#Just trying to get a better sample size

[habitant]

Dimitri Filipovic and Harman Dayal on The Hockey PDOcast discuss the Dobson trade to Montreal, the caliber of player that he is and the fit with the Habs. Episode released on June 28th 2025 [59:20 to 1:14:53]

FILIPOVIC: But let's focus on Dobson here, and the fit with the Habs, and kind of what they're getting in him, because I think... This is true for a lot of, you know, offensive-oriented defensemen, in terms of depending who you talk to and their preferences, I think opinions are gonna vary. He seems like a very polarizing player, having played for the Islanders the past couple years, and obviously peaked two years ago with that 70+ point explosion, and then, regressed somewhat from a point perspective at least last year. And it feels like people have kind of soured on him, as a player a little bit. I think some of it is justified, I think there's a lot of things that we're gonna talk about today that suggest that that's probably unfair, and that he's still the caliber of player that he was regarded as previously. But what are your thoughts on Dobson, and the Habs prioritizing landing him and ultimately doing so?

DAYAL: I love this fit for the Habs. I've been a long time Noah Dobson believer. Even going back to his draft year, I watched a ton of his tape in the Q[MJHL]. I've been a long-time believer in [???]. I never thought he was quite as good as his 2023-24 season when he put up the 70 points, when he finished top 10 in Norris trophy voting. I didn't view him as this upper echelon number one defenseman, necessarily. But I also think that the criticism of his game coming off a down year this season has been a little bit over the top. So I'm a little—I'm in between, in terms of rating the player, um, between what he did in 2023-24 and this past season. To me he's sort of like low-end number one, slash ultra-premium number two. In my mind, he's one of the top ten or fifteen right-shot defensemen in the NHL. It gives them another dynamic puck mover, another even-strength needle mover for the Habs, which outside of the [unintelligible, but I suspect he means "the first line"] and the Lane Hutson pairing, the Habs needed more five-on-five playdrivers. And look, top-pair, right side defensemen in their prime are one of the hardest things in the league to acquire, and for the Canadiens, outside of that second line center position, that was probably their biggest roster need moving forward. Plus, you're able to sign him in, sign him long term and under 10 million dollars, as the cap hit, I think that contract will look good, as the cap continues to skyrocket. He's obviously not a, not a perfect player, but I'm a fan of the player. I love the fit, whether he's with Guhle, or you wanna load up your two best offensive guys and have him play with Hutson, and sort of do the Toews-Makar thing, the Hughes-Hronek thing, where you're stacking two of your best puck movers and offensive guys together, that's an option, but I also think he'd be a terrific fit with Kaiden Guhle.

FILIPOVIC: Yeah, you mentioned not only a right-shot defenseman, but one who's 6"4 and, you know, in the prime of his career, turning 26 in January, similar in just—in part one, I had Steve Peters on and we were talking about Michael Kesselring within the context of the JJ Peterka trade, and a lot of that same stuff applies, obviously, Dobson at a much higher echelon in terms of production where it wasn't just that 23-24 season. The past four seasons, he's averaged 56 points per 82 games played. The only defensemen with more total points in that time are a pretty good list of Makar, Quinn Hughes, Fox, Josi, Headman, Dahlin, Karlsson, Morissey, and Bouchard. Now, I think there's some important context to apply to what happened last year. Obviously, the Islanders bottomed out due to injuries and regression, and wound up getting the first overall pick and getting Matthew Schaefer in the process, but the underlying numbers still suggest that he was a legitimate driver, right? 54 percent, or even North of it in terms of five-on-five high danger chance share, expected goal share... I think it's, because of the injuries, and as a result of it, like he winds up playing 50+ five-on-five minutes with Romanov, Isaiah George, Pelech, Pulock, Mayfield, and then getting into like Mike Reilly, and Dennis Cholowski, and the Islanders had this rotating door of defensemen all year, where they wound up using twelve of them for ten games or more. And then, there's also the fact that Barzal only played 30 games, right? And we don't often think about the impact of defense and forward combinations, because we think of defensemen within the context of their own pairing and their own partner. But it's clear when you just, apply any thought, but especially look into the tape, and what those two guys were doing together when Barzal really had the best season of his career in 23-24. The chemistry between the two, and the dynamic of creating space for each other, and sort of playing off each other in this symbiotic way, and that was on full display that season. And then you remove Barzal from that equation as well, and I think that added a clear detrimental impact on him.

