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magicalrocketships · 12 hours ago

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Rivers of Light || Max/Daniel || part 16 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents. Continue suspending that disbelief. Anything that's wrong we can just pretend is true in mpreg world. Pretend it didn't take me this long to write this little. Life is what it is)

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here. This chapter is on AO3 here.

Hospital after his accident would have been better, Max thinks, kissing Bastiaan's hair, if Daniel had visited. Recovery would have been easier if Daniel had been in contact. Being dropped from the team would have been terrible anyway, but at least Daniel would have tried to make him laugh.

Part 16

Max has never liked early mornings, but Bastiaan seems to like them more than any other part of the day, so Max is trying to adapt.

Bastiaan always wakes early, regardless of how much he's been awake during the night, and today is no different. Max watches the sun come up through the gap in the curtains as he feeds his hungry baby, then after that he opens the curtains so that Bastiaan knows that it's daytime and it's okay to play. They play with his giraffe, and his pink bunny, and his rattle. Bastiaan also likes the little jingle of Max's keys. Since Daniel suggested playing peekaboo, Max has started incorporating that into rotation too. Bastiaan had liked whatever YouTube video Daniel had found in the hotel, but there's barely any mobile signal here, no Wi-Fi, and Max's replacement phone doesn't have enough data in its allowance for Max to waste on videos. Max has got used to the isolation.

The caravan owners have a CD player in the living room, and one of the CDs on the shelf is awful children's nursery rhymes so maybe he could try that, but Daniel's still sleeping out there and Max doesn't want to wake him.

The sooner he wakes up, the sooner he'll leave.

Max doesn't let himself want much, but he'd always wanted Daniel to stay. That hadn't ever changed. Everything was better with Daniel around.

Nobody wants a loser, his dad had said, over and over again. And you've ruined it for both of us.

He hears Daniel moving around after a while, then the door to the bathroom opens. The shower turns on.

He'll go soon, Max thinks, and his chest feels tight. He's always been able to go it alone before. His focus has never let him down. He doesn't know why it's different now, why it feels like he's underwater, why it feels like he's always moments away from drowning. He's always been so good at swimming.

Bastiaan wriggles in his arms. His baby, his lovely baby.

He'll be okay alone. It's got him this far, at least. The isolation is normal now.

Bastiaan needs a nappy change, so Max gets them both up. "Maybe we'll have a bath, little baby, how does that sound? You like being in the water, don't you? Then we can get dressed and it'll just be me and you again. We like that, don't we?"

Max doesn't let himself think about the alternative. Not being alone. He opens the door out into the hall at the same time Daniel opens the bathroom door. He's wet from the shower and has the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday round his neck like a towel. He's wearing black boxer briefs. Max doesn't let his glance rest there for more than a moment.

"I couldn't find a towel," Daniel says, and Max thinks he might be blushing. "Do you have a t-shirt I could borrow? Didn't plan on an extra night so I'm out of clean stuff."

"Of course, Daniel," Max says, although he's got to do laundry this morning and everything he owns is threadbare and stretched because - out of necessity - he wore it all too long into his pregnancy. Balancing Bastiaan in one hand, he opens his wardrobe and pulls out a shirt from the top of the pile. He hands it over. "Here."

"Thanks," Daniel says. "So I'm going to get dressed."

"Okay," Max says, trying to look anywhere but the golden planes of Daniel's shower-damp skin. It is very hard being close to someone so handsome after so long away. Max has always wanted to be as close to Daniel as he could be, but after the desperate months of being alone Max craves touch. He longs for it. He needs it.

He turns away. "Bastiaan is going to have a bath, aren't you?" he says, kissing Bastiaan's little sleepy soft hair. "Maybe we will make some splashes, because you like that, don't you?"

Max doesn't look back. He goes into the little bedroom where Bastiaan's changing mat is all set up. There's a towel hanging over the open cupboard door. Some babies have special towels with little hoods and teddy patterns but Bastiaan has Max's old towel, cut in half so it's more Bastiaan sized and less Max's gym bag sized. It frays a bit on the cut edge when it's washed but it's okay. He settles Bastiaan on the mat and starts to take off his little sleep suit and wet nappy. He has a little vest on too, and Max undoes the poppers and puts it in the Ikea bag where all the rest of Bastiaan's worn clothes are.

It's got to be laundry day today. Bastiaan's almost out of everything.

Max wraps Bastiaan up in his towel, asking him to try not and pee for a little bit if he could help it, then carries him out into the living room. Daniel's dressed in his jeans and Max's t-shirt. He's lacing up his Vans.

He really is leaving, then.

Max turns around so he doesn't have to see it happen. He takes the washing up bowl out of the kitchen sink, then wipes down the sink with a cloth. He starts to run the tap until the water runs warm, then he puts in the plug and lets the sink fill.

"Bath time for babies," Max tells Bastiaan, because Bastiaan is starting to complain about either the absence of his nice sleep clothes or the slightly uncomfortable position he's forced into as Max leans over and checks the water temperature with his elbow. Celine had shown him how to do this when he'd first brought Bastiaan home from the hospital, showing him how to carefully hold Bastiaan so he was safe. It's the only thing anyone has shown him how to do, really. Even breastfeeding he'd mostly had to figure out by himself.

He cradles Bastiaan now, holding him as he lowers Bastiaan into the warm water. He splashes water over Bastiaan's tummy. The umbilical cord stump had fallen off at the beginning of last week, and now it looks mostly healed and happy. He uses his little baby sponge to bathe Bastiaan clean, and Bastiaan moves his feet in the water and looks happy.

When Max was pregnant, Bastiaan had always been happy when Max had been swimming. It had been the most peaceful place Max knew, out there in the water. Max had swum and swum and swum, day after day after day.

His leg had stopped hurting by itself in the end. He didn't miss physio. He could do it by himself.

When Max looks up, Daniel's watching them, a furrow between his brows. Max doesn't understand his expression. It's almost sad but there's nothing to be sad about. Bastiaan likes baths. He likes being bundled up into his towel afterwards and cradled against Max's chest. Max likes it too.

Max swallows and looks away. "Come on, little baby," he says. "Let's get you into a clean nappy. No towel accidents, okay?"

"Max," Daniel says.

Max knows that Daniel is leaving. "I have to get my baby dressed," he says.

"Max."

"It is not okay for my baby to get cold," Max says. "He will cry if he is not warm."

Daniel follows him down the hall and into the baby room. Max reaches for a nappy and sits down with Bastiaan on the changing mat.

"Do you have a picture of your car? And the licence plate?"

Max puts a hand on Bastiaan's tummy. He blinks. "What?"

"I'm going to go pick up your car from the airport," Daniel says. "Then I've got a couple of things to buy on the way back if that's okay, but I'll pick you up some nappies too. Then I thought I could go with you to the supermarket later on, or I could go by myself if it's easier. Whatever you need."

"What," Max says again. He can't look at Daniel. He fastens Bastiaan's little nappy closed, then leans in to kiss Bastiaan's soft tummy. His lovely little baby. "You're leaving."

"Not yet," Daniel says. "I'm not leaving for Bahrain until Monday morning. I've got time to help out."

Max doesn't understand. Daniel hadn't come to see him after his accident. He didn't get in contact after Max was home. His dad had said, he's not your friend. He'd said, none of them are your friends. He'd said, they only want you around if you're a competitor, and you fucked that when you crashed. Everything we worked for and you fucked it up because you're too stupid to win. None of them want you. The only person you've got left is me, and that's because I'm stuck with you.

But he'd pushed Max down the stairs when he'd found out he was pregnant, and Max had understood then that he had nobody. That he was alone. That he was the only protection his baby had, and Max would give up everything to keep him safe.

And he had. He didn't regret it.

He regretted not understanding that Daniel wasn't his friend earlier, though. It would have made it easier, after the accident. Not hoping every time the door opened that it would be him. Not telling his dad through the pain of a concussion that he was wrong, that Daniel was his friend, that he'd come.

Daniel hadn't, though. He hadn't come. Max had been alone and he'd stayed alone.

"Max," Daniel says.

Max finishes pulling up Bastiaan's little leggings. He's wearing a t-shirt today with a sunshine on and he's got his little blue cardigan. He's Max's lovely, lovely baby. The best thing he's ever done in his life.

He needs his car back. He doesn't want Daniel to leave. He's too tired to try and work out how to get it himself. He's too exhausted and sore to fight against getting to keep Daniel a little bit longer.

"Okay," he says, leaning in to kiss Bastiaan's cheeks, his forehead, his tiny tiny nose. "I will give you the keys."

"Cool," Daniel says, shooting him finger guns. "Sooner I'm gone, sooner I'll be back, car and nappies in tow."

Sooner you'll leave, Max thinks, but he doesn't say it.

He's got along without anyone so far. It's him and Bastiaan together. They'll be fine. There isn't any other choice.

#rivers of light #my fic #maxiel #max/daniel #the mpreg train is leaving the station #(again)#i have not been well enough to write for a while so we're getting back into the swing of it

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m-robinavitch · 15 hours ago

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❛ i want you like you used to have me. like we had nothing else to live for. ❜ & Pope

we’re doing Thirsty Thursday Freak Nasty Friday this week with these prompts. send me a prompt and a character and I’ll write a little blurb.

Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader

feels like it should be a continuation of this

Andrew had this look on his face- soft and pleading with you to let him in. In the door or in your heart again? You’re not sure but it was working. Maybe it was the rain pounding on the roof- the way he was soaking wet and shaking just a little bit, although his eyes were wet with tears. He tried to stay away. Andrew fought with himself the entire walk to your house, not caring about the rain or thinking if you even wanted to see him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair because he was the one who would push you away. Andrew was the one who stopped answering you- who dropped off the face of the earth for months because it was the only way you’d leave him. He had to force you away because he was too fucking weak to stay away. Even now, standing outside your door while your husband was away on some business trip. Andrew would never leave you if you weren’t fully his. He would never let you spend a moment alone.

“Just let me in, one more time. Please.” You don’t step back when he gets closer to you, standing on the porch shielded from the rain- watching as Andrew drops to his knees in front of you. He can’t stop himself. He pushed you into another man’s arms and yet he still needed you more than he needed air- wrapping his arms around your thighs and pressing his cheek into your stomach. “I want you like you used to have me. Like we had nothing else to live for- just each other.” You sighed- working off of muscle memory alone because you run your fingers through his hair when he looks up at you with those hazel eyes that you never learned how to say goodbye to. You nod- smiling a little when he sighs in relief and with those strong arms tightening around your thighs he stands and wraps them around his waist to carry you back into the house and slam the door behind him.

