cock too bruising against your cunt, drawing out incoherent whines with each drag of his tip down all the right spots. Trying so desperately to fuck that second orgasm out of you. 

“Heh, can’t even fuck- talk.” And it’s so dizzing how he’s puncturing each word with such a rough ram of his cock. So mean with the way he dips a hand lower to graze a long finger down your sensitive cunt - so messy and sensitive. Chuckling at your cute lil’ whines - at the way they’re suddenly cut short when Geto shoves his dripping wet fingers between your lips. “Ngh- well, if you don’t wanna talk…”

Close. Too close. 

You mewl at the way he was pressing right at the back of your tongue, feeling the lewd little taste of him and you and him. “Mmmpf- what are you-” 

“At least don’t try to escape, gorgeous.” he leans in close - so close. Long inky hair tickling your spine, breath hot against your ear, lips grazing yours. You think you could just pass out right then and there as his soft tongue darts out to lick at the mess he’s smeared across your glossy lips. 

Grinning at the taste, at that look in your eyes that told him your cute cunt was about to give him another show, “Cuz this is my favorite part.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hair tie

If anyone found out why Choso Kamo was never seen without that black hair tie around his wrist, they’d laugh in your face and tell you what a great joke that was. 

That inconspicuous little thing he’d take around everywhere, whether he had his hair up or not. It’s not like he exactly needed it, and most just assumed it was a fashion statement. 

Only you knew what it meant to have Choso thumbing that little red imprint in public. Hooking a finger underneath, pulling back ever-so-slightly to let it snap! against his skin. Looking you right in the eyes as he does. Something dangerous. Subtle. Something that has you pressing your thighs together. 

Something that has him pulling you to the nearest changing room in this crowded shopping mall, one hand covering your mouth, muffling your sweet sweet moans. The other, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt.  

“Sorry, baby.” he gasps, kissing your forehead so mockingly gently. “You just looked so fuckin’ pretty in that skirt. Needed you so- hah- bad.”

The skirt that was currently bunched at your waist, crumpling at Choso pushes you harder against the cool wall. 

But Choso couldn’t give a fuck about that right now, not as he shoves a knee between your trembling legs. He couldn’t have his girl falling now, right? Long fingertips so desperately massaging your plushy walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Found it.

Without another word, he’s reeling two fingers back - all the way until they were barely kissing your sloppy hole. Plunging back in, hitting that spot over and over like he was addicted to the way your cunt was trying to suck him up so good. High off of every cute lil’ whine that escapes through his palm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ gorgeous.” Breath hot against your ear, “Look.” 

You barely even realize it before you are, gasping at the obscene sight below. Your drenched panties pulled so lazily to the side. Sloppy. 

“Can’t get enough. Shit-” Pulling back to show off your slick glistening on his fingers, dripping down, down, down to that sinful hair tie. “Fuuuck, baby. Need you to cum on my fingers. Please. Please-” Puffy folds milking Choso’s fingers so hard that you wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether his wrist wasn’t cramping up now, fingers sore. 

And if they were, then, Choso didn’t show it. Instead, he’s bullying a third finger inside your poor cunt, the stretch too much that you can’t help but squeal. So fucking loud. 

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Is everything alright in there, ma’am?”

Oh if the way your heavenly cunt was clenching around him was anything to go by, then Choso wished he did this sooner. 

So entranced that he almost missed the concerned, “Ma’am?” from outside. 

“Wh-what’s the matter, baby?” he whispers lowly, biting down teasingly at your earlobe. Fingers still relentless, speeding up, even. And you could only pray the employee outside couldn’t hear the lewd squelches as he did. “Shy? Answer the hah- question.”

And shit, you could cry as he wrenches his hand away from your mouth. Grinning as you let out a broken little, “Y-yeah.” Cringing at how unconvincing you sound, “I’m jus-”

Whatever stupid excuse that was to come out of your mouth dies in your throat as Choso runs his thumb over your throbbing clit. 

“I-I’m al-right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And it’s as if he takes that up as a challenge to prove you’re so utterly not. 

Not when Choso’s drawing tight little circles in time with the way he’s hitting that one spot, arching you like such a slut into his touch. Ignoring the concerned remarks from outside as he speeds up his pace, not even bothering to cover your mouth this time because he wanted to hear all your pretty moans. 

So much so that you’re mentally preparing to get caught - maybe even arrested. 

But still you’re so close. 

Halfway through imagining how Choso would snap his hair tie during the trial when that voice speaks up again. “Well…please let us know if you need any help.”

Those footsteps from outside barely even heading away before he’s sighing, “She’s gone now.” he bites down on your lower lip. “Y’can hah- cum f’me, y’know? Make a mess?” Grinding down his rock-hard erection on your thigh, already so damp through his pants. “Fucking cover me in it.”