Clearly, have some questions about his game, right? I think some of the footspeed stuff defensively, in terms of defending the blue line, has always been up for debate. Although, you look at Cory Schneider's data, and he was much more aggressive last year in gapping up, and closing off space, and jump in passing lanes. He was still giving up a very high percent of scoring chances off of entries, but the actual volume of what he was allowing guys to carry the puck in went way down compared to even his best season in 23-24. He forced many more denials, and so that's all stuff you like to see, and then there's the component of, sometimes, what's drawn the ire of Islanders fans is, have been the blunders with the puck, right? Giveaways, turnovers, things like that, and some of that is a by-product, I think, of him not having a lot of urgency to his game, right? He plays at a very, slower rhythm, much more methodical, I think, with the puck, and is a bit more deliberate, and I think he needs to ramp that up a little bit, and maybe going to a more fast-paced, younger, explosive team in Montreal is gonna help with that. But it's also, I think, a by-product of any defenseman that handles the puck as much as he does, right. Playing 23-24 minutes a night, being relied on to do all the heavy lifting as a creator and facilitator, you're gonna wind up having your share of giveaways just because you always have the puck on your stick. And if you're as talented as he is, you're routinely trying to do stuff with it to create. And so, those blunders are gonna happen, but I think the net positive in terms of his impact, and how good the team is with him on the ice, and how much he creates, of course, is just undeniable. And so, I think betting on the player to bounce back, and even really, kind of framing it as he wasn't necessarily as bad as some of the overall numbers might indicate last year, I think is very fair and so I think he's gonna be awesome in Montreal.

DAYAL: Yeah, as you alluded to, he's not a perfect player. Especially defensively, and the puck management side of things. He did have some very loud defensive blunders, but when you step back and look at the overall picture, he's consistently won his minutes playing first-pair the last four seasons. He has been in this top pair role and the Isles have scored more goals than they've allowed in every single one of those seasons during Dobson's five-on-five shifts. And even when we characterize his defensive flaws, the actual number of goals against that he's on the ice for aren't actually that high, right. So you look at the last three seasons, Dobson's been on the ice for 2.24 goals against per 60 at five-on-five, that ranks top 50 among NHL defensemen. So, yes, he's prone to blunders. Yes, without the puck, there are moments when you'd like him to be a little more assertive closing plays, and killing them proactively, and he's been criticized for not always leveraging his 6"4 frame assertively enough, and I understand all of those question marks, but... Ultimately, you step back, and when you can find a 25 year old defenseman who isn't just, isn't just competent in top pair minutes, but is consistently winning them, that's a really hard player to acquire.

FILIPOVIC: It is, and as I said, some of the regression as well, right, where in 23-24, he has the 70 points, the plus 12, last year he winds up with just 39 points and a minus 16, you look a little further and, as you alluded to, they still won his five-on-five minutes. He had a plus 3 goal differential, part of that minus is just because he was on the ice for a shocking amount of empty net goals against, because the Islanders weren't very good, and the power play itself was 31rst in the league. And so, he was on that unit, but with Barzal out, and then trading Nelson, I'm not necessarily holding that against him. And, you know, as you look ahead to him in Montreal, with Lane Hutson there, the points might not necessarily bump up back to that 70 point total, and he might not even get a heavy volume of power play usage, but what he's gonna be able to do at five-on-five is I think gonna make a massive difference. And I wanna talk more a little bit about that fit, in terms of the best way to deploy him, and what you see. Because I imagine, Marty St-Louis certainly, you know situationally, if they're trailing or pushing for offense, gonna be inclined to load up both him and Hutson, you know on their natural sides, with one being a lefty and one being a righty, and I think that that dynamic can certainly coexist, because they both like to have the puck on their stick, but they also do it in different ways. Not only with Dobson's shot, compared to Hutson's more sort of holding on to it and trying to make plays for other dynamic, but also what I said earlier about whenever he'd be out there with Barzal, you'd sort of see this where Barzal would kinda be holding on to the puck, and circling the zone, and Dobson was so good at stepping into the open lane, or kind of moving off of the spot. And getting lost in the coverage and then popping open and either getting a good look off of it, or then setting up a teammate with a backdoor pass. I think they're gonna be able to replicate a lot of that with Hutson, some of the interchanges at the blue line, and setting him up for a one time look in a good shooting position, so I love that, but I think even long term, the idea that you add a guy who can, has already proven that he can float his own pair is a massive development for the Habs. Because when they had Hutson and Guhle out there, as the year progressed, things were shaping up really well for the Habs, but beyond that—and some of that was deployment, right, like they leaned on that Mike Matheson-Alex Carrier pair with such heavy defensive zone deployment where I think they were under 30% offensive zone starts for a long time [habitant note: correct, that pairing ended the season with 21.05% offensive zone starts, which was the least out of any Habs d-pairing that played at least 100 minutes together over the course of the season]. That's gonna result in bad numbers, especially with Matheson not really having the skillset to accommodate that, but they just didn't really have playmakers or facilitators when Hutson wasn't out there, especially if Guhle was playing with him, and now, you have a second guy who can get the puck to the forwards efficiently and quickly, and I think we agree that Marty St-Louis wants this team ideally to play quickly, North-South, and attack much more off the rush, and I think a guy like Dobson and his skillset is really gonna help enable that to a great extent.