It was instinct, how your hands worked to shove his jacket off his shoulders and peel the wet shirt from his body while he walked through your house- already knowing the way to your bed. The bed you shared with another man. The bed you would also have Andrew in. You barely had his pants past his thighs when he dropped you onto the bed- shoving your underwear and flimsy sleep shorts to the side before easily sliding into your aching heat. You were already wet. It was like your body knew he was coming. The desperation in his thrusts told you how much he needed this- uncoordinated movements with shaky breathing mixed together with the needy way his lips and tongue moved along with your own. It was perfect.

Your thighs started to shake- the force of his hips into your own made you whine his name because each thrust slid you both higher up the bed until Andrew used the headboard to brace himself and slow his movements into your cunt. You’d be embarrassed by the sound of the headboard knocking into the wall if you weren’t already cumming around his cock- wet obscene noises making the slide of his thick length along your gummy walls so much easier.

“I love you- fuck I love you.” You repeated in his ear- over and over like a prayer for him because you did. You never stopped. And Andrew nodded into your neck- begging you to keep repeating the words because they went straight from his heart to his cock and before he could pull out he was spilling every drop of himself inside you with a choked off groan.

#thirsty thursday #freak nasty Friday #my random typings #Andrew Cody #andrew cody x reader #andrew cody x you #andrew pope cody #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x you #pope Cody #pope cody x reader #pope cody x you

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formulafanfics13 · 1 day ago

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‼️Please read. (my week break, negativity, AI, what's coming, and what's next)

usual pinned posts can be found here

masterlists can be found here

Okay, hi, I'm here.

First things first, the past few days I have had time to think about what I want moving forward with this blog. I want to carry on, but I'm not prepared to receive the messages or have to defend myself so much for simply doing something I enjoy.

⚠️ A Note on Negativity, Hate & Death Wishes

Let’s get one thing very clear: negativity, hate, and death wishes are not okay. They never have been, and they never will be.

If you’re here to send that kind of message, simply don’t. Please just block me and move on with your life. I’m not holding anyone hostage. If you don’t like the way I write, who I write for, or the stories I choose to tell, that’s totally fine. But you are not entitled to my inbox.

In the past week alone, I’ve received so many kind messages from people supporting me, but also from other writers saying they’ve faced similar hate. Honestly? It’s heartbreaking. You don’t know who’s behind these blogs. You don’t know what they’re going through in real life. And you don’t get to decide what’s “okay” to say just because you’re behind an anonymous mask.

If you don’t vibe with my content, do not interact. Block me. Mute me. Curate your own space. But don’t come here with cruelty and act like it’s justified. We’re writing fanfiction, not committing crimes.

Going forward:

Any hate, negativity, or death wishes will not be responded to on my page.

Accusations will not be addressed, your messages will simply be deleted.

None of it will be made public.

This blog is not a space for drama, cruelty, or anonymous bitchiness. If you genuinely have a concern, want clarification about something, or have constructive criticism that would be useful for me to consider, my messages are open, and we will have that conversation privately and respectfully.

We’re not doing the anonymous sniping thing anymore. If you’ve got a problem, say it with your chest. If not, scroll on. This space is meant for softness, chaos, fun, creativity, connection. Not hate.

📝 A grammar lesson - AI and Editing

Let's clarify things here (because from the comments I had at the start of the week, a very small amount of people don’t know some of this).

'-' is used between words ('co-found', 'step-sibling').

'–' is used between numbers and dates (2000–2010, 12:50–12:00). - i dont often use these as i personally think they're ugly)

'—' is used for pretty much everything else (example: a break in text. "I can't do—" "yes you can").

Let's be clear here, I have been a university student for the past few years, and I know how to write grammatically correct (and no, I know I don't always do it). No, Em-dashes were not created by AI; it does not always indicate that AI was used. This conception was created because AI writes grammatically correct. But let's not forget, many people can also write grammatically correct.

On Windows, you can type '--' and it will automatically change to '—', on Mac, you can press 'option', 'shift' and '-' and it will change to '—'. You can change this (I personally don't know how because my partner did it for me, because I use '—' most commonly, so it was an easier option for me).

Let's clarify, using em dashes, en dashes, and Oxford commas does not prove something is written by AI; it simply indicates the writer knows how to use punctuation correctly.

Do I write every first draft of my fics with '—'? Yes.

Do I go back through them when editing and replace them with the wrong dash? Yes.

Why? Because people do not understand correct grammar, and with the work I put into each fic I write, I do not want people to think it's not me writing.

Do I also forget to change a few throughout, or miss some when editing? Yes. I'm dyslexic, I miss things, and there are spelling and other grammar mistakes throughout some of my fics, and I see no complaints about that.

Will I continue to change the dashes and hyphens I use? Yes. But again, some may be missed.

No, originally, I didn't change the '—' to '-' in the first chunk of my fics, because I never saw writing grammatically correct as an issue.

If you want to believe my fics are stolen, not written by me, or AI-generated, then please leave my page, block my account, and do not interact. We don't need negativity here. I do not want your opinions. I have explained before, I do not use AI, I don't know much about it, and quite frankly, it scares me.

I have also explained that my university work was flagged for AI, which led to countless meetings and having to show my supervisor and course leader how to access the different dashes on a keyboard. I got a first, one of the highest in my course overall, because of my writing and grammar. So yes, I write academically, and that's okay.

If you do not like my writing, please scroll. Please block me. Please do not interact. This is the last time I will be addressing AI, stolen fics, or someone else supposedly writing my fics.

⏳ A Note on Time, Writing & Realistic Expectations

Let’s talk about time, because I think some people need a little behind-the-scenes insight into how this all works (despite the fact that I have spoken about this so much).

Before I even started this blog, I had already written over 300 fics for myself. I didn’t just wake up one day and start pumping out stories on demand; I’ve been writing privately for years. That’s why, when I post a long fic like All Eyes On Me or The Secret Girlfriend, it’s already pre-written. Usually 30+ chapters ahead. Why? Because I have ADHD. And sometimes, I get bored. I need to know I’ll still enjoy the story before I commit to sharing it; otherwise, I risk dropping it halfway through. That wouldn’t be fair on me, or on you.

Since launching this blog, I’ve been writing for��17 to 19 hours a day, sometimes more on nights when my insomnia kicks in. I type fast, thank you, university essay hell, and I plan fast. When requests come in, I already know what I’m going to write most of the time because I take notes and keep my inbox open. That prep helps more than people realise.

I also re-use parts of old, unpublished fics. I cut, reshape, and adapt things that I’ve previously written but never shared. It speeds up the process and helps me stay creative without starting from scratch every single time.

Sometimes my fics are only 200 words long. That’s something I can write in 10 minutes if I’ve already mapped it out. But that doesn’t mean it takes 10 minutes to plan, edit, or finalise. I also sometimes use dictation (hello, microphone) to get words out quicker, but trust me, editing audio-to-text is its own nightmare because grammar gets lost along the way.

I am not magic. I write every single word. Fics don’t appear out of thin air. And while I love writing more than anything, the truth is: this pace is not sustainable going forward.

I’ve been able to maintain it because I was in between finishing university and graduating. But now? Things are changing.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a job interview, and I’m so thrilled to share that I got the job I wanted. Which means I’ll soon be stepping into full-time work. And that means I will no longer be spending 17 hours a day writing fic. Or working in a place that allows be to sit on my laptop all day.

What does this mean going forward?

Fic output will slow down.

Requests will take longer, and I may not get to all of them.

I’ll be writing when I can, around my real-life job.

But I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up. This page isn’t going anywhere.

The pressure of starting a completely new job is something I will be dealing with, therefore, I will not be putting pressure on myself to write more than I can.

We’ll be shifting to a new, realistic, and sustainable schedule. One that allows me to enjoy writing again, and hopefully still gives you all the chaos, softness, and smut you’ve come to love.

This will also help me to stay on top of my masterlists.

🛠️ What I’ve Been Up To This Week

So... what have I been doing during my few days break?

Honestly? A lot more than I expected. I didn’t just disappear into the void (as tempting as that was), I’ve been using this time to reset, recharge, and get things a little more organised around here.

First of all: Masterlists have been updated! (multi-part fics will be linked together tomorrow!)

Second of all: new headers are coming. I’m gonna be real with you: I’ve been so bored with the “requests” header. So I’ve been playing around and designing some new ones that better reflect the tone and vibe of different fics. Expect to see those roll out soon, because it’s time for a little refresh. There may be a few variations of these, so keep an eye out for the pretty colours.

I’ve also been writing. Not as intensely as before, but enough to start building a stockpile. I’ve got a few pieces prepped and sitting in my drafts now, which means I’ve got backup content ready for those especially hectic weeks when I don’t have time to write in real time. It’s all about pacing myself better moving forward.

✨ Things you can look forward to:

A bunch of mini-series (some new, some continuing)

Several long fic chapters.

Some long-awaited part 2s

And a handful of new one-shots that I’m really excited to share

Basically, we’ve got lots of good stuff coming. it just might be rolling out a little slower.

💌 Some Last Things I Want to Say...

I just want to take a moment to say thank you. Like, really thank you. The messages I’ve received over the past few days have honestly overwhelmed me in the best way. Some of them made me cry, not from hurt, but from how kind and supportive you all have been. I’ve read every single one. I wont be replying publicly to these but please know it’s been seen and felt. Deeply. And they will be staying in my inbox.

I’m so grateful for every one of you who took the time to send love, encouragement, support, jokes, memes, all of it. You’ve reminded me why I started sharing my work in the first place. And it means the world.

🧡Just to summarise and reiterate:

Hate will not be tolerated.

Death wishes, accusations, and negativity will be deleted, not dignified.

If you don’t like my work, my style, or who I write for, please just block me. It’s okay. Truly.

If you have something constructive or respectful you want to say, message me privately.

This blog is a safe space, and it always will be. For me, for you, and for everyone here.

✨ A new, realistic schedule will be shared soon and linked below this post. I’m going to keep doing what I love, just at a pace that’s manageable with my new job and life in general.

Starting Monday, we’ll hopefully be back in action with a bit more than one post per day. For now, however, I will not be taking requests. I will let you all know when I will be. I just feel I may need a week to settle into my new job, get on top of life (because I have also moved house), and also continue to get on top of fics for the future.

The Silverstone Situation mini-series wraps up tonight, and a brand new Lewis Hamilton Ancient Alpha mini-series kicks off tomorrow, friday 1st (3 parts). - This is my 3rd time writing alpha/omega. I am still learning; however, I tried, okay, because this was highly requested!

This weekend, you might see a few little extras or one-shots drop, but mostly, I’ll be writing ahead and prepping content for the future while I prepare mentally to start my new job on Monday. I won’t be very active, but everything will be scheduled.