And then you are - all over Choso’s hand. Kissing him hard, to stop yourself from screaming as he quirks his fingers just right. Fucking you through your high as you drench him in all your juices, soaking his hair tie, trailing onto the floor in a lewd drip! drip! drip! 

Obscene. Exactly the way he wanted it. 

So fucking pretty with the way you’re squirting all over his hand, thighs trembling, lips wobbling. That new skirt of yours so filthy now that Choso can’t help but eye the pile of clothes right next to you. Gritting out a ragged, “We got so many more clothes to try on.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X marks the spot

“You’re going to cum f’me just like this, okay, brat?”

Maybe it’s the way you’re sat so prettily on Sukuna’s muscular thigh, squirming ever-so-slightly as he starts bouncing his leg to the beat of the thumping music. Maybe it’s the way you can’t do anything but let out a stifled gasp, desperately trying not to attract any attention towards the two of you in the dimly-lit VIP area of this overcrowded club.

But Sukuna just can’t help but tease you. 

Can’t help but trail a finger along your thigh, goosebumps rising so deliciously at the scrape of his nail. Up, up, up to confirm his suspicious and oh- 

He was right. No panties.

“Heh, such a naughty little minx, aren’t ya?” he can’t help the surprise that bleeds into his voice, pulling your back flush against his chest. Cradling your neck into his pecs, “Acting all innocent but you’re just begging to be used like such a slut, huh?”

The clink of a belt, and suddenly you’re feeling a sliver of skin - warm. Soft, sat right above where you knew he had that sinful little tattoo. 

“B-but Kuna-” you flinch as the cold air hits you before you know it. Looking over your shoulder to catch that fucking smug smirk as Sukuna flips your flimsy skirt to rest your dripping cunt on his bare thigh. And to anyone else, it would probably just look like you’re just seated on his lap. But you gasp, “Here?”

“Why not?”

If anyone heard your broken whine, then you didn’t have the courage to raise your head and look. Hazy eyes locked with Sukuna’s as he starts rocking you on his thigh. Fingers digging into your hips, dragging your sloppy pussy. Grip tight, bruising almost - like he was trying to hold himself back from doing anything more. 

“Aww, my messy girl.” And fuck if it wasn’t difficult to not just fuck you right then and there with the way your puffy folds were spread on his thigh. Drooling all the way down to the gaudy couch below. “Who’re you this wet for?”

But Sukuna’s skin against your was so hot. Your brain too foggy. His words too mean. And you can’t help but let out some incoherent babble.

One that has him wrapping a hand around your neck, nails positioned right above your racing pulse, forcing you to blink tearily up at him. “Sorry, pretty. Can’t hear you above this fuckin’ music.” Biting down on your earlobe - just a little punishment, “What were you sayin’?”

“Ngh- f-fuck-” you moan, clit catching on the curves and dips of his muscles, rippling as he bounces you faster in time with your slutty lil’ movements. “Only for ngh- you.”

Voice such a low purr in your ear now, “Who?”

“Y-you, Kuna-”

“Yeahhhh, fuck.” he grunts, angling his head just right to better take in the fucking heavenly view. Back arching, swollen folds spread so shamefully as you hump him like some bitch in heat. Making such a mess all over his thigh tattoo in a way that makes Sukuna so fucking glad he got it. “S’exactly what I like to hear.”

And God, he didn’t even have to tell you for you to realize. Because you could feel the way his rock-hard cock jumps against his boxers - so rock-hard and pressing up against your ass in a damp patch. 

One hand tightening around your throat, the other dipping below to draw urgent, messy little circles on your clit. Over and over. 

You dare to crack an eye open and look at the room around you, hips still grinding down so pathetically on his thigh. Clenching down so hard on nothing as you wonder how someone - anyone - could see the two of you and-

“Oi, look at me, brat.” he’s tugging your head up to his again. Hands getting more erratic - like he wanted to distract you from anything but him him him. “Focus on me. On how fucking good this pretty pussy is feeling.”

As if you could do anything but.

Bucking softly into his angry erection, causing Sukuna to let out a low, drawn-out hiss. “Evil lil’ thing.” he drags his lips down your sensitive neck. Pulling your hips harder against that tattoo. “Guess it ngh- makes sense though because…” you blink up tearily at him as he trails off. Barely noticing the trembling in his fingers, both your rhythms getting so sloppy. Untimed. As rough as the look in Sukuna’s eyes as he whispers, “-because you’re mine.”

And then he spits - right into yout waiting mouth. Once. Twice. 

Loud enough that it definitely makes a few stray onlookers glance, faces immediately burning at the sight of Sukuna kissing you. Just a messy clash of lips and teeth and tears.