DAYAL: Yeah, this is um, this gives Marty St-Louis a lot of different options, and I'm curious to see how they experiment in training camp, and pre-season, and even during the start of the regular season to land on what's the optimal way to deploy these guys. Because you're right, Dobson can drive his own pairing, which is such an asset, where some defensemen only thrive in a top four setting when they have an equal or better sort of partner to play with, whereas Dobson, you can trust that his skillset can work in a complementary role, if you wanna load him up with Hutson, and especially with their offensive skillsets sort of being complementary, they would have a ton of success together. But also, now Guhle all of a sudden, he's a big winner in all this where now all of a sudden you're imagining that he's gonna be with one of Hutson or Dobson at all times. And when I look at Guhle's skillset, as a, as a sort of shut down, more authoritative physical presence, a guy who can gap up in the neutral zone, and also fits that modern blend, where he's mobile enough, and has enough sort of puck skills to complement an offensive guy. It takes pressure off him to single-handedly drive a pair, and I think the idea of him and Dobson together, where you mentionned that Dobson isn't always necessarily the best at defending off the rush, well that's an area where Guhle really excels in. So that fits there, and if Guhle isn't with Dobson, then he gets to play with Hutson full time. So this gives the Canadiens a ton of options and even when I think about this Habs blue line long term now, to have Hutson, Dobson, Guhle, and then also Reinbacher coming. This Habs blue line is gonna be an absolute force for years to come.

FILIPOVIC: Yeah, I loved it. The 23-24 tape, I got into it in preparation for this, was just absolutely sublime for Dobson. Like the amount of, the things he was doing in the offensive zone, in terms of some of the backdoor passing and setting guys up for tap-ins, or the shot passes and the Islanders had a bunch of guys netfront with Lee and others who were able to capitalize on that, or just kind of playing around with it at the blue line and creating space for others was next level. And so I think that's something to really look forward to here. On the note of pairs, and having a second pair that can hold their own, I know it was only five games in round one against the Caps, but I think it's pretty instructive in terms of what we're talking about, where, when Montreal had Hutson and Guhle out there in that series: 55% shot share five-on-five, 61% expected goals share. Unfortunately, when they had the other pairs, which were Matheson and Carrier, or David Savard, who's since retired, with either Xhekaj or Struble, they were in the mid 30s essentially, right. And there was a massive sample of Matheson and Carrier kind of playing in a role that wasn't suitable to their skillset, and being overextended, and they were just getting crushed in that time, and really you could even date this back to since the 4 Nations break, when Montreal really started their spirited playoff push, and that's a 26 game sample. When they had Suzuki and Hutson out there, up 17 to 4, 61% of the shots, 61% of the chances and expected goals, and then without them, down 27 to 14, and everything in the 30s. And so, just having a second driver who, if you don't have those guys out there, is still able to keep you afloat and actually create stuff, is just gonna be so massive. On the powerplay note, I think we both expect that he's not necessarily gonna feature very heavily on the top unit, right? Because I think the splits for them last year, they wind up 21rst on the man advantage, I don't think that's reflective of how good their top guys were. Because a lot of that includes the early season when they were kind of working Hutson in and trying to manage his minutes, and Matheson was on that top unit. And as soon as they put Hutson up there, and he was playing with Suzuki and Caufield on the top unit, they exploded up to 9.5 goals per hour, and that was the, I think, 6th best in the league, and then now you also bake in Demidov's playmaking and potentially adding to that as another creator. That's gonna be a pretty lethal combination of guys, and I think that's gonna allow Dobson certainly to quarterback the second unit, but just generate a lot of his value to this team I think in just making them a much more well-rounded five-on-five group. And that's something you look for when you try to take that next step as an organization from, last year was a fun story, they made the playoffs for the first time in a while, and now actually consolidating on that, and building it out and scaling it, and becoming a team that does this year over year, and actually advances past just five game cameo in the first round.

[sirfrogsworth]

Looking at some of your work, it is stunning but it is very similar in style to AI artwork, do you have any recommendations for how to tell apart photography like yours from AI.

I've been thinking about this. And this may sound controversial at first, but I'm hoping people will hear me out.

We should stop trying so hard to detect AI art.

I think we should all lift that burden from our brains.

I have often talked about "woke goggles." Where conservatives have lost the ability to enjoy anything because they are hypervigilant about detecting anything woke. They've cursed themselves into just hating everything. All they have left is the "God's Not Dead" Cinematic Universe.

And I worry people are getting AI goggles now. They are so concerned about accidentally enjoying robot art and hurting artists that they have overcorrected to the point where they are hurting artists.

One cannot say "AI is all soulless slop that always looks bad" and then accuse a real artist of making something that looks like AI and not hurt them. By doing so, it includes the baggage of all of the "slop" comments along with it. This crusade is having collateral damage to the very artists we are trying to protect.

Yes, we need to be cautious about malicious AI images. Misinformation and deepfakes are going to be a big problem. People using AI imagery for profit is already a mess. But if you are cruising your feed and like a cool sci-fi robot gal or a photo of a waterfall and it turns out to be AI... that's fine.