📝 what to expect whilst i get back into a rhythm:

— long fics (‘all eyes on me’ & ‘the secret girlfriend’) returning to their usual update schedule slowly (possibly around the end of next week). (+ all eyes on me will be longer than 50 chapters, despite my original plan to end it at 50) — a mini series once a day at least — a few one-shots or spontaneous extras here and there. — a few trial schedules, until I find one that works for me and for you.

⏱️what will be temporarily put on hold?

— paddock bunny (I love writing this, however I want to rewrite the parts I have in my drafts) — drivers in bed and series similar to this — drivers as and drivers reactions (these will come out more slowly as they take a lot of my effort to write, and I would rather do these as a little extra thing rather than a set fic.

🚮What will not be continued for now (but may make a return in the future):

— foodporn (im out of ideas for what food to be used, and im a little bored of writing this - it started as a single request, then spiralled into a mini series) — Just The Tip (theres only so many ways to write the same scenario)

✨

Once again, thank you. For being here, for being patient, for being kind, for being feral little icons.

I love you. Evie 🫶🏼

(pinned post, info posts, schedule and guidelines/rules will be posted and updated by monday - hopefully)🧡

(also i will be replying to questions in my inbox in about an hour or two!)

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lunescore · 3 days ago

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Hi! I love your work 💜✨️ thinking about reader being daring and flirting with Ran, thinking there would be no consequences (maybe using hextrap?)

AUTHOR: Hii, thank you 💞

Ran x Fem!Reader

Tags: Hexstrap, breeding, rough sex and slight dumbification if you squint, fem!reader, bulging, anatomically exaggerated slightly

You spent the entire day twirling around in your obnoxiously small skirt and showing Ran the hem of the frilly panties that you wore underneath the prettiest pink outfit. You stuck out in a place like Zaun. Men stared after you and some of them even paused to whistle and catcall until their glare cut the rowdy men off. Ran has quite the reputation for knocking out men's teeth who don't respect her girl.

And you were her girl.

The sun was hiding down the horizon and the streets were mostly deserted as you and Ran made your way back to your apartment, their jaw was clenched so tight you swore you could hear their teeth grinding down.

“Oh Ran, what's wrong?” you pushed their limits.

Ran smiled at you, a forced sarcastic smile that spoke volumes and replied in a sickeningly sweet tone, “Nothing, gorgeous.” And you both reached their apartment.

They led you inside and sure as hell the interior smelled like caffeine and gunpowder. You couldn't even make it past the threshold when ran grabbed your wrist, your pretty bracelets clinking with movement as they pulled you inside. The bedroom was surprisingly spacious as they pushed you down onto the mattress.

“Ooooh,” you spread your legs, “Are we gonna jump straight to the pounding? No foreplay this time?”

Ran reached in the closet and pulled out their not-so-lethal weapon. But it was all in the delivery in their opinion. It was the Hexstrap. They pushed your legs apart to make space, lips pressed tightly together in a neutral expression.

“Ready, doll?” She ran the cock head over your entrance before nudging it inside.

You gasped. “It's a bit bigger for me, don't you think, baby?”

“I think it's perfect for your little naughty hole.” Ran pushed inside all at once, bottoming out deliciously as you gasped and squirmed around her. The stretch was painful but it was all that pleasuring as well. Your thick lashes batted, blinking away tears and glossy lips pouted at them before trembling.

“Baby, it's a lot.”

You complained but they weren't listening as they started moving faster, the bed creaking around the both of you as the room filled with sex sounds, the soft aroma of sex wafted through the air that once smelled like sleepless nights of humping the pillow with all Ran had— imagination. Fucking imagining ramming into your pussy and claiming you. And oh, breeding you.

“Oh it feels good, it feels amazing! Fuck! Fuck!”

You screamed out in pleasure as Ran fucked you like a little ragdoll for them to ruin. You were a mess as your pussy squelched around her intimidatingly huge strap. Ran grunted and leaned forward to start leaving marks all over your chest.

“Baby, I can feel it so deep inside.” You mewled weakly, legs quivering and jelly.

“Is that so?” Ran chuckled, low and deep.

Their hands traced you very casually as if they weren't just destroying your pussy, with every time they bottomed out the tip of the strap graced against your cervix and you saw stars. Your wetness was spilling and slicking the cock making Ran’s movements fluid and easier.

“Ungh, fuck, you're so tight.”

They wrapped one hand under your waist to have you grind back against their strap better, you did so animalistically. You moaned and threw your head back as you came all over their dick. Your eyes were squeezed closed as they pumped in you a bit more before you felt thick ropes of cum filling your body up and your lips parted in pure bliss.

You wanted to say something. Maybe even thank them for their load but you couldn't. Your mind was too fucked out and hazy and your brain was a mush. Your hands reached up, stroking their hair away from their sweat-dampened forehead but your hand fell back down right after doing so— fatigued.

“Ruined you so good, princess,” Ran panted before giving your slightly distended uterus a condescending pat, “All of me right here.”

They pulled out and let the strap rest against your reddened pussy before they used their thumb to smear your run down mascara down your cheek. “You look good like this. Maybe we should go for round 2.”

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gothicsang · 10 hours ago

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`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ fallen angel `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⋆pairing: kang yeosang x f!reader

⋆synopsis: reader was abducted by alien!ateez, and is kept company by a quiet, brooding human who is just as much a prisoner as reader. coping day by day, reader and the mysterious prisoner become something neither of them see coming.

⋆ tags: MDNI!!, 18+, secret alien!yeosang, abducted!reader, angst, slowburn if you close one eye, smut, alien!ateez au, smut warnings under the tag!!

⋆ authors note: i am quite literally so unsure if i like this to be honest, but i love aliens, and yeosang is the most ethereal man on this earth, so i kind of had to. again, pls let me know thoughts and critiques if you have them! (pls be nice lol).

⋆ word count: 7.3k

⋆ smut tags: nipple play, yeosang eats kitty like no other, fingering, vulgar terminology, creampie, very very minor dom/sub dynamic!

⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡ `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Somehow, you always knew you were bound for the cosmos. You were never sure why, never sure when, or even how, but you knew.

It was a Sunday when you woke up no longer in your bed, but on a cold, raised slab of metal. The air was brittle, and every breath you took felt like it crumbled as soon as it toppled down into your lungs. You didn’t open your eyes yet, like they were glued shut, but you listened to the humming coming from underneath you, the soft, constant woosh of something unknown, and your own breathing as it became doubled. When you breathed, you heard yourself gasp twice. When you exhaled, you exhaled double. Your breath shook in fear, sounding like a rattlesnake as it duplicated itself.

Your fingers grasped for the edge of the bed you lay on, inching down the shallow drop until you felt nothing at all. The lurch in your stomach catapulted your body up, finding yourself with eyes wide open, staring at the dim, metallic scene in front of you.

A long console that spanned the entire length of one side of the room gleamed with bioluminescent light, causing stripes of its reflection to cascade on the silver walls around it. You slipped off of the ‘bed,’ grimacing as the chill of the floor met your bare feet, and padded to the edge of the platform you seemed to have woken up on.

The room seemed to extend past it for ages, infinite. Its metallic walls went on forever; if there were any angles, you couldn’t see them. Turning around, you faced the bed you had woken from: It sat in the middle of a decently large, but certainly bare, platform. A curved wall backed the platform like a cradle, reflecting the lights and directing them towards the center of the platform.

Somehow, the air had become easier to breathe, but with every deep swallow of oxygen, your lungs ached, and you turned back towards the console. There was a part of you that feared what was past the edge of the platform, you could feel your heart thumping against your ribs like a caged animal the closer you got to the step off, but you could not stop your legs from barreling forward.

Whatever oxygen that you had sucked in prior to stepping off the platform was promptly knocked out of you as you hit a barrier you hadn’t seen prior. It pushed you backwards, rippling out in iridescent waves when you reached out again to touch it. It stung with every attempt to push past it. You would start with your hands touching the curved wall in the back, running with all your might and throwing yourself at the invisible barrier, but nothing changed. The barrier still rippled outwards, your lungs still ached, your feet were still bare and cold, and you were still trapped in a room that smelled like honey and bleach.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The next time you saw another being, it was an hour after you had woken up. Your back slumped on the curved wall, you had laid your head on the cool surface at some point after giving up, willing yourself to sleep, but your brain was wide awake. Although your eyes were closed, when the bright white lights flickered on, they shot open with a sharp gasp. Scrambling to your feet, you stood against the curved wall, eying the now starkly lit room.

You heard murmurs from behind the endless silver wall on the other side of the console, although you couldn’t make out what was being said. A door, not previously there, slid open with a woosh, revealing two powerful, slender figures.

They stalked in, their eyes black as night. Inhuman.

“Wh-who are you?” Your voice wavered, pressing your back against the wall.

They didn’t respond, but continued to speak in front of you. You could barely hear them, but picked up random phrases: “home planet,” “the human.” You picked up one sentence in particular, causing a freezing chill to course through your body: “...Could operate…leave the human in the enclosure…will return to the subject with the variable…”

The two figures wore dark clothing, crisp and clean lines that outlined their extraterrestrial forms. One figure, shorter, with a sharp nose, seemed to order the other around. The second figure was taller, with wide shoulders and an unforgiving gaze.Their dark eyes would seemingly look over at you, or so you assumed, dragging their gazes across your form, then returning to conversation. They flitted around the room, their fingers dancing across the console against the wall, then finally left without another glance at your person.

The next time they entered, you were unsure of how much time had passed, but this time another figure was with them, being tugged behind them like a prisoner.

The shorter figure led them to the console, pressing a variety of lights and buttons, glancing back at you every now and then. The figure with the unforgiving stare gripped the prisoner with frightening strength. He stepped forward, pulling the prisoner with him.

“Shall I feed the human, captain?”

The captain nodded shortly, “Yes, San, sure. Throw that one in there as well.” He gestured towards the prisoner who was still in shadow.

“Yes, sir.” The sharp featured figure wrangled the prisoner as he attempted to struggle out of the figure’s grip, “now, Yeosang, just make it easy for both of us.”

With the flick of a button on the console, the barrier flashed a light purple, and the prisoner was pushed through the barrier. He landed with force, folded over on the foot of the metal bed, its metal edge digging into his abdomen.

The man groaned in pain as two plates with unrecognizable slop were tossed through the barrier following him, before the light purple flashed back to nothing at all. You eyed the prisoner: his hair was pitch black and sprawled across his face, shrouding his features. His sculptured arms glistened in sweat, drawing your eyes down to his bound wrists.

“Go on then,” the captain barked as he and the other figure exited the room, “eat. Untie him for all I care.”

The door slid shut with a quiet thud, leaving the room with the mechanical hum you had heard before, and the panicked breathing from the prisoner, still bent over the bed.

“Are you…” Your brows curled upward in apprehensive worry, “are you alright?”

He said nothing.

“Can I untie you?” You whispered.