Tears as you cum with a strangled gasp, drunk up so greedily by Sukuna as you squirt all over his thigh. So fucking messy. Seeping into his pants, all the way down to the couch below, but especially his tattoo. That ring of ink soaked in your juices - right where Sukuna wanted.

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d have been embarrassed - shy, even.

Instead, you’re glancing down at the way his thigh was glistening in the dim light, delicate strings of slick snapping as you lean back closer. 

“Don’t you have- hah- the same tattoo on your cock, too, Kuna?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sweeter this way

“Such a filthy cunt on my sweet, sweet girl.” Gojo has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - at how breathless and fucked out you were on top of him already. “C’mon, what ngh- happened to taking control?”

Ah, right - you bat your lashes lazily, blinking away the tears in your eyes to be met with that fucking smug smirk on your boyfriend’s face. So much for taking control tonight.

“Y-you’re a ngh- cheater, Toru.” you hiss, but you can’t stop your hips from grinding down so pathetically to meet with his rough pace. Jolting every time his leaking tip hit that one spot. “It was s’pposed to be hah- m-my turn to take charge.”

And oh how you had the strongest whining underneath you, two big arms looping around your waist to pull you against his toned chest. 

“But, sweetheart~” Craning his neck to graze his lips against your bruised ones - so fleeting, gentle. Exactly what his hips weren’t. “Isn’t it s-so much sweeter this way?”

You don’t know what it is about it - maybe at the dangerous little tone dripping from Gojo’s words. Maybe at the way each one was punctured by a messy, harsh thrust into your tight pussy. But it has shivers running down your spine - all the way to your bulging cunt, so stuffed and ravaged by his cock. 

Words a bit more breathless than you’d have liked as you mutter, “W-what do you oh fuck- Toru. What do you mean ‘sweet’?”

The only response you get is one hand pushing the hair out of his eyes, the other just bruising on your hips. Pulling you up, up, up on Gojo’s swollen cock like you were weightless, the arms in his biceps rippling when Gojo slams you down. Hard. 

Toned pelvis hitting your ass as he rams his cock into you. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“M’gonna show ya.” he grins, free hand roling your poor clit between two fingers. “Gonna show ya how much sweeter fuck-” Gojo’s eyes fly open as you clench so hard around him. On purpose - a warning. “Hah, feisty. But just you wait. M’gonna show ya.”

Having you feeling more and more like some curse he’s out to vanquish with the way he’s fucking you so merciless.

“Merciless?” Gojo cocks his head in a way that almost makes you forget to realize that oh, shit you said that out loud. “Mhm, sure did.” he hums, in a tone that was way too proud of himself. “N’ you h-haven’t even seen the ngh- best of it.”

You were getting impatient now - and so was Gojo. 

For all his talk, letting you grind your hips down to meet his rough cadence. So difficult with the way the man was getting impossibly faster. Sloppier. 

The look in his eyes is so feral. His hands so unforgiving, pushing your knees further apart. So erratic on your clit, drawing quick, messy little patterns in a way that has you wondering whether this is more for you or himself. 

He’s whispering, like a mantra now. “Gonna show ya- gonna show hah- fuck- m’gonna.” Running only on this and the way you were sucking him up so obscenely. Clit throbbing so fast under his thumb in a way he knew that it was about to be- “Now.”

As if on command, you cum. And not just any orgasm - no, when Gojo Satoru is out to prove a point, he will prove it five times over. Which is why he has you squirting like such a slut all over his rock-hard cock. 

“Oh- f-oh my god. Toru!”

Gojo’s own orgasm just a quick, sharp spike of pleasure, coating your puffy walls an obscene white before he’s pushing your limp body further back to get a better view and shit- 

That only has you gushing around him harder. So animalistically. Dick twitching wildly at the slick glistening all over Gojo’s abs, dribbling down, down, down to those tufts of white at his base. Some reaching his parted lips, and fuck if Gojo can stop himself from running his tongue along them.

Running a finger at the lewd pool on his abs before bringing them up to his mouth, “Oh, baby.” Eyes half-lidded, miles away yet still boring right into yours as he licks up his dripping wet index with a lewd groan. Pooling your sinful juices on his tongue. Heady. Addictive. “See? Sweeter this way.”

Your jaw drops into a soft oh! as Gojo pulls away with a lewd pop! looking like it fucking killed him to do so. 

Strings of slick connecting to those pretty pink lips, snapping ever so slightly as he murmurs a dark, “Wonder if it’ll be twice as sweet if I cum twice in your pretty pussy, hm?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a good day.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ari-makes]

FR but AWWWW

Something about Fizz’s body being absolutely destroyed by fire, his limbs damaged beyond repair; and yet here he is holding a giant flaming monster like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

[hurlingdown]

MONSTERFUCKING — ft. monster! reader, human! character, heavy dub-con, oviposition (eggs), mpreg, aphrodisiacs, degradation, belly bulge, loss of virginity, and all that lovely shit. ♡

It was foolish of him to wander into unknown territory. 