It was trained by real artists and AI is going to create some cool shit because of that.

Honestly, I think a lot of the worst slop is because the dipshits creating the prompts have no artistic taste. People keep blaming the AI for how bad it looks and often don't consider it is a product of the loser who published it.

There is plenty of non-slop out there that has fooled me. And, like it or not, it is going to get harder and harder to tell what is AI. Until there are better tools or better regulations, I don't think there is much we can do to avoid enjoying AI art every once in a while. If only by accident.

Current "AI detectors" are mostly a scam. Even the best forensic-level AI image detectors struggle to stay above 70–80% accuracy across a wide range of models and image types. And that's in controlled lab conditions.

Free online tools often drop to near coin-flip accuracy (50–60%), especially with newer image generators and post-processing applied.

The best way to avoid AI imagery is to look at an artist's body of work. It's much harder to create consistent, non-obvious fake images in a large sample size. That is usually enough to have confidence in authenticity. Plus, if they have posted similar art before 2022, you can pretty much rule out any shenanigans.

Otis literally died before genAI was available.

But images you see in the wild, just let yourself enjoy them if that is what your brain wants to do. It'll be okay.

I just think we are attacking this backwards. If we want to protect artists, we need to support them.

Calling out random AI art does not support them.

It does not put money in their pockets.

It does not grow their audience.

Over a decade ago I tried to lead a fight to create better systems of attribution on websites like Reddit and Imgur. I even spoke to the Imgur team after an article was written about me.

I asked them to allow sources on their posts and to develop tech that would help people find where an image came from. They said they were "working on it" and it never manifested.

IMAGE SHARING SITES STEAL MORE FROM ARTISTS THAN AI.

But we just kind of accepted it. No one really joined me in my fight. The prevailing defeatist attitude was, "That's just the way it is."

I think now is the time to demand better attribution systems. We need to be vigilant about making sure as many posts as possible have good sourcing. If an image on Reddit goes viral, the top comment should be the source. And if it isn't, you should try to find it and add it.

Just to be clear, "credit to the original artist" is NOT proper attribution.

And perhaps we can lobby these image sharing sites to create better sourcing systems and tools. They could even use fucking AI to find the earliest posted version of an image.

And it would be nice if it didn't require people to go into the comments to find the source. It could just be in the headline. They could even create little badges "made by a human" for verified artists.

Good attribution helps artists grow their audience. It is one of the single most effective things you can do to help them.

I literally just got this message...

There are maybe 10 popular artists who I helped grow their audience early on. Just because I reblogged their work and added links to all of their social media. I even hired my best friend to add sourcing information to every post because I believed so much in good attribution.

Calling out AI art may feel good in the moment. You caught someone trying to trick people and it feels like justice. But, in most cases, the tangible benefits to real artists seem small. It impedes your ability to enjoy art without always being suspicious. And the risk of telling someone you think they make soulless slop doesn't seem worth it.

But putting that time and effort into attribution *would* be worth it. I have proven it time and time again.

I also think people should consider having a monthly art budget. I don't care if it is $5. But if we all commit to seeking out cool artists and being their collective patrons, we could really make a difference and keep real art alive. Just commit to finding a cool new artist every month and financially contributing to them in some way.

On a bigger scale I think advocating for universal basic income, art grants for education and creation, and government regulation of AI would all be helpful long term goals. Though I think our friends in Europe may have to take the lead on regulation at the moment.

So...

Stop worrying about enjoying or calling out AI art.

Demand better attribution from image sharing sites.

Make sure all art has a source listed.

Start an art budget.

Advocate for better regulations.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Jikininki Disorder.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Cannibalism, No Curse AU, Chef Sukuna AU, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Kidnapping, Gore, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Prolonged Captivity. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Sukuna kept the basement door locked.

That was the only part of his rustic, oversized house that was off-limits to you. For the first few weeks, he’d kept you either collared and leashed to the headboard of his bed if he was home and locked in a roughly human-sized dog kennel when he wasn’t, but now, you were allowed to wander freely, even if he still kept deadbolts on the windows and doors. Occasionally, he’d lock you out of the kitchen while he was working on a new recipe or tell you to stay in your bedroom while he talked to his every-mysterious “business partners”, but for a kidnapper, Sukuna was surprisingly trusting. The basement door was the only thing that was always locked – and you should know. You checked the knob at least twice a day.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of you escaping, or hurting yourself, or god forbid, hurting him. Even in the early days, before you’d proved you weren’t going to run away, he seemed to be more concerned that you might be a nuisance than that you might be any kind of threat. The only thing you really knew was that the basement was where he kept his meat locker, and while you were curious, you were sure that wasn’t what he was keeping you away from. Sukuna had you sample everything he made. If he was going to start withholding food, then he would’ve had to—

“Oi, brat.” You felt his elbow jab into your side, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Quit daydreaming and try this.”