The man’s silence persisted, but he pulled his bound hands out from underneath his body, placing them on the bed for you. You crept forward, barely making noise as you leaned over the metal surface, reaching for his hands.

The man’s hands were large, well-defined and veiny, twitching under the pressure of the strange ties that bound him.

“I’m…um…” You let out a shaky breath, “I’m going to try and… uh… untie you. Okay?”

You waited a couple moments for an answer, but received none. With a sigh, you let your hands rest on his thumbs as you fumbled with the ties. The moment your skin touched the man, his body tensed, flinching away from your touch, before reluctantly letting your hands do their work.

“It’s alright,” your fingers were flying in and out of the strange loops created by your abductors, “I’m not going to hurt you…”

As you detangled the last of the bindings, his hands shot out from underneath yours, standing himself up and retreating to one of the walls surrounding the platform.

You watched him as he sat down, his long black hair still haphazardly thrown in front of his eyes. You could barely see his features, but reflections from the overhead light sparkled behind the strands of hair over his eyes every now and then.

Picking up the plates of slop that had been tossed in your cage, you brought one to him hesitantly. You held the plate in front of him, “here. We should probably eat.”

He looked up at you through the gaps in his sightline, then glanced at the plate in your hands. Without a word, he took the plate, and placed it next to him, leaning back on the wall and staring straight ahead, catatonic.

Your silence matched his as you returned to your spot on the curved wall with your plate of food. It smelled like the honey and bleach concoction that wafted through the room before the figures had entered, but as you spooned it into your mouth, the flavor warped and twisted on your tongue. It tasted like everything at once and nothing at all, and it dissipated from your mouth before you could savor it any more than necessary.

The lights dimmed in the room once more a number of hours after the prisoner had been brought in. He still hadn’t uttered a word, just stared at the air in front of him like it was speaking to him. You teetered in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day, dreaming of absolute nothingness and awaking to the same nothingness.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

You woke with the lights still golden and dim, covering the silver, metallic surfaces of the room in a bronze sheen. The man was standing at the edge of the platform, watching the room in front of him.

“That barrier will hurt you.” You muttered, sleepy.

He didn’t answer, but kept his back turned.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Your head fell ever so slightly to the side, feeling lethargic.

The man’s silence persisted, much to your frustration. Whether he was tired of listening to you speak, or if he had seen what he needed to see, was unclear, but he sat himself back down against the wall after glancing at you briefly.

“Who are you?” Your brows furrowed with fervor and you turned your head on his diagonal.

A heavy silence weighed the air down. One where all either of you could hear were your own short breaths. One that didn’t end for a long time.

The next time the lights turned on, the same sharp-eyed figure threw the plates of slop into the cage, snickering at the prisoner. He stalked across the edge of the cage, eying the prisoner, then you.

“Look at you two…” he whispered under his breath, “Ooooo, the Captain has been enjoying watching this.”

You choked on your breath quietly, barely audible, and you looked in the prisoner’s direction. He watched as the sharp-eyed man left the room once more, before releasing a shaky breath, glancing at you with reverence, and returning to his previous catatonic state.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

As the days went by, the routine stayed the same. The sharp-eyed being, San, would enter, turn the lights on, throw slop for you both, taunt the two of you, then leave. You’d eventually gather the plates and hand one to the prisoner, who would begrudgingly take it, but not without catching your eye behind his hair.

Between meals, you would sleep, look at the room beyond the barrier, talk at the prisoner quietly, hoping for an answer, hoping for a glimpse of his features. It was four days of quiet from the prisoner–four days of observing him silently–before you heard his voice for the first time.

The lights had been golden dim for hours, you had long finished talking at the man for the evening and you were on the teetering verge of sleep when you heard a dark, silky, covered voice come from the prisoner.

“My name is Yeosang.” His voice echoed around you, and slipped down your throat.

You said nothing, but you trained your eyes on him, the tips of your eyebrows curled up, and your eyes full of surprise. Your lips parted silently as you observed him. His hair still had not moved, you still could not see anything but his eyes, but he was staring at you.

“Yeosang…” You repeated in a hushed tone, “I’m Y/N.”

He nodded at you, curtly, but said nothing more.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The next time he spoke, it was two days of silence later, and San had just left. The plates still strewn across the metal flooring, Yeosang got up from where he was sitting, and collected the plates.

He carefully sat next to you, not too close, and handed you your plate.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him, nervously sparing him a glance. His features were more obvious from this angle: you could almost see the straight slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw. The delicateness of his body blended with a floral aroma that drifted into your nostrils.

You turned to look at him. He smelled like jasmine. Yeosang smelled like jasmine and the faintest hint of cashmere and spice.

You resigned to eat in silence, until you were both scraping your plates clean. Looking at him as he stared out in front of him.

“Yeosang,” You started, and he turned to look at you, “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“Do you have any idea what this place is?” You met his eye, then looked out at the ceiling past the barrier, “You were brought in by them, you must know something.”

Yeosang let a silence drift between the two of you, took a breath, and stared out at the ceiling too, “Yes. I do.”

A breath caught in your throat, “Okay…”

“They’re not from here. Not from… Earth,” He met your eye, gauging your reaction, but finding nothing, “They’re aliens, Y/N.”

You were silent, looking down at your hands, then at him. “I put that together…”

Yeosang continued, “They look human, but that’s how they get away with it.” He looked away, “They’re interested in researching you. That’s what I heard them speaking about when they found me.”

“Found you?”

“...Yes.” Yeosang seemed apprehensive to explain, as if he had said too much, “I’ll explain one day. If we make it that far.”

Your breath shuddered out of you, landing in the musty air. If we make it that far. Something about the dark, hushed quality of his voice as he said it made your heart rush, and your stomach tie itself in knots, unraveling like a butterfly unfurling its wings.

“Okay.” You whispered, barely audible.

“Okay.” You could feel his gaze on you, dragging from your furrowed brows, down to your quivering lip, to your exposed neck, then back to the ceiling, quiet.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

Even though Yeosang had begun speaking to you, he still maintained his brooding silence for as long as possible, only responding if he felt it absolutely necessary.

“I wonder what they want from us?�� You mumbled the next evening as the golden dim lights began to fall on the room once more.

Yeosang merely grunted in response, shrugging his shoulders, and avoiding your eyes. He found that your eyes were somehow even more persuasive than your words could be. If he caught your gaze, it was like words were thrashing behind his closed lips, begging to be let out into the air. But, every now and then, your stare would find his eyes, and it would feel like a floodgate being broken.

“Yeosang, where are you from?”

“Far away.” He’d answered, too quickly.

“Do you remember what you were doing before they took you?”

“No.” Again, too quickly.

You looked away from him, frowning softly, “I think I was sleeping.”

Yeosang’s body relaxed as your gaze left him, leaving the room in silence once more. His quiet figure dripped in questions you wanted answers to. You craved him. You craved his answers, and the creamy baritone lilt he’d have when he did answer.

One evening, you woke to him laying his jacket on you as you slept. He gasped as your eyes fluttered open, staring into his starry pupils.

“I-I’m sorry,” Yeosang whispered, unable to draw his eyes away from you, “you were shivering.”

You shook your head, groggy, “No… It’s okay.

You grasped at his jacket, pulling it tighter around your arms. It smelled like him, and it was warm like him. Your words slurred together, still half-dreaming, “...smells like you. It's warm. Thank you.”

Yeosang nodded quietly, and waited for your eyes to close once more before he sat himself against the wall. Not close to you, but you woke up to his arm outstretched in his sleep, inches away from your hair that was sprawled out around you.

There was a quiet peace that Yeosang brought that settled in you every time you inhaled his cashmere, jasmine scent. He was like an enigma… An enigma that you couldn’t get out of your head.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

Two nights later, you woke up to Yeosang sleeping on his side, back pressed up against the cold wall. He twitched, flinching from a dream. Your eyes were barely open, woken by his whimpers, but you kept an eye on him.

“Please…” He whimpered, “Leave them… just take me.”

With each word his head turned and flinched, causing his pitch black hair to fall away, revealing his furrowed brows, his lids squeezed shut, his distinctly clenched jaw, his softly defined lips, pursed in fear. In your dreamy state, you laid there as his nightmare subsided, then returned with a vengeance.

He let out a blood curdling scream, jumping up and finally letting his eyes shoot open, wide, terrified.

The terror on his face was palpable, honest, dripping down his sculpted jawline and down his exposed collarbone. His shirt hung off one shoulder, his black hair stuck to his temples with sweat, but his delicate face was contorted and bare to the world.

“Yeosang…” Your voice lilted, furrowing your brow and getting to your feet to meet him where he was leaning against the wall for support.

He stood there, panting, chest heaving up and down. His kind eyes were squeezed shut, mouth in a grimace and he braced himself on the wall.

“Yeosang, it’s alright,” Walking closer to him, you hesitantly reached out, lightly ghosting the skin on his bicep. You quieted your voice down farther, into a whisper, “It’s alright.”

His breath hitched as he felt your hand on him, opening his eyes and finally meeting your gaze head on.

Your right arm rested on his bicep, and you gently rubbed circles into his clammy skin. A silent gasp fell out of you as his left arm reached for your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. It was like a puzzle, where every place you touched him was exactly where you were supposed to fit. He held your shoulder, and in turn your hand found his left forearm. Yeosang��s touch felt unfamiliar, like a ghost, and you wondered if he was really even there at all.

His lips parted slightly, watching you as your eyes searched his face, getting to know its curves and edges and lines for the first time. Yeosang’s voice was quiet when he spoke, “... I’m sorry.”

“No,” You whispered, feeling closer to him by the second, “you’re okay. It’s okay.”

You watched as Yeosang’s eyes flitted across your face, before he gently dragged his palm up across the hot skin on your neck, underneath your jaw and around the back of your head. He pulled your forehead to his with reverence, closing his eyes and breathing as if he had a tremor in his lungs.

You let your hand creep up the back of his neck, through his long, dark hair, matching his hold on you. You breathed together. In. Like a puzzle piece. Out. Like you were always supposed to fit.

As his breaths got calmer, you whispered in a hushed tone, “Is this what you need?”

His head bobbed softly, a helpless, quiet whimper falling out of his throat.

“Would you like me to sit next to you, so you can fall asleep?” You opened your eyes and met his eyes that swam with turmoil, like Jupiter’s storm.

If he nodded any smaller, you weren’t sure if you would’ve known he had moved at all, but you broke apart, sitting down with your back against the wall and your knees propped up. Yeosang looked down at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“Thank you.” He carefully sat down, placing himself just barely close enough to your body that he could feel your body heat radiating across his skin.

As Yeosang sat down, you followed the details on his face, gazing through him, wondering about him. Who was he? Why is he here? Why am I here? You searched for answers in the slope of his nose, and in the soft pink birthmark that was like a halo around the corner of his eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, resting your head on the wall.