You could still clearly recall just how beautiful he looked, trembling at the mouth of your lair. You could smell it—he was pristine, and evidently untouched. A virgin. 

He had sworn he would slay you and bring your head home to his village, bloodthirsty and terrifying and claiming this and that before he fell to his knees under the effects of the aphrodisiac, begging you to fill him up with your seed. 

And now look where he was. 

“So fucking wet,” you crooned lowly, slobbering all over his chest, forked tongue swirling around a nipple as you pushed the fat bulb of your cockhead into him. “Gonna stuff you, ooh, make you carry allll of my eggs.” 

“P-please,” he implored, delirious with pleasure, cum dribbling out of his cock in small spurts. It hadn’t even been a minute, and there he was, twitching and broken, just from being stretched out. “‘S too much, please, it won’t, won’t fit!” 

How cute. It only made you hungry for more. 

“Then we will just, have to make it fit, yes?” With that, you roughly jerked your hips forward, slamming the rest of your cock into his tight little hole. He let out a squeal, back arching as he gasped for breath. 

“Oh, fuck!” he sobbed loudly, writhing as shaky hands found their way onto your horns, gripping tight. He was clenching around you so tightly, your cock resting so deep inside him he could almost feel it in his throat. “You’re gonna break me…!” 

“Is that not what we are doing?" you sneered, tongue slithering into his ear, making him shudder. "Hah. You came here… ‘cause you wanted this, yes? Wanted to get fucked by a monster.” 

“That’s n-not true… I’m here to slay you!” 

Clawed hands grabbed at his parted thighs, and lifted him up carefully and gently, switching up the angle so you could now fuck him into the nest. He shivered as your claws grazed sensitive flesh, letting out a pitiful whine. 

“You just looove to lie, don’cha. So stubborn! Hehe, d’you go around fucking other monsters, too? Ooh, aren’t you a lil’ slut? My pretty lil’ slut?” 

"No! Haah, 'm not, not your slut..."

He shook his head wildly, letting out small sobs as you drove your cock into him with little restraint, treating him like how a child would play with his new toy. Savage and ruthless and obsessive, conveyed in every powerful thrust of your hips, the thwop thwop thwop of slippery skin against the plush fat of his bruised ass resounding in the lair. 

It was humiliating. And yet it felt so good.

“You are so pretty. Mine. My mate,” you chanted, and for a second he thought he saw hearts dancing in your eyes. “Gonna make you all mine, you'll never think about fucking another monster again…” 

You manhandled him onto his stomach with ease, suddenly pushing back in, and he wailed, bursting with fullness. “Yeah, that’s right. Oh, I’m gonna cuuum. Gonna cum so hard in your perrrfect lil’ hole. Fill you up with my eggs, make you the prettiest mate ever. How’s that sound, my sweet?” 

“Please! D-don’t!” he mewled as the base of your cock began to thicken, swelling with knot. “Please, I’ll do anything, I can’t, can’t get pregnant…” 

“Don’t worry,” you purred, your tongue wrapping around his neck as you pushed impossibly deep inside him to let the knot catch. “I'll take goood care of you. You will be safe here in our nest, with our eggs… and with me!” 

“It’s hard to believe that when—when you’re the danger h-here!” 

He keened, shuddering and wailing as your knot began to ever-thicken and expand, impaling him on your cock. A strange, slippery sensation began to fill him, and for a moment he thought that you were simply cumming inside. You shifted above him, grunting loud as you pushed the first egg into him, the action making him gasp, eyes widening. 

“What…” he panted, “What’s happening?” 

“Told ya I was gon’ fill you up,” you slurred, pressing your chest against his back and stroking his belly in contentment. “Ooh, hnngh, there’s another—” 

You let out a groan as the second egg pushed past the gaping rim of your cockhead and into his soft, velvety womb. He was shivering all over, letting out soft whimpers as his cock gave another weak spurt at the feeling of being stuffed. 

“No, no, please, stop…” 

He let out shaky whines as you pushed egg after egg into him, tummy feeling bloated and heavy. It was too much, and it didn’t seem like you were going to stop anytime soon. Soon, spots were dancing in his vision, and he slumped bonelessly into the nest, letting exhaustion overtake him. 

He stirred awake to the soft rumbling of a warm body behind him. Your knot had gone soft, warm cum leaking out of his puffy, used hole. The only physical barrier between him and the exit was your clawed hand, placed protectively on his bulging belly. 