You glanced towards him, pouting as you straightened your back and repositioned yourself on the kitchen counter. You would’ve been more comfortable to sit on the floor, or better yet, at the table in the next room, but he liked to have you as close as possible whenever he was cooking. Not that you’d have it any other way. “You’re always so mean to me,” you sighed, in a pitchy mock whine. “One day, I’m not going to want to spend time with you at all.”

“As if. You can’t get enough of me.” He rolled his eyes, turning back to the stove top. Currently, he was working on something for his restaurant – a variation on karaage, a spread of vegetables and meat (pork, maybe, but you weren’t entirely sure) sitting on a cutting board off to the side, a greased skillet waiting next to it. His attention was on the broth simmering in the pot in front of him, though, which his ingredients would strew in before being fried. He’d been toying with it for the better part of an hour, and you’d sat diligently within arm’s reach, only slightly motivated by the fact that he’d threatened to break both your ankles if you tried to move.

Your sample turned out to be a piece of broccoli – likely chosen to best compliment the flavor of the broth – and you accepted it eagerly, letting Sukuna bring his chopsticks to your lips and feed you by-hand. Of course, the flavor was heavenly, and of course, you took long seconds to savor it, letting your eyes fall shut as you chewed and swallowed. Sukuna watched you intently, his dark eyes never leaving your lips. It wasn’t a secret that his favorite part of you had always been your mouth. You didn’t mind – his cooking was the only thing you’d ever liked about him.

Praise would’ve been pointless. It was a given that anything he made would be the best thing you’d ever tasted, so you tried to focus on something more productive. “It’s… salty,” you surmised, pursing your lips. “Did you use your…?”

“Cum?” Sukuna finished. “Just a tablespoon. ‘m surprised you can even taste it.”

A month ago, you might’ve recoiled, refused to eat, but now, it was all you could do to pretend to be surprised.

You watched intently as he added another cup of water, another round of herbs all kept in mismatched, unlabeled jars. Your heart skipped a beat as he finally reached towards the cutting board, but he pulled away at the last minute, turning to you, instead.

“’kuna,” you whined as he slid into the space between your legs, planting a large hand on either side of you. “I was actually hoping to eat sometime tonight, y’know.”

“I know, I know.” And yet, he didn’t seem concerned, chuckling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. “You’ll get to, just sit pretty for a little while longer.”

“But—” He cut you off with another kiss, this one immediately followed by feeling of his pointed canines burrowing into tender skin. You flinched into yourself, and Sukuna groaned into your neck, drawing back just far enough to run the flat of his tongue over the twin puncture marks.  Your hands shot to his shoulders, but you resisted the urge to push him away. Even if you did, it was already too late; you could feel something stiff pressing against the inside of your thigh, hear him murmuring something low and affectionate into the dip of your shoulder. Resigned, you leaned back against the kitchen cabinets and shut your eyes.

At least, if he got this over with quickly enough, you might still get to eat.

~

Your first impression of Sukuna, unsurprisingly, was that he looked more like a body builder than a chef.

Calling him massive would’ve been an understatement. He stood a head above you, with biceps as thick as your head and a chest so defined, you could see the outline of his definition through the thin fabric of his black (presumably not Health and Safety compliant) tank top. He had piercings, too – twin studs underneath his bottom lip, lining the bridge of his nose – and tattoos, black lines forming intricate patterns across his jawline and bands around his wrist. You already had your back to the concrete wall, but you pressed yourself against it, regardless, eager to put as much space between you and him as possible. Sukuna remained where he was, perpetually unimpressed.

His introduction was brief, succinct. “You’re the little bitch Uraume sent out?”

“I… I think so?” You genuinely weren’t sure. The waitress had only told you that the owner wanted to talk to you outside, which you hadn’t been surprised by. It was your fourth time coming in that week, since his restaurant didn’t do takeout and the last person to order more than they could eat in one sitting was promptly and proudly taken outside and beaten half to death. You couldn’t risk that, not when more than half of your meals came from his shop.  “I’m sorry, I just—Are you the chef? I really like—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He took half a step toward you, and you glanced down the alleyway behind his restaurant. One end was cut off with a chain-link fence, and while the other side opened up onto a proper road, it was still more than fifty feet away. You never would’ve made it, not with someone like Sukuna chasing you. “Who sent you? The Gojo clan?”

Sent you? You had no idea what he was talking about – if you had someone to fund your addiction, you wouldn’t have to resign yourself the cheapest section of his overpriced menu. You opened your mouth, but must’ve taken longer to answer than you realized. You blinked, and suddenly, his hand was planted on the wall beside your head, his body only a hair’s width from yours. He had to tilt his head forward to look at you, which while not surprising, did little to comfort you. “Answer the fucking question.” And then, when you shrunk into yourself at his tone. “I swear to fucking Christ—Did he tell you what happens to the people who piss me off? Because you’re about to—”

“I can’t eat anything else!”