“Try and sleep, Y/N,” He gazed at you with softened eyes, “I’ll be okay.”

You opened your eyes and met his stare, holding it with an intensity that neither of you understood, then felt his arm reach around you, gently placing his palm on the side of your head, and pulling you down so you were resting on his shoulder.

You slept peacefully, and woke to the scent of him swirling in your lungs.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

From then on, the two of you slept on each other’s shoulders, finding comfort in the other’s warmth. In their scent. In the sound of their breath. Every night, your hands would creep closer and closer, intertwining limbs, tucking heads in the crook of each other’s necks. What had been short-winded answers, and one-sided conversations before, were now hushed discussions, exploring each other’s minds, picking each other apart.

On a night where you had been quietly talking about nothing and everything, Yeosang turned to you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t place, and held it for a long, long time. It was as if time had stopped altogether. He watched as your brows pushed together into a soft pout, watched your lips part, then pressed together, your top lip slipping over your bottom lip nervously, and letting it drag back into a pursed line.

“Y/N,”

Your fingers slipped in between Yeosang’s in response, letting him hold them, rubbing his thumb across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but your gaze stopped him in his tracks. Color and feeling twirled around in your iris, shooting out and meeting his stare like a firework.

The amber of the dimmed lights shed the both of you in gold, drawing you closer, agonizingly slow, lips parting. You almost didn’t notice when your lips brushed his, sighing into his touch with a quiet relief.

Yeosang’s hand crept up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing underneath your jaw. He pulled you closer, maneuvering your lips closer to his to deepen the silent, sweet brush.

Your lips moved around each other, your hands resting on his thigh, and his on your neck.

“Yeosang…” You breathed into his mouth.

“Shhh,” He pressed his forehead to yours, lightly biting your lip and slipping his tongue between your teeth. You let out a breath-like moan and he swallowed it, furrowing his brow in passion.

Your bodies moved together like waves and sand, the tide taking you from being sat, to his hand guiding your head to the ground. He kissed you with a fever, like he had been starving and you were the first morsel of food he’d seen in months.

Laying your head down softly, he redirected his hands path: They dove underneath the hemline of your shirt, feeling the bare skin above your waist. You shuddered at his touch, pressing into his chest softly, before slipping your own hands underneath his shirt. Your fingertips grazed over his sculpted abdomen, curling around his waist like he would disappear if you breathed wrong.

“Y/N,” He took your lips in a kiss, then pulled back, “I want to survive this,” he kissed you again, “with you.” Yeosang’s lips began tucking kisses down your jawline, in the neatest crooks of your neck and down your chest.

“I do too, Yeosang. With you.” You took his head in your hands gently, pulling him up. His eyes met yours, and you let a silence fall.

In the silence, you carefully peeled off your top, keeping your eyes on him, then slipped your fingers underneath his shirt again, and pulled it up and off of him.

Yeosang’s eyes drifted across your bare chest with eyes that sparkled.

“You…” He took a deep breath, lips parted, “you are so…” He dragged his hand from his forehead down to his chin and continued in a whisper, closer to your lips this time, “...you’re like an angel.”

All thoughts of wherever you were had been pushed to the back of your head. Your skin screamed for the feeling of Yeosang’s bare skin on yours, and you shivered when Yeosang’s hand snuck down your waist, gripping the side of your ass gently, but with intention.

“W-what if they come in?” You murmured into his neck as his lips wrapped around your ear lobe.

“We’ll just have to be quick,” He whispered into your ear, his dark honey voice blowing chills across your entire body. You pressed into him with a quiet whine, your chest sensitive, craving more of him. Craving all of him.

Yeosang pulled back, taking in the sight of you once more. You guided his head down towards you again, crashing your lips on his and pressing sickening kisses to his own trembling lips. Your bodies pressed together, moving against each other, hands roaming like birds in the sky, searching for food.

With every path his fingers traced on your skin, you let out shakier and shakier breaths, culminating in a deep gasp as his fingertips grazed the tips of your chest, cold, yet on fire in lust.

“--Nn…” Your mouth was pressed into the top of Yeosang’s head as he dipped farther down your chest, kissing around your sensitive nipples, and lightly nudging them with his hot tongue. Your lips first parted, exhaling into his dark hair, then, still slightly ajar, pressed into his head, placing moaning, sensual kisses across his head.

Yeosang groaned into your skin, rutting into your lower abdomen, and dragging his pulling bulge across your burning skin. You reached down to his stomach, letting your palm slip down and under his pants. His cock glided into your hand, and you wrapped your fingers around him with a shaky grasp. As you began to move your fist up and down his erection, he released a guttural moan into your skin.

“Y/N,” Yeosang’s breath caught in his throat, “...you… oh, god. That feels good. You… feel good.”

He gazed up at you from his position on your chest, and you could feel his cock get harder in your hand as your expressions twisted and contorted in pleasure. He nearly bit into your skin as he snuck his hand down underneath your pants, sinking his long fingers into your wet cunt, causing your back to arch up into his touch gently.

“Y-Yeosang…” Your hand squeezed his cock, rubbing your thumb over his leaking head and dragging the sticky pre-cum across his length. With one finger, he caressed the entrance to your dripping cunt with sweetness, slowly pressing in and curling his middle finger inwards. The fingertip dragged against your gummy cunt, throwing a gasp out of your lungs, “Mm, no, no, no,” You whimpered, unable to stop your body from fucking itself on his fingers as he added another one, “No, Yeo-Yeosang, I want you. You.” You whined.

“Be patient.” Yeosang’s voice was firm, sending a jolt of warmth through your cunt. He smirked, “Oh? Did you like that?”

The lewd sound of his fingers fucking into you squelched and echoed across the room in response.

“Mm… mmhmm,” You whine, lips pressed together in pleasure.

“You’re gonna let me taste you, right, angel?”

“Uh-huh,” Words were choking in the back of your throat, leaving you virtually speechless.

“That’s right, angel.” With one swift motion, Yeosang removed his fingers from your dripping hole, but quickly replaced them with his wet tongue. He dragged a long, flat line from your fluttering hole up to your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around your clit gently and sucking. His tongue lay flat against your sensitive skin as his lips outlined the shape of your core, over and over again. Every suck and sloppy kiss pressed into you pushed a fire through your abdomen, curling and winding around you like a fuse.

“Yeah?” Yeosang murmured into your wet cunt, “do you like that, angel? You want more?”

You nodded furiously, letting out a whimpering, “Mm…!”

His fingers returned to your glistening cunt, driving deep inside of you and feverishly fucking your cunt while he ravaged your clit. Your lips parted, unable to keep them closed anymore, letting your moans become open whines, full-voiced moans that filled his ears and drove him onward. Yeosang’s lips crept into a smirk on your cunt, rubbing his nose between your wet folds and throwing his tongue along the outline of your hole, then moving back up to your clit to wrap his lips around it, tweaking it in his lips and dragging his teeth ever so slightly across its body.

With a choked cry, you shook underneath his touch as the fuse curled around you and broke loose. His strong arm held your hips down as you squirmed with overstimulation, his tongue diving in and out of your hole, still rubbing the tip of his nose across your over sensitive clit. You cried out, your knees trapping his head between you, but he pulled your legs apart, and pulled himself up to press a sloppy, wet, you-flavored kiss to your lips.

You desperately felt for the waistline of his pants, dragging them down and letting his aching cock bounce up and fall onto your pelvis. As you tasted yourself on his tongue, he pressed his cock on your skin, dragging himself up and down your abdomen. You gasped into his mouth as the head of his cock slipped between your wet lips, brushing firmly against your clit and touching the entrance to your canal.

Your hands gripped his neck, pulling him closer to you, and you pushed your pelvis up to meet his, aching to be filled, aching to be found by him. Yeosang’s soft lips smiled into your skin and his brows furrowed softly as his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles. His cock dragged across your sensitive cunt over and over again until, without warning, it slipped past the entrance to your tight hole and sunk deep into your canal. You groaned loudly, mouth wide open and eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Mm…” Yeosang grunted as he pushed the head of his cock deeper inside you, “Is that okay? Are you okay?”

“Mm.” You mumbled, “Good. So good.”

“I’m gonna go all the way now, okay?” His eyes were softer now as he watched you nod. It was like the wind was knocked out of you as he finally bottomed out inside you, cock pressing up against your cervix. You could almost feel the ridges under the head pushing against your tight canal, stretching you. With every twitch of his cock, your cunt fluttered, pressing up onto his length, aching to be filled more, deeper, harder.

Yeosang’s hands drifted into your hair, burying his fingers and gently holding your head in his hands. He kissed you, so softly you could barely register it, then he began to move inside you. Still pressing soft kisses on your lips as he pushed and pulled, groaning from the sight of you twisting and turning quietly underneath him.

You leaned forward, bracing yourself up with one hand, and leaned your forehead on his. It felt like a lifetime of writhing heaven before Yeosang’s hands slipped to the small of your back, one hand reaching farther, supporting your waist. He rolled on his back, pulling you with him, and you let out a surprised moan, sinking back down on his cock as he continued to fuck into you.

“Feels good?” He stared up into your eyes, and you saw so many things in his: Fire, passion, the dark brown of his iris, a soft stare, something more, something unknown, but there nonetheless.

You nodded, throwing your head back as you rocked back and forth on his cock, “Mmh.”

Your insides writhed and twisted, curling around your abdomen like a sharp, warm wind. Yeosang’s lips were parted, matching your own lips, and quiet, desperate moans spilled out of his throat. He took your left hand in his, placing it on his heart without breaking eye contact.

“This is yours.” Yeosang rocked up into you with one powerful thrust, rolling his hips down to bring them back up with an even more forceful thrust. A guttural moan burst from your mouth, and you trained your eyes on the ceiling, letting your head fall, resting.

“M-mine…?” You barely breathed out.

“Yours. I-I’m…” His eyes flitted around, “I’m not sure where to cum.”

“Me.” You let your head fall forward, catching the soft look that his eyes carried, “Yeosang, p-please.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, and with one long, dragging push of his cock, an almost explosive orgasm spilled from your, clenching around his cock with a vengeance. You pressed your lips together, some sort of attempt to muffle your whimpers, but they spilled out despite it all, leaving a long, broken hum in the air.

It floated around the room, driving Yeosang on, and his rocking became less sensual, harder. Your moans and whimpers became soundless gasps as he pulled you down to his chest, bringing your foreheads to touch again. His hands slid down to your ass, getting leverage to fuck into you even more. It felt like you were floating, his length barely even pulling back an inch before he would slam back into your cunt.