Lifting your hand, he rubbed over his stomach, gasping when he felt the outline of multiple egg-shaped objects. You really had gone and impregnated him, didn’t you?

Sighing, he closed his eyes again. Escaping could wait. For now, being surrounded by the warmth of the nest and the fullness of his eggs would do.  masterlist!

[sweeterlovers]

MARRIED IN VEGAS / LANDO NORRIS

lando norris x reader / SMAU

FACE CLAIM / none!

WARNINGS / mentions of drinking and purposely misspelling words

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landonorris got mmarrkisx

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user6 ??????????????????????

user567 what the actual fuck

user000 LANDO??????

user7 the question i have is which drivers accompanied lando to get married?

user5 definitely carlos

user89 WHOS THE GIRL??????

user92 no cause why are the photos so aesthetically pleasing???

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ynuser marrrriesd vgasj 😭👜😍👛💗🤤

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yourbsf GIRL WHAT???????

yourbsf ANSWER ME RIGJT NOW

ynuser whtat?

yourbsf omfg how drunk are you??

ynuser dunk lebron 🏀

yourbsf lord help us all

-

landonorris posted on their story!

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[ she’s sob so hungover dheaiinwjsi @ynuser ]

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ynuser bro delete this zh en rmnow

landonorris enlish?

user56 BRO JUST JARD LAUNCHED THE HARD LAUNCHED

user0 wait she’s hot asf

user8 LANDO IS SHE NAKED?

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f1wags GOSSIP: lando norris and his recently announced wife who he married in vegas (drunkenly) have been spotted in California together!

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user67 wait this pap pic is so cute

user8 guys her @ is ynuser!!!!

user589 why is lando in sunglasses and a hat??

user9 maybe he’s still HUNGOVER

ynuser oh hello guys

user7 so casual

user92 hello mrs. norris

user89 WAIT THEY’RE MATCHING OUTFITS 🥹🥹

-

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and 356,827 others

ynuser as of lately 🌇

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landonorris hey mrs. norris

ynuser hello there mr. norris

user67 so like yes

user02 the color scheme of the post 😍

user10 i’m sorry lando but she’s my wife now

landonorris no.

user675 HE ACTUALLY RESPONDED 😭

carlossainz55 do you remember me?

ynuser yes mr. smooth operator

user8 I KNEW IT CARLOS WAS THERE WITH LANDO

user20 carlando ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

-

INSTAGRAM

liked by ynuser, oscarpiastri, and 895,021 others

landonorris wifey wifey wifey ❤️🤍

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user57 y/n is in fact wifey

user78 ugh she’s so fine

user89 lando is really bragging over insta

user0 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

ynuser hey husband

landonorris hello my wifey

user024 no cause i love them guys

user23 it’s confirmed lando married a BADDIE

user35 need need need

user6 lando needs to know that she’s OUR wife now

landonorris i refuse!! y/n is my wife, plus she has my last name 😏😏

user211 lando no need to get territorial…

-

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, yourbsf, and 532,624 others

ynuser honeymoon vacay

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landonorris 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

user5 calm down there lando

user502 if i were married to her… i’d be thirsting on the main 24/7

yourbsf gorgeous girl! and well him….

ynuser LMFAOO I LOVE U BAE

landonorris ?????

user99 island girl!

user02 okay guys let’s talk about how rom-com this whole thing is!

user3 FOR REAL

user02 like your a famous athlete who gets drunk and parties too hard and you marry a stranger and you both slowly start to fall in love

ynuser who’s going to write the script???

user79 I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

user65 wait y/n did you know who lando was?

ynuser god no.. i thought he was some youtuber or something ngl

user89 LMAO

-

SWEETERLOVERS - a little smau in honor of the last vegas grand prix <3

[lewcodina]

next top wag | oscar piastri x fem! footballer! reader

summary; in the world of formula one where wag culture is a big thing, everyone can agree that oscar piastri is the best one

fc; mallory swanson ( my girllll )

warnings; none (?)

note; uswnt/woso x f1 is my niche anyways plz ignore the dates on the tweets LMAOOAMZLS

masterlist !

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; one last date night w this grand prix winner before the olympics 🙁🤍] [caption 2; bonjourrrrr, parisss]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by oscarpiastri, trinity_rodman, and others !

yourusername: 3 for 3 in the group stages ! onto the quarterfinals!

oscarpiastri: wow

oscarpiastri: my gorgeous beautiful amazing talented goal scoring machine 😍

yourusername: osccccc🫶

username: OSCAR WAG!!!

username: all he does is drive n obsess over his talented football gf i love him😞

trinity_rodman: LETS GOO!! *liked by yourusername*

username: road to gold!!🙂‍↕️

username: these olympics have been so fun so far 😭🙏

username: Y/NNNNN!!!

sophsssmith: 3 for 3 meaning 3 goals in 3 matches 🤭

yourusername: what can i say😁

username: come to arsenal plz❤️

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

oscarpiastri uploaded to his story !