You were just as surprised as he was to hear your own voice. Still, you did your best to recover quickly, falling into a stiff bow as deep as the confined space would allow. With your eyes fixed on the pavement, you forced yourself to go on, to say something that would stop the owner of your favorite restaurant from murdering you in the alleyway behind that aforementioned restaurant. “I—I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, but—but a classmate brought me here a few months ago, and—and I haven’t been able to eat anywhere else since. I can come in less often, if that’s what you’re bothered by, but please.” You forced yourself to inhale, to breathe. “Please, don’t ban me.”

At that, Sukuna broke. You didn’t dare to look at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice, the airy laugh lacing his tone, as if he found something about your desperation funny. He did, obviously. You’d quickly realize that Sukuna found most things about you funny. “You think I’m going to… What was it? Ban you?”

You nodded furiously. “I—I know you kicked out that salaryman last week, and a couple students the week before. They were all regulars, but I haven’t seen any of them since.” It was a rushed explanation, only half-coherent, but you still tried to go on, bowing your head. “I—I can’t cook, and I can’t eat anywhere else, anymore. If you ban me, I really don’t have a lot of other options, so—”

“You can go back to your table.”

It was your turn to blink, this time, to startle. You didn’t straighten your back, not until you felt Sukuna’s hand on your shoulder, heard the grin in his voice sharpen. “Really?”

“Mhm. Don’t order, I’ll send something over. And you’re going to stay until closing.” And then, as you stared up at him with as much gratitude you’d ever felt, “We’re going to grab a couple drinks after I close up shop. Try to think of a few more compliments, before then.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless. After scurrying back to your table before Sukuna could change his mind, a white-haired woman who you’d never seen working the front of house before brought you a meat dish so rare, you could’ve sworn it hadn’t been cooked at all.

It went without saying that you savored every bite.

~

“Needy ass brat.”

His bicep dug into your stomach where you were slung over his shoulder, your legs dangling uselessly was your hands clawed half-heartedly at his back. You weren’t really upset that he’d caught you – you knew it’d only be a matter of time the moment you slipped out of bed – but it was frustrating just how quickly he’d come to get you. You’d barely gotten to the kitchen, let alone the fridge.

Your mind drifted back to the basement door – to the meat locker. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you decided that you would try to pick the lock tomorrow, after he’d left for the day. Whatever punishment he’d dull out would be worth it, if you could actually get in.

Unceremoniously, you were dumped onto the floor of his bedroom, left to shamble to your knees as he collapsed onto the foot of the bed. You moved to stand, but Sukuna was quick to catch you by the hair and force you back down. “Disobedient, too,” he muttered, his voice still rough with exhaustion. “Tell me what you were trying to do before I decide you can’t be trusted with the ability to walk.”

You sulked, letting out a shallow sigh and resting your cheek against the inside of his knee. “I’m just hungry,” you explained, feigning thoughtlessness. It was more or less true. You were eating better than you ever had before, and yet, your stomach had never felt emptier. “I was gonna come back, after I got something.”

Sukuna chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. You melted into his thigh, eager to keep his mood light, sentimental. “I feed you three gourmet meals a day, baby. Don’t act like you’re starving.”

“But I am.” You sighed, stared up at him with your doe-like expression. “I’ve really been craving meat, lately, ‘specially that stuff you keep downstairs. Can you make it again tomorrow?”

“We’ll see. I don’t want you getting spoiled, and ‘sides, I’ve gotta save some of it for the shop.” You frowned, sinking deeper into his thigh, and Sukuna sighed, raking his nails over your scalp. “But, maybe, if I got some motivation from my little helper…”

He trailed off, and suddenly, it was your turn to play oblivious. “Well, yeah, I’d obviously help,” you chirped, mimicking his smile. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, though, so you can’t blame me if—”

“That’s not what I want from you, babydoll.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. It wasn’t painful, but the way his fingers tugged at your hair was.

He didn’t pull. You tried to be thankful for that, but it was hard to be thankful for anything when his free hand was already at the waistband of his sweats, freeing the semi-stiff cock formerly hidden beneath the grey fabric. You frowned, but didn’t pull away. “How are you already hard?” And then, as you settled onto your knees, “You woke up, like, two minutes ago.”

“Always gotta have something nice n’ warm ready for my baby.” Rather than let your whining deter him, he focused on drawing you into his lap, encouraging you to lean into him, to brace yourself on his muscular thighs. Controlling as always, Sukuna guided you gently towards his cock. You half-expected him to force you down at the last minute, to laugh as he suffocated you on his length, but of course, he didn’t. He wasn’t that kind.

He wouldn’t let you play such a passive role in your own dehumanization.