His guttural moans flew in and out of your ears, becoming whinier, needier, the longer he drilled up into you. Silently, still gasping, you reached back, slipping your fingers down his balls, and cupping them softly. You squeezed gently, kneading them as Yeosang’s moans became guttural and broken.

With one passionate, breathtaking thrust, he spilled himself inside of you, rutting into you as his hands returned to the back of your head, pulling you in for a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss. Your sensitive cunt tightened around his cock as he pumped you full of cum, and he gasped into your mouth.

“We’ll m-make it out, Yeosang,” You spoke quietly, but did not let the tone reach the point of hushed, “together.”

Yeosang stared at you with a desperate look on his face, like he was searching your soul for any other way out. Like your skin held the instructions on what to do, what to say to your captors. After a long silence, filled with his heavy gaze, he pressed his forehead to yours, “Together.”

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The stark white lights flickered on on a morning sometime afterwards, Yeosang gone from the space beside you, where you had fallen asleep entangled in his embrace.

In a panic, you scrambled to your feet, storming to the edge of the platform to see the Captain.

“Where is he?” You pushed your finger towards the strange figure.

“Where is…” He raised his eyebrow, “... who?”

“Yeosang.” Your voice wavered, shaking.

“He served his time. He did the necessary research, and beings from our planet do not feel the need to do… extra… work.” The being let the word fall out of his mouth like vomit.

“... what?” Your frown deepened, and a breath was stolen from you.

“What do you mean, what?” The Captain spat out the last word like it was mold.

“Yeosang… is human…” Your gaze flitted across the floor, as if you were searching for answers in the reflective shine, “...is he not?”

“He is not.” The Captain muttered, nonchalantly, “Yeosang’s task was to enter your enclosure, and learn about you…” His eyes darted towards you, “...to learn about… humans.”

You were silent; the Captain filled your silence with a loud scoff, “don’t worry, we’ll bring him in to say goodbye.”

The floor held your emotionless stare, gluing you to the spot.

“He will see you tomorrow, human.” The strange figure exited swiftly without a second glance, and you were left alone.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

You didn’t sleep. You barely blinked. You didn’t eat the food that was thrown into your cage. Your stomach growled like an animal. Tears poked at you like needles, but you swallowed them down over, and over, and over, and over again.

When the lights eventually flickered on, and Yeosang stood there quietly with the Captain, you did not look at him. Even through the barrier, you could recognize his breathing pattern, the way he sighed.

“Y/N.” You heard his deep, warm voice ring out like a haunting siren.

Looking up, your lips parted. His hair was still as long and dark as before, but it had been parted, neatly styled and wavy. He wore a dark grey bomber jacket with a black tank top. You could see slivers of the shoulder you had found comfort and safety in. You could almost smell the scent of cashmere and jasmine that always lingered in his hair.

You let a tear drop, finally.

“What?” Your brow was pressed far down your face, your eyes filled with tears, lips quivering in frustration.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

The volume of your silence hurt his ears.

“Home?” Your voice came out like a hoarse whisper.

“Home,” Yeosang took a deep breath before continuing.

A lengthy silence followed. You felt empty, hollow. What was the point? The thought of him made you feel like crumbling. All of a sudden, the air felt brittle again. You breathed in as well as you could, but all that came out was a choked sob.

You faced the Captain, opening your mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

“I will leave the two of you alone.” And he disappeared out the door, as if he was never there.

Yeosang stared at you, lips shaking ever so slightly, but he pressed them together before opening his mouth to speak, “Y/N–”

“So what was it?” You faced the ground, confused, angry.

His voice was quiet, “what was what?”

“What do you think?” You whispered. “What happened to you wanting to make it out together? Huh?”

Yeosang’s hands were clasped together, his thumb nervously brushing across the back of his index finger, “I… am free to do what I want… now.”

“And… what?” Your lips pull into a sarcastic smile, a tear dripping down your cheek. You roughly wiped it off with the heel of your palm, “you want to follow me back? You lied to me, Yeosang. I was so scared. I was so scared, but you made me feel…” You let out another sob, turning away from him and resting your hands on the raised metal surface you had woken up on that first day. “You made me feel better. Safer.”

“I know.” His voice was like quiet silver, dripping slowly and carefully out of his throat.

“So, then what? I let an alien follow me home?” You swiveled around sharply, taking your hands off of the cool metal bed.

“I’m sorry. I meant it when I attempted to tell you they had captured me too,” He shifted from foot to foot, “because they did capture me. I’m not…” He sounded anguished, clearing his throat before continuing, “...I am a prisoner of war. They are letting me leave with you, because they will kill me if I ever return to my home planet.”

You took his words in, letting them churn around your head like cement being mixed. Yeosang gazed at you, his expression pained. His eyes wandered your body: saw the places where your shirt was hastily thrown back over your head after the night before, where dark reds and purples had begun to bloom across your neck and chest. Yeosang’s lips parted silently, and he drew in a shaky breath.

Your voice trembled slightly, “Then… What happens if you don’t follow me home? Where would you go?”

He took a deep breath, letting a soft, barely audible, crackling whimper topple out of his mouth, “I-I don’t know. But, whatever data they had me collecting… it doesn’t change anything that I said.”

You were silent again, and you squeezed your fists together, “What data did they have you collecting? What was my purpose?” You spat out the last word.

The sound of Yeosang’s lips peeling apart as he breathed in shortly echoed in your ears, “Human compassion.” He could barely look at you, opting for the ceiling above you to focus on, but as he continued, Yeosang took a deep breath, and met your gaze with intention. “They wanted to understand why your people cared for others they didn’t even know.”

You stared at him blankly, eyes glazed over and almost frozen.

“Compassion…” Yeosang trailed off, turning his back to you and walking to the blinking console, “that is a trait that our species learns. Only if they are shown it, otherwise we do not have a concept of it.”

You watched as his fingers danced across the twinkling surface, turning to look at you once more when the barrier turned a barely visible green.

“What did you do?”

“I turned it off. All you have to do is leave the room.” Yeosang’s hand glided through the air as he gestured towards the door, “If you want me with you, I will go. My heart is yours. I meant that.” You followed his gesture to the door, finally noticing the circular gap in the wall indicating the frame of the exit.

“But… if you don’t want me, th-then…” He gulped, inhaling shakily, “...then I will find what is left of my life somewhere else.”

Yeosang’s eyes were trained on the floor, but drifted upwards, meeting your pitying eyes, and swimming in them. His gaze begged you to come to him, to let his hands touch your skin again.

You stepped forward hesitantly, letting your outstretched hand push through the barrier first. When nothing happened, you fully stepped past the barrier with a nervous whimper. The stark white lights were brighter on the other side, everything was. The twinkling, blinking console shone brighter, the silver was somehow more reflective, and Yeosang’s eyes had stars in them that you had never seen before.

Without thinking, you moved closer to his nervous body, now only a foot away from the warm comfort of his body heat, the smell of his hair, the soft brush of his skin on yours. You met his eyes with reverence.

“...Let me prove it to you, angel.” Yeosang whispered, his voice choking on the last word. Your head fell an inch to the side, and you pulled your lips into a shape between agape and closed, “I would fall from the grace of my species to be with you”

Your lips quivered, and your breath had never felt weaker when you finally responded, barely a whisper, “Come with me.”

He inhaled a sharp gasp, gluing his lips together, “... Are you sure?”

You nodded, at first avoiding his stare, but Yeosang’s gaze pulled you like a magnet, and your voice wooshed around him like a gentle wind, “My fallen angel,” you whispered to him.

He held out his palm, and you took it, hesitating at first, but letting the longing in your eyes drip like molasses. Yeosang’s fingers relaxed around yours like a relieved breath.

“Let’s go.” Yeosang brought you closer to him, and you melted into his touch. “Let’s go.” You whispered, following his lead out the room. Free.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆- fin.

#yeosang x reader #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang angst #yeosang smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #alien ateez #yeosang ff #yeosang fanfiction #ateez ff #ateez fanfiction #yeosang x you #ateez x you #yeosang x y/n #ateez x y/n #yeosang/reader

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blossombabbles · 1 day ago

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Tokyo debunker boys reaction to Mc asking them to kill her: Frostheim

A/N: part 2 of the series inspired by @xienperna 💖 forever credit fr 💖💖

˚₊‧꒰ა··········································•✦•··········································໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Jin hadn't expected those words to fall from your mouth when he invited you here. He could feel his expression change, once stiff and firm to suddenly feeling the cigarette draping down from his lips and his eyes widening. Soft wind ruffled his hair forwards, brushing bangs in front of his face.

There was very little that caught him off guard these days.

Somehow every time it always came down to you.

"So you've lost it," He started, pulling the cigarette back into his lips, only barely, to take a longer and thicker drag from it. His pulse had quickened, beating out of time. Not that he'd let it be known by anyone.

"I want you to kill me." You repeated, a little more firmly than before like you had to be sure he heard you. The gaul of peasants these days...

He heard you. Of course he fucking heard you. It was a new line to haunt his nightmares and be the kind of things demons spoke of. He could hardly stand to imagine it, the blade at your neck, tears in your eyes he would never be able to shake away. No amount of solitude would be able to cure that.

"No."

It was simple, final, there was no room for argument even if you tried he simply wouldn't budge. Offering you a sidelong glance, seeing the fear and dread in every line of expression. Sorrow didn't even begin to express it. He'd give you many things without even thinking, but a means to an end that great he would never provide.

Gesturing briefly for you to come over, your shoes slowly tapped across the ground towards him, standing by his side.

"What is it?"

You asked but he didn't respond. How was he meant to say I just wanted to stand beside you? I wanted you to look out at this view with me and just stay by my side? Even if it's just for tonight, he wanted a quiet night with you.

"And what if I dared to agree?" Thoma crossed one leg over the other, reclining in his chair, hands poised perfectly in his lap - the same kind of pristine authority you expected from him every time you met. The suddenness of the silence became deafening, he didn't move at all past that, just simply waiting for you to respond.

The coolness of the room you commonly played chess in now felt oppressive, frosty and entirely unwelcoming. A shiver clearly forced it's way up your spine which he watched with keen eyes.

His better judgement told him to let you out of this a little easier than he usually would, but he didn't. Staring directly into you like he had earned the right to your gaze, which now became evasive, only earning a slight smirk across his features.

"Are you truly ready for what that might entail?" He finally freed you, pressing a chess piece closer to your king, putting you on check, "are you truly ready to face your death? Does making it by a familiar hand make it better, somehow?"

He continued to press, watching the expression on your face shift between emotions, none of which seemed appropriate. He could only theorize what was going on in your head, could never quite comprehend exactly what you've gone through. You were always so easy to read, unlike him, you held your heart out on your sleeve, resting every emotion on top of it, and even if you tried to put on a smiling face, it was so obvious that there was suffering beneath it. A truly terrible poker player, but an overly honest person.