[caption 1; bonjour?] [caption 2; when bae is basically an olympic medalist already]

yourusername OSCAR JACK PIASTRIIIIII

yourusername I HATE U😭😭😭😭

oscarpiastri uhmmm if u didn’t knock australia out of group stages we’d be having a different conversation 🥱

yourusername girl bye 😭

yourusername be proud of ur gf🙄🙄

oscarpiastri who says i’m not 🙄

oscarpiastri go back to training u have a gold medal to win tmrw

yourusername i’ll win it for u my wag😘😘

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by oscarpiastri, sophsssmith, and others !

yourusername: a tough few weeks but it was all worth it to win gold with my girls 🥇

sophsssmith: girl YOUU won us gold 😫

oscarpiastri: she’s so talented right ☺️☺️

trinity_rodman: y/n come get your man 😭

oscarpiastri: yeah i’m her man😁

yourusername: guys i’m trying my best here but he already messages the every mclaren worker abt the gold medal😭

username: literally SCREAMED when y/n scored in the final😫

username: USA USA USA

username: STRUT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!!🐆

lavellerose: queen 👑 *liked by yourusername!*

username: yall see trinity’s comment abt oscar 😭😭

username: he’s such a simp i’m in tears 😭

landonorris: wow super cool y/n

yourusername: cooler than u

oscarpiastri: now that is a fact 😁

landonorris: ???????

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others !

oscarpiastri: a few weeks ago, you were in hungary to witness for my first win and now, i’m in paris after witnessing you scoring in the final to win gold, so unbelievably proud of my best girl❤️ i love you, my gold medalist 🥇

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: OSCAR JACK PIASTRIIIII

yourusername: I LOVE U MY HUNGARIAN GP WINNER😭❤️‍🩹

oscarpiastri: she loves me guys omg

landonorris: i can hear him giggling from here

oscarpiastri: you’re just jealous🥱

yourusername: guys plz

georgerussell63: oscar is in his wag era 💅

yourusername: call him next top wag

oscarpiastri: i think me willingly wearing 2 american flags, a cowboy hat, your jersey, and paining red white and blue lines on my face makes me the best wag🥱🥱

landonorris: begging you y/n please tell me you have a picture 😭

yourusername: I GOT YALLLLL

charles_leclerc: congratulations, y/n!!!

yourusername: merciiiii!

username: if u listen closely u can hear me sobbing 😞

username: oscar is dating the most gorgeous girl omg

username: ME AND WHOOOOO💔

username: they are so cute 🙁

lewishamilton: congratulations y/n on gold!🥇

yourusername: thank u lewisss🫶

oscarpiastri: did i mention i was there

alex_albon: yes plenty of times in the groupchat ( btw congrats y/n too! )

maxverstappen1: yeah he threatened crashing into all of us if we didn’t congratulate you yourusername

yourusername: ????? oscarpiastri explain ??

oscarpiastri: no thank you

[jilixthinker]

BABY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK I AM CONVINCEd this was written for me

Impact play with Jisung

Han Jisung x afab!reader

word count:2,454

18+, MDNI!! smut below the cut

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

fifth part of my 8 part masterlist of the extension of this & this headcanon of the members!!;3

Kinks & pleasures masterlist here main masterlist here

->SMUT WARNINGS: Subby jisung, dom reader, ball slapping, cock slapping, use of cock ring, edging, jisung is LEAKKYYY, so much drool, subspace, a few face slaps, degradation, edging, use of handcuffs, use of sex wax, begging, mention of safe word (but not used), finger sucking, reader is called 'mama' & 'miss', JISUNG COCK SQUIRTS cuz hehehe, reader is a meanie>:3

Jisung has obviously always been extremely into absolutely everything he can put his mind to, there is a very limited number of things he hasn't wanted to or hasn't already tried, most of it being with you, but somehow, the things you're doing right now, slipped both of your minds... until you did it on accident.

You've got Jisung handcuffed to the bedframe, arms on each side of his ears as you're straddling him, his naked cock hard against your inner thigh, not wanting to give him the small pleasure of having his cock pressed against your naked core because he would just start grinding against it & you can't be bothered with having to punish him because it takes so long to get the point across to his silly self.

You have him blindfolded & your worn panties are stuffed into his mouth as you're dripping the small remainder of the red wax onto his toned stomach, the honeyed skin getting red with the irritation of the heat of it as it drips onto him, his stomach lurching & him hissing through your lace panties, almost completely drool soaked by now.