You moved as quickly as you could without making your unwillingness entirely transparent, taking the head of his cock past your lips and running the flat of your tongue over his slit (already leaking, as if this couldn’t get any worse). You couldn’t pretend to be some pure-of-heart, dewy eyed virgin, not when most of your mornings were started with Sukuna thrusting three fingers lazily into your cunt and most of your nights ended with his face buried between your thighs, but you never seemed to be able to completely brace yourself for just how wide you had to open your mouth to take him, just how mindful you had to be to not let your teeth scrape against his shaft as you struggled to get past his tip. Like everything else about Sukuna, his cock was too fucking big. Not that he seemed to care.

If anything, Sukuna seemed to like the way you gagged around him. As you wrapped a hand around his base, pumping over the parts of his shaft you couldn’t swallow and trying to ignore the fact that your fingers didn’t touch, you heard him groan, felt his grip tighten on your hair, and knew he was staring at you, drinking in the sight of you choking on his cock with as little shame as you had dignity. “Good girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Are you gonna start moving, or does the spoiled princess need a little help?”

‘Help’ meant him holding your head in-place while he fucked your skull. Resisting the urge to shake your head, you bobbed shallowly, the veined underside of his cock gliding over your tongue as a knot of ache formed in either corner of your jaw, the strain already too painful to ignore. You could taste his arousal in the back of your throat, feel him throbbing against the hollows of your cheeks, but you forced yourself to dip your head lower, to take him deeper, to at least attempt to match the stuttering pace of your hand with that of your mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him distracted. His hand drifted from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, his thumb pushing rough patterns into your skin. “Still can’t believe I get to keep such a sweet thing all to myself.” It was almost cruel, how composed he sounded while saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth. “It would’ve been a shame if I’d fucked up and done something really mean, that first day. I don’t think I would’ve gone through with it, though. As soon as I got a good look, all I wanted was to see what that pretty mouth looked like wrapped around my cock.”

His breath hitched, his hips bucked, and you audibly gagged as the blunt head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat. You jerked away on reflex, but Sukuna didn’t let you go far. His hand wrapped around your neck as he rolled his hips, forcing another inch of his cock down your throat, then another, until it was all you could do to blink away the tears quickly forming in your eyes. Your hand fell away from his shaft to scramble and claw at his thighs, but if Sukuna mourned the loss of contact, you couldn’t tell. The only thing you could make out was his cock pulsing against the convulsing walls of your throat and his voice, as distant as it was deafening. “Fuck,” he sighed, then again, “Fuck. Desperate little bitch. My desperate little bitch. Can’t go three fucking seconds without needing me to take care of you, isn’t that right?”

Your only response was a desperate, keening whine – mostly muffled by the twitching object lodged in your airway. Rather than a plea for mercy, Sukuna seemed to take it as confirmation, taking you by the back of your head and forcing you that much further, that much closer. “Fucking—Take it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to spit, let alone pull away. Your nose brushed against the defined muscle of his abdomen as you felt something bitter and searing flood down your throat. Calling it swallowing would’ve been too generous.

That night, you vomited twice before letting Sukuna carry you to bed. Despite everything, you would dream only of the taste of fresh blood and burnt meat.

~

Despite everything, you only saw the kitchen of Sukuna’s restaurant once. He expected you at your usual table almost every day, invited you out for drinks at one of his classy, dimly lit lounges (a severe juxtaposition to his own hole-in-the-wall establishment) nearly as often as that, but he only let you see his back of house once, late at night, hours after closing.

Coincidentally, that was also the night he took you away.

Admittedly, it was difficult to remember why you’d been called back to the kitchen. That section of your day was blurry, distant, fuzzy around the edges from the moment you stepped into his shop to the second you woke up alone in a bed you didn’t recognize, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke thick in the air.  Still, you could remember the feeling of chilled titanium pressing into your back, the heat of Sukuna’s body above you, what he’d looked like as you stared up at him from below. You remembered thinking, possibly for the first time, that you hated everything about him, from his inflated ego to his resonating voice to his awful, conniving smirk, and realizing that you’d never be able to leave him.

You also remembered the white-haired server being there – standing in the doorway, her expression one of pleasant indifference as she explained something grotesque and nonsensical to Sukuna, either oblivious to or uncaring of how deeply he was buried inside of you. You watched her lips move, but only a few words broke through the haze – disposal and witness, nothing that made any sense. You remembered noticing how pretty she was, and thinking that it was a shame she wasn’t the owner, rather than Sukuna.

You could remember asking for something, and Sukuna humming in response before something was shoved past your lips – heady and thick and raw. You tasted blood on your lips, felt yourself choke, and then, everything was dark.

~

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known he’d gotten home. You’d been able to make out the sound of his footsteps through the floor above, been able to feel the light spill onto your back as the basement door and its useless, mangled knob were pushed open, but it wasn’t until you heard his voice that you could bring yourself to care. Even then, your hold on the raw chunk of half-frozen meat only tightened, nails digging into the ruddy, bleeding tissue. As much as you didn’t want to put a name to it, it would’ve been impossible to deny what it was – to ignore what you’d seen inside of the meat locker, to pretend you hadn’t recognized the disassembled bodies hanging on rusted-over hooks, to act like you could mistake the taste still heavy on your tongue for that of pig, or cow, or some other, inferior animal. It would’ve been useless, even if the temptation was still there. It would’ve been futile.