He admired it, in a way.

"If it's your last wish, I'd grant it if I could. However our captain may not be so willing," hard to tell if that was just an excuse or a genuine thought. The game now became forgotten, entirely alien in its own right, just used as an activity you could distract your hands with, to give you time to think.

That's when he gave you relief again, "you truly don't wish it. So perhaps you should focus on things you do wish for," he gestured, "Like better chess skills,"

He practically choked on his water, nearly spitting it out in his fit of sudden coughing that he tried to turn back and dress up as far more gentlemanly than the bodily reaction but couldn't truly find a way beyond quick apologies. Wiping his mouth repeatedly with a napkin, offering a sorry smile. A few short breaths and a collected demeanor later, he gave a mournful smile, shaking his head briefly. Hand pressed over his heart as if to steady it's beating.

"I'm so sorry, [m/c] I must have misheard you."

"I uhm... I asked you to kill me. Just ... You know, before the curse does."

Suddenly the world around felt so still, the air in his lungs felt null despite having caught it only moments ago and everything seemed to stop moving. His hearts beating the only thing defying it with the intensity of its beating, tension drawing up his spine, violet eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

... What?

"Kill... You?"

The words felt wrong on his tongue like you'd poured antifreeze across it and forced him to speak. His eyebrows firmed, furrowing into a tight line that only brought more tension to his forehead which already ached.

"No, I will never and could never do such a thing. I swore to do everything in my power to cure you of your curse and I'm not about to end your life over it."

He couldn't have possibly made himself more clear, in fact he hated the firmness he just spoke to you in, how rude it sounded. Yet he couldn't apologize for it, especially not given the drastic measures you were trying to ensure. He should go around to every ghoul and ensure they never agree to such a thing.

"Are you okay?"

The sympathy swept in quickly after, gloved hands reaching forward, offered to you and ever more grateful that you took. Feeling his lips quiver, wet with sympathies he didn't dare shove on top of you.

"I just -" your voice cracked, practically breaking, "... I don't know Luca..."

"I cannot even imagine what you're going through... And I cannot express my sympathies enough..." His hands slightly tightened around the bulk of yours, trying to provide any reassurance that he could, "but we cannot give up yet. There's still time and I will use the rest of it doing all I can."

"Huh- What- what--- WHAT?!"

Kaito sputtered out, phone tumbling from his hands as he repeatedly tried to grasp at it, only managing to juggle it for a moment before the device fell to the ground. Hitting it hard and making him cringe at the sound. But what did you expect when you asked the archer for his help in something that would be hard for even the most hardened of ghouls, let alone HIM! HIM!!!! What?! Why him?!

Couldn't Jin do it?! Anyone else!? What about those scary pit guys?!

No! Kaito! Think! Think!!! What would a totally cool and heroic man say in this moment?

"I-I mean," good start, "why would you want that? There's still time," he forced a smile, bending down at the waist to pick up his phone where his expression dropped.

Finally able to show his true emotions of complete and utter PANIC before forcing himself to recompose and stand back up. Smiling again, though even he could feel the strain in it. He adores you, so very much, even now with that terrible look on your face that scrunched it, you were so beautiful.

"S-sorry... I just..." Your shoulders fell and so did his heart, quickly throwing his arms out to pull them back up.

"no! No no! Don't cry! Hey- hey! Please! Look at me!"

He threw his arms around you, pulling into him tightly, feeling his eye already watering, forced to think about how much of an impact you've had on him - on his life. How every day with you has been a dream he never felt so lucky to have, the kindness the friendship, the love he's held for you ... what would he do without you?

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Okay! I'm a bad shot and what if I miss and just- just wind up hurting you! I couldn't bare it! I'm really squeamish actually! And- and -"

His shoulder suddenly felt damp, his eyes slowly widened and his voice broke off, feeling it so abruptly. The shaking of your body as you tried not to but it came through anyways, the hiccuping starting and your hands firm against his back.

Oh god what had he done? He'd made this all about himself and this was ... All about you.

"Mc..." He stopped, "... It's okay," his arms squeezed around you tighter, "I'm here..."

He couldn't fix it. He wouldn't even pretend he knew how to or fill your head with plastic promises... but he'd be there, he just hoped it was enough.

#tokyo debunker #tdbk #frostheim #blossom hcs #HCS #HC #tohma ishibashi #jin kamurai #kaito fuji #lucas errant #luca errant #do you wanna kill Luca??? this is how you kill Luca! do not do this to him!!!!!

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chiqita · 3 days ago

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WIP Wednesday <3

Tagged by @labskeever @theoneandonlysemla

No pressure tagging @skyrim-forever @hircines-hunter @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @sulphuricgrin @umbracirrus @dirty-bosmer @friend-of-giants @madam-whim @silly-little-diary @heavy-metal-dick @pocket-vvardvark @pyre-of-pages @boiledkwamaegg @sanzas-reverie and YOU.

Feel free to tag me to your WIPs! I want to see what you're making.

I've barely touched this chapter as I'm honestly at loss with how I should continue with it. I have two versions drafted (one where Ondolemar takes her with him and another where he declines) and I find both of them fun. Which is why it's so frigging hard to choose.

Anyway...

Continuing from last week's WIP Wednesday, enjoy~~

CW: None

It was spoken lightly, almost as an afterthought, but the ease in her voice was too practiced. She wasn’t making a threat—she was outlining the inevitable. She wasn’t asking permission, just extending a courtesy. A chance to make it easier for both of them. And for a moment, he considered that, weighing possibilities, motives. She was giving him a choice, yes—but it was the illusion of one. And that, more than anything, made his pulse tighten.

She knew how this worked.

“And if I have to use them,” she added, eyes glittering now, “I’ll also make sure to start a little whisper campaign in there. Should be easy, nobles and Thalmor alike are always hungry for something to talk about.”

Mouth tensing into a hard line, he watched her drain the last of the glass, her posture relaxed, as though they were discussing weather or wine—not blackmail.

He recognized it—not the words, but the architecture of the threat. It was a Thalmor tactic—veiled coercion dressed in diplomacy. Talisse might not have studied under their doctrine, but the talent was innate. Whether she learned it or invented it didn’t matter, the mechanics were correct. She understood the difference between a threat and a guarantee—one made demands; the other simply reminded you what was coming. The difference was important—threats invited resistance. Certainty did not.

Ondolemar gave a slow blink. “Whispers.”

“Mmm.” She smiled, leaning in just slightly. Her voice was now conspiratorial and wicked. “I hear the Justiciar Commander is openly associating with known ousters.” Her tone turned almost playful. “Could be scandalous. Might even make it back to Alinor.”

The air in the room grew still.

Her smile widened, not kindly. She continued, with a low voice: “The word is that he caught her red-handed, and instead of making an arrest, he gave her… a job. Told her to break into an Imperial subject’s home. Imagine that—commandeering a thief for a bit of freelance espionage.”

His gaze hardened, but she didn’t stop.

“Oh, and my favorite,” she went on, as if reciting a particularly juicy passage from a play, “is the one where she spent a night in his quarters… and the next morning, the charges against her had just dropped. Vanished, just like that. What a curious coincidence, I wonder what that might mean.”

There it was, the blade. Slipped between the ribs with precision and cunning. Not too deep to kill, but sharp enough to draw blood. He almost admired the cut.

Ondolemar’s expression didn’t shift, but the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it pressed, cold and heavy. He had previously suspected she would weaponize their past. But this? This was scorched earth. She wasn’t threatening him with a single accusation. She was threatening to open every door.

Poor judgment, if you were generous. Moral failure, if you weren’t.

Such things were officially condemned—but privately, tolerated. Not the exception. The quiet norm, so long as you didn’t make waves. Ondolemar knew that well enough. And he had produced results, by any means necessary, he’d told himself. Within reason. Within bounds. He hadn’t bartered favors for pleasure or blurred lines just to ease his own ambition. He kept his corner pristine, kept himself apart from the quiet rot tolerated within the ranks. Let the others indulge; he would be the golden example.

And he was the example. The one no one could question.

Except for this one time.

He had told himself that exception didn’t matter. That it was contained, even necessary.

And here she was—dragging his name toward the gutter, with nothing but implication and opportunity. He had expected more from an Altmer—restraint, at the very least. Pride.

But then, she wasn’t truly an Altmer, was she? A foreign-born, one of those muddled imports who wore the skin of their betters, but never their discipline. A poor imitation of excellence. This is why they weren’t trusted, why they shouldn’t be.

He spoke at last, his voice soft but serrated. “Careful.”

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head with mock innocence. “I don’t hear you denying any of it.”

Ondolemar’s expression darkened—not with anger, but something colder, something quieter now. A warning cloaked in stillness. “You are not the only one who knows how to wield insinuation.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that.” She sat straighter, eyes sharp with challenge. “But you know how fast rumors can spread, all it takes is a glance held too long, a name spoken too often...”

He had wondered, in quiet moments he would never admit to having, what it was she had seen in him. Why him. Why ever him. He had assumed, as any cautious mer would, that she meant to use him—for something. He just hadn’t known what.

Now, it was laid bare: She’d chosen him because he was useful.

And because he had just proven he was.

#wip wednesday #ondolemar #oc: talisse #altmer oc #tesblr #the elder scrolls #thalmor #where the tides meet

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caramelluxe · 10 hours ago

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𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ would things be easier if there was a right way? (honey, there is no right way)

── ♡ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Or, 5 times Nanami couldn’t find his things, and the 1 time he didn’t need to

˚₊‧꒰ა Part 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚꩜｡ wc: 2.5k

⋆˚꩜｡ warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff, I may have went pretty unsatisfactory with the conversation pls spare me this is literally my first ever character x reader fic

1. His Glasses

Peaceful mornings like these were a rare luxury that even the privileged weekends didn’t have the riches to purchase. So, Kento cherished these quiet dawns covetously, lest they slip from the crevices marred by overtime work and your unpredictable schedule at work.

He sighed, a calm exhale, blearily blinking at the sunlight wafting in the bedroom, presenting a muted glow through the maroon curtains in front of the window.

Speaking of… said maroon curtains were an impulsive purchase — one that he didn’t normally indulge in, a careless whim of his that he didn’t put much thought to, before adding the fabric to his cart — what with his thoughts already being influenced by you.

You had sent him a text that day — something about an emergency surgery that would keep you away from home for longer than either of you had anticipated — while he was browsing in the Home Furnishing aisle, looking through curtains to decorate your shared bedroom (the previous curtain had been in a sad accident, leading to its decimation). No sooner had your name popped on his screen, his mind wandered to you, and then there was no stopping. Awe and resignation flooded in. Awe for your dedication to your profession and your patients; resignation for another loss of precious few hours that he could’ve spent in your company.