"You're so good for me Sungie, is this gonna teach you to not try finger me while at dinner with your parents, hmm? Little perv." you purr to him & he instantly nods his head rapidly, his body squirming as the wax dries & you set the burnt out wick to the side, balancing on one knee to be able to reach.

As you do this however, when you try regain your balance on both knees, you misplace it & accidentally place all your weight on his balls & he lets out the highest screech you have ever heard leave his throat & you basically jump off him, reaching to pull the soaking fabric out of his mouth & moving the blindfold out of his face.

"Holy shit Sungie, are you okay?" you question, genuine worry in your voice as you look at his face, looking for a reaction, his poor big cheeks all red& his eyes slightly teary, the majority of them getting soaked up by the blindfold & his hands calming down from trying to break out from the handcuffs, his frame not spasming out from pain anymore.

He is flustered but doesn't speak, his 'words' just resulting in pathetic, embarrassed whimpers as his big glossy eyes stare at you. You take this as a negative response & you go to grab the small key to unlock his restraints when he puts his knees up, blocking you, & that's when you notice the wet patch on his stomach, his precum dripping into his pubes, making them sticky.

He rests his legs on either side of you, them spread as he has his feet planted on the floor & his cock twitches & he whimpers, half in nervousness but also half in shame & you know him well enough, especially when it comes to sex & you have no clue why he would be embarrassed about this, especially when you have done way more vulgar things.

"Did.. did you like that Sungie?" you question & he just whimpers, nibbling his spit covered bottom lip & he tries to hide his face in the side of his arm but your quick to lean over & grab his face by his pretty cheeks & you whip your hand off his left one, making his head sprint to look back up at you. "You not gonna talk, hmm?"

"Yes! L-like it." he stutters, his voice shaky & a small tear drips down his cheek & you chuckle before wiping it away with your thumb.

"Why are you crying, are you embarrassed? I never thought i'd see the day Sungie." you tease in a low voice as you pinch his cheek with your thumb & index finger, his eyes looking up at you with a glint in them.

"It is embarrassing! Do it again, p-please mama." he pleads, his voice high pitched as drool is falling from his mouth, making his chin shiny.

You smirk down at him as you pick up his now soaked with precum cock & squeeze your hand around it so tightly your knuckles turn a tiny bit white & Jisung scrunches his eyes as his legs, trying to shut them but can't because your leg is still placed between them & you pinch them as a non verbal way to tell him to stop what he is doing, & of course the good boy tries his best, not to much success but you let it slide.

You decide to spit down onto his cock, despite him clearly not needing it whatsoever & you jerk his poor, red, chubby cock in your clenched hand & the squeaks leaving his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard, high pitched 'aahhs!' & 'ahhngs!' filling more than just the bedroom at this point.

You continue this for only around thirty seconds before you stop jerking him but you keep holding onto him, but your other hand lands a harsh, quick slap to his cock head & he screams.

You bite your bottom lip, smirking at him as you land another two slaps to his cock, making sure to land on his tip, the ring on your index finger adding an extra sting.

"Y/- miss, balls, please! Kiss m-me" Jisung cries, arms pulling against the handcuffs holding him to the bed. You hum at his words, not verbally replying & you get off of him completely, letting go of his cock & you obviously watch his poor cock slap against his lower tummy, his cock so sensitive his own pubes irritating every part of it where they both make contact, his pubes completely soaked.

"Mama, cmon! Want you n-now!" he yelps to you, thrashing his legs around in distain as you plop yourself off the bed & open the bedside drawer & take out a small, black cock ring & as Jisung realises what you're holding, his eyes widen.

"Don't w-want that! want you!" he squeaks as you take your previous position, sitting on the backs of your legs, kneeling in between his open legs, Jisung having to move his feet that are planted to the bed to make enough space for you to comfortably sit there.

You grab at his member again & you give it another quick but harsh squeeze before you align the cock ring up with him & you roll it down his shaft & you squeeze it up, over & past his balls, it now resting just under his balls, the ring working instantly & the entire tightened skin completely red from the lack of blood flow, his balls looking almost ready to burst.

"Looks so painful Sungie, you're so weird for liking this, you know that?" you tease as you pinch at his balls, the skin getting even angrier, before you graze your nails down them, making his legs shake on either side of you, impossible for him to close them or push you away because of you sitting in the middle, much to your happiness.

"H-hurts, so sens-sensitive!" he cries out, his toes curling & his tongue lolling out his mouth, nibbling down on his now swollen bottom lip, his fully body tensing & clenching under your touches.

"You know the safe word if it's too much, tell me what it is baby, can you remember it?" you ask, trailing your fingertips up the underside of his base, the edge of your nails scratching his cock up & down, sending a stinging sensation through his body, his cock dribbling even more onto himself, but he pays no mind.

You reach forward & your hand connects with his face again & his eyes eventually focus on you, his pupils completely blown out, the entire bottom half of his face covered in his own spit because the poor thing just cannot keep his mouth closed for the life of him, his long black hair also now soggy from it.

"You not gonna talk? You poor little thing, are you still with me?" you speak up again, using the hand that isn't still causing his cock to jump & you pinch his tongue with your middle & index finger & pulling it a tiny bit before you shove the same fingers into his throat, fucking it with them & he sucks on them the best he can at the fast pace, gagging as your fingers go as deep as they can, spit escaping the outsides of his lips.

You pull your fingers out when Jisung is about to choke on his own drool & you wipe your fingers on his lips, if you didn't know better you'd say he had a really pretty lip gloss on.

"G'na cum, mis- Gonna c'm" he whimpers, his voice hoarse & his eyes just as glossy as his lips & you hum before leaning down & swirling your finger on the tip of his cock & you can tell by his body language that he is really pushing the edge & just before he is about to combust, you completely stop your actions & pull away.

Jisung cries at the loss of the touch, dying for absolutely anything, despite that the cock ring is so tight around him he thinks he could die, but he doesn't think about it for more than s second as he has to use all his brain power to actually listen to what you have to say.

"Anwer with words, Jisung." you remark, your voice sounding more serious & Jisung whimpers as his eyebrows furrow & he curls his head into his arm, trying to keep his brain switched on.

"Fluff! f-fluff to stop" he rasps, thrusting his hips upwards, trying to get you to keep going. "Wa-wanna cum mama, pu-pulease lemme" he begs, his eyes full of tears by this point.

"You think you can cum with a cock ring on? You really are a beg, you silly thing." you chuckle at him as you pick up his cock & you jerk him off as your fingers try fondle his balls despite them basically not being able to move before giving a small but venomous slap to them, making him hiss & groan each time you do so, Jisung tries his best to not thrust up into your hand, but he just cannot help it!

You can tell he is about to orgasm, despite him going non verbal by this point, & this is how you know he is in the fuzzy, warm feeling that is subspace & you can't help but feel proud that you've got him here, but you're also surprised he enjoys this so much to the point he's dropped this quickly.

The only sounds that are coming from him is small, more quiet 'mmhs', 'anghs' & you can swear you've heard a few 'mama's', 'y/nnie's' & 'more's' too & you would be lying if you said your cunt isn't quite literally dripping onto the bed sheets.

Jisung's angry, red balls pulsate visibly & not even a few seconds later, he cums ropes all over his tummy, the red wax now covered in a tiny white, sticky layer.

You look up at the poor boys face & his eyes are cross eyed at this point, barely even blinking, looking down at you, his tongue quite literally sticking out of his mouth.

You grind against the part of your leg that you're sitting on, trying to give yourself a small taste of anything since you know Jisung clearly won't be able to help you as you also decide that you wanna try push him more to the limit than you usually do, so you don't slow down.

You spit into your finger tips & you grab onto his slightly flaccid cock & you start fiddling & rubbing his tip at a rapid pace, massaging the few droplets of his own cum back into the skin of his tip along with your spit.

Jisung lurches forward as his eyes keep rolling backwards, his arms almost breaking the handcuffs with how much he is trying to move his hands to paw your own away, but to no result.

"You gonna do it for me Sungie? You gonna be my good boy, hmm? let go f'me" you purr to him, fondling his tip with four fingers & he just will not stop squeaking from overstimulation.

Jisung nods his head, gurgling out choked sobs & whimpers as his toes curl & his legs shut around you as much as they can, clenching so tight around you it hurts your arms & you would probably row at him for it but he has just been so good for you so you decide to allow him the small action.

"H-happening, t-too much" he squeaks & just as your brain processes what he just said, a small, almost completely clear stream spurts out his tip, soaking your fingers at the same time it sprays onto his honey skin & also onto the sheets beneath you.

Jisung is non stop squirming & almost folding in half as it finally stops, his entire body covered in his own sweat, his own drool, his own pre & cum, wax & now his own squirt.

You take a long look at him & you realise how fucked out he genuinely is, the poor chubby cheeked boy is broken by you & you feel beyond proud of yourself for getting him to this state, you know you need to get him cleaned up but you know he is even sensitive when in subspace & the last thing you wanna do is let him fall into sub drop so you decide to wriggle the black object that's torturing his cock by this point off of him before unlocking his handcuffs & his arms instantly flop on each side of him, his wrists now wrapped in a red ring from where the handcuffs have been digging into his skin throughout the scene.

You wriggle up beside him, his naked skin sticking to yours & you help manoeuvre him so he is lying in between your legs, his head resting on your chest as you play with his drenched hair as you wait for him to actually come back to you.

->Taglist is open! @jilixthinker

->Anon list is open!