He thumbed mindlessly among rows of fabric, cloth that held no meaning now that his mind was clouded with dejection.

Lace, polyester, muslin, brocade, velvet, all looked dull — just like his evening would be, without you — despite the vibrancy in their colour. Until —

Until he stopped short.

The fabric was voile, of mixed sorts. But the colour— oh. The colour.

Wine, bordering on maroon; if the material were lustrous and packed in a glass jar, it would appear like one of the sweetest beverages, that’s how stunning it was. He knew at once that you’d have picked it up and placed it in your cart with no spare thought, and Kento? Kento was not a better man because he did just that.

He had tugged the fabric from its restraints and deposited it into his cart, a small smile on his face.

It was your favourite colour.

Maybe that’s not what he would’ve done if you hadn’t been on his mind when he was picking between choices, but heavens, is he glad he did. Because now, when the very same curtains block the morning sunlight, it instead decorates your skin — of what of it is usually visible from under the blanket — in a rosy hue; the softest blush that would only disappear when the curtains are drawn and sunlight will pour to glide over you, personifying you into divinity that considers him worthy enough to share his — a mere devotee — holy ground.

Kento takes a deep breath, willing every scent that is even just barely reminiscent of you into his lungs, committing his alveoli into memorising the exact composition of you. Just you.

He presses a kiss to your hair, careful not to jostle and wake you up. After all, sleep was a rare luxury — for you, that is — because among department postings, impromptu surgery scrub ins, late-night OPD attendances and night duties, you barely had time to maintain a semblance of a healthy sleep schedule.

He shifts, subtly checking the time. Considering the sum was up and the sunlight would be positively blinding if he drew the curtains, it had to be time to get up and start his day. He picks up his phone kept on the night stand to check the time.

6:58

Just in time. He snoozes his alarm before it can ring and wake you up. Shuffling as little as possible, he slides past the covers, lifting his hands from your waist very gently and noiselessly.

He had to be at work by ten, as much as he hated to accept that, for he wanted to do nothing more than to take a day off, call in sick or anything for that matter that would let him stay. However, that would be uncharacteristic of him, especially when matters were getting so serious among Sorcerers, plus there was a meeting scheduled, Ijichi had informed him just last night, and appearing in it was compulsory.

Sighing, he stalks towards the kitchen, the least he could do was get you a filling breakfast and a packed, homemade lunch. He wasn’t going to trust cafeteria lunch after what happened last time.

His soft padding to the kitchen wakes up your dogs. Well, they were less of your dogs, and more of their dogs now, what with how even the vet now knew his name (“Nanami Kento…? For Toothless and Oscar?”), and not just a substitute for you.

“Good Morning, Toothless,” he barely resisted cooing at Toothless’ wide eyes. He’ll admit that the name rubbed off on him eventually (that, and the resemblance was uncanny). Toothless was a baby black Labrador, rescued from the side of a road, in shabby conditions and shivering. You and him had searched far and wide to rescue the family, but after a long search, it was concluded that Toothless possibly was the last of his litter, left injured after a possible unfortunate incident. He had completed his vaccinations and adoption procedures only a month ago, as a result, he was still tiny, but you two knew that Toothless would grow, he’d grow bigger than even your first dog, Oscar, a cream German Spitz.

Kento picked both the puppies (let him live in delusion for a while, they’d never stop being puppies for him) and placed them on the island. Oscar butted his hand, the one that was rubbing his fur, as if reprimanding him for missing his greeting. Kento chuckled, “Good Morning to you too, Oscar. Did you sleep well?”

Their excited wags were an answer enough.

With practised ease, he added spoonfuls of ground coffee to the French Press, before adding hot water, setting aside milk to steam for you to add in your coffee. On the side, he set up two feeding bowls for Oscar and Toothless. Toothless was still on a softer diet, so something more gentle for his stomach.

An hour later, when the breakfast was ready, bentos were packed and your two kids (puppies, kids, semantics) were fed, Kento felt calm. The idea that you were sleeping soundly and he only needed to get ready for work, wake you up with warmth and tenderness before leaving, brought him comfort like nothing else. Yes, it would’ve gone better had he stayed, but this was good too. You two had a routine, a dance to a song that only the two of you knew the rhythm to, odd to others, but devoted among you two, and he was happy with that.

His shower doesn’t take long, the routine is second nature to him by now, nor does putting on his work clothes meticulously, does.

Suspenders? Check.

Tie? Check.

Knife? Check.

Watch? Check.

All that was left were his shades and waking you up, after all, it wouldn’t do well for him to leave for work without greeting his beloved lover a lovely morning, would it?

Kento checked the drawer where he kept his watches, twice. His shades were not there. Which was odd because that was the designated place for them.

He checked the laundry room this time, sifting through the pile of clothes he had discarded yesterday, maybe it was in his pocket and he had forgotten to take it out..?

He checked once, then again, and then a third time for good measure, but nope. It wasn’t to be found in any of his pockets or a crevice in the basket.

This wasn’t good. His glasses weren’t much of a need like Satoru needed his blindfold, nor was it for aesthetics, he just preferred to keep them in case a curse caught by and he had to exorcise one. Curses hated being spotted, and they only got more violent when they realised that they had been spotted.

In a dilemma, Kento stood silently. He had two options: he could wake you up and ask if you knew, or he could ring to work and ask Ijichi to check if he had left it at work. He would much rather do the latter, for he didn’t want to wake you up for something as mundane as misplaced glasses.

Mind made, Kento walked up to the office you two shared, not because there weren’t enough rooms, but mostly because the overlapping presence put both of you at ease. Where one side — yours — had floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with a plethora of books, mostly for your studies, accumulated throughout your bachelor's and master's, medicine, surgery, electives you had been confused between, all packed in a neat chaos on hardwood shelves, a modest and cosy study space, lit with floor lamps and fairy lights. His side was blander (you preferred to call it corporate. Kento lets you), an office desk was placed beside the wall, a couple of bookshelves — they obviously were nothing in comparison to your bookshelves — with files and mission reports filed in neat stacks. The only few homely things on his side of the room were photo frames spanning the duration of your relationship, mostly of you and Oscar, Toothless being a recent addition. In the few pictures in which Kento did appear, he looked almost bashful, ever the camera-shy individual.

He moved towards his desk, hand hovering over the drawer to pick out his work phone to make the call, but he stopped short —

His glasses were there, but not on his desk. They were on yours. Your prescription glasses lay partially unclosed, above which were perched his shades.

It was then, when he went through how last night proceeded, something he should’ve done at least fifteen minutes earlier.

He remembered it, he had come home from work last night, shoulders drooping, overtime always sucked the soul out of him, especially when curses were as pesky as this one. He had already loosened his tie before he unlocked the door with his set of keys. He just hoped you were home.

The hazardous half life in his bone seeped back to rejuvenate him the moment he caught your sight, sprawled on the carpet, books open, sticky notes in use, pen scribbling notes from your annotated textbooks of surgery procedures. Oscar was sitting on your back, while Toothless served as the cutest paper weight for loose sheets that would fly had it not been his weight pressing them on the ground.

The door opening turned the attention of all his favourite people (and er— creatures?) to him, and never had he felt so glad at being smothered with attention. Your hands are around his waist, squeezing him in a devastatingly gentle embrace, and Oscar jumps up and down near his feet, his tail wagging, Toothless clings to the leg of his pants, and in that moment, Kento feels not just at home, but he feels like his skin that sometimes cuts, or blisters, one that he wears every time he’s out slicing and exorcising curses, that has slipped off to reveal something raw and tender, something aching, something bleeding in patches — one that could not be less similar to the wounds he wins in victories that don’t really feel like it — soothed only by when he’s in this moment. With you. With his family.

One thing had led to another, and soon he had been walking to your shared office, armour of the day’s work coming off one by one, and that is how he had let you take off his shades, press a searing kiss to his cheeks, before the two of you were heading to take a shower.

It had stayed like that all night, entwined with your glasses, fitting snugly to a puzzle Kento didn’t recall having solved, but perhaps his senses were more attuned to you unconsciously, a phantom attraction, giving in to your centre of gravity. A lump rose in his throat. This was ridiculous. A pair of mismatched glasses were not supposed to make him lose his mind, but then again, he hadn’t been much composed since you came around, did he?

You always did have a special skill to unravel him piece by piece, and he couldn’t help but let you do it, wielding love so tenderly, it almost felt dangerous to his jagged soul. Did he even deserve that gentleness?

On impulse — he seemed to be doing that a lot these days, wasn’t he? — he pulled out his phone, quickly snapping a picture of seemingly normal still life.

But Gods above. It was so much more than just that.

Perhaps this was love, domesticity. Extraordinarily beautifying the mundane.

No sooner had he picked up his glasses, and safely tucked yours in their rightful place on your desk, gentle footsteps grew louder.

He smiled. You were awake.

He turned around, and sure enough, you stood there, rubbing away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. Hair mussed from tossing and turning in your sleep, a yawn half on your lips, cotton shirt hanging off your shoulder, mismatched socks of mismatched sizes, you still looked like Aphrodite had taken time carving each individual feature with care and thought. Like each bump and contour told a story, piece by piece, mystery carved in the bridge of your nose, a tragedy on the birthmarks that your skin was etched with.

You were stunning, and he would go forever with the unanswered question of just how he could ever exist beside you and not feel like he was living in a fantasy.

“Mornin’ Kento.” You smiled sleepily, wrapping an arm around his torso, where he wasted no time and wrapping his own around yours, placing kisses on your face, soft, gentle, and devoted, just like you deserved.

“Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?” He had half an idea what your answer would be.

You hummed, nuzzling his neck, “Would’ve been better had you been there when I woke up, I think.” Bingo.

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Your grin was mischievous, “Like, 12% better.”

Kento pretended to be aghast, though it came out dryly, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He pressed another kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be sure to make it up to you tonight, darling.”

Your reply was honest, marred with a sigh, “I might just need it, sweetie, two surgeries back to back.”

“What was it? Hysterectomy..?”

You nodded, “A hysterectomy, and a craniotomy. The hysterectomy won’t be too difficult, the patient doesn’t have any history of complications, and most of us have pitched in this procedure multiple times before. The craniotomy however…” your shoulder dropped with an exhale, and he drew small circles on the back of your neck, “That is going to be complicated. And long. Not to mention who my attending chooses to perform the actual surgery is a lot to take in.”

“I hope everything goes well, darling. Keep yourself hydrated during work, okay? You can always call me if you feel overwhelmed.”

You laughed softly, “Always prepared, aren’t you?”

“For my love? Always.”

The corner of your eyes crinkled with the grin, and if he could paint, they’d be hues of golden and maroons, bright and passionate, “You’re such a sap.”

He pressed a final kiss to your hair, “For you, darling, I’d be anything. You only ever have to ask.”

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