Almost as futile as trying to deny that it was the best fucking thing you’d ever choked down.

You heard the tell-tale creak of Sukuna starting to descend the staircase, and before you could stop yourself, dug your teeth into the brunt of the sinew, tearing off the largest mouthful you were capable of and swallowing it whole. You dipped your head for another bite, but it was too late – Sukuna was already behind you, his hand already wrapped around the collar of your shirt, your body already being jerked back and away from your hard-earned prize. You tried to dig your nails into the thick of the fat, to stuff the last of it past your lips, but with an airy chuckle and a quirk of his wrist, the cut was torn away and discarded just as thoughtlessly.

For the first time, you snapped towards Sukuna, your teeth bared and your eyes narrowed into something furious, something hostile. “Why would you—” And then, letting out a miserable sob and turning away from him, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break anything, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then—”

“I get it, baby. You aren’t in trouble.”

“And then I found something heavy enough to break the knob and I couldn’t stop thinking about—” You cut yourself off suddenly, letting out a sharp exhale. “…I’m not?”

“No, princess, you’re not.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve mistaken his tone for something gentle. His gaze fell to your chest, and for the first time, you noticed the blood dripping down your chin, staining the fabric of your top. “We should get you cleaned up, though. You’ll only feel shittier when it dries.”

You didn’t protest as he pulled you into his arms and carried you upstairs, out of the basement, away from the meat locker. You didn’t say anything as he set you on his bed, your back leaning against the headboard, and eased your top over your head, replacing it with one of his own, and produced a damp cloth from the nearest bathroom. Gingerly, he cleaned the gore off your face, never rushing through a stroke or applying more pressure than was absolutely necessary, stopping often to kiss your forehead or the bridge of your nose. You were sniffling by the time he finished, crying by the time he left the room, and sobbing when he came back – a bowl in hand with a pair of chopsticks laid across its rim.

Its contents were predictable: meat, pan-grilled in thin slices and, as far as you could tell, left unseasoned. “I’ll make some rice when you’re done,” Sukuna went on, as you struggled with the chopsticks. “To balance it out. You’ll need something to take the edge off.”

You nodded vacantly, accepting the bowl greedily despite your shaking hands. It was better raw – the flavor richer, the taste fresher – but you weren’t in a place to complain, not when it was so much easier when you didn’t have to gnaw and tear like some wild, starving animal. Not that you weren’t eating like one – keeping the rim of the bowl pressed into your chin, never letting more than a second lapse between one mouthful and the next. You only paused when you felt the mattress dip, noticed Sukuna positioning himself between your legs, and but he only smiled, only rested a hand on your knee. “Keep going,” he urged. “It’d be a waste to let it get cold, right?”

“I don’t like this.” Your voice was still unsteady, prone to cracking, but it was true. You didn’t want him to pretend to be nice. “I’ve never really liked you. I’d leave, if I could. There hasn’t been a moment since you kidnapped me that I haven’t spent fantasizing about getting out and fixing what you’ve done to me.”

“You’re just saying that to hurt my feelings, doll.” You were, but it wasn’t. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his chest, one hand spreading your thighs apart while the other toyed lazily with the hem of your shorts. You felt him lean against your thigh, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the tender flesh. You’d gained weight during your time with him – not much, just a few pounds, a little plush to soften your harsher edges. You weren’t sure whether or not to care. “I’m just proud, that’s all. Don’t you want me to be proud of you?”

You didn’t want anything from him. Your appetite gone, you placed the bowl haphazardly on the bedside table, watching through clouded eyes as Sukuna removed your shorts entirely, taking agonizing seconds to guide them down your legs before letting them drop to the floor below. You expected your panties to follow, but Sukuna only settled into place, dragging the pad of his thumb over the length of your slit, pausing to draw slow, idle circles into your clit through the silken fabric. It went without saying that he picked out your clothes, even if he rarely had the patience to tell you exactly what to wear. You were allowed to choose your outfit day-to-day, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t, not when your entire closet was suited to his tastes.

His hands curled around your thighs. You felt his tongue before you realized what he was doing – wet and warm and thick, his saliva soaking through the thin material and infecting you, spoiling you. You tried to ignore it, to remind yourself that you should be used to this, used to him, but this just… wasn’t what you were used to. Normally, you could expect him to be cruel, degrading, impulsive, but tonight, he seemed more than happy to bury his face between your thighs and play lover – albeit, a lover who still must’ve known he was unwanted. A lover who must’ve known you would’ve preferred a captor.

Your panties were dragged to the side, his tongue immediately finding your cunt. He took his time, laving over your entrance, coaxing reactions out of you despite your best attempts to dig your teeth into your tongue and hold back. He knew too much about you. He’d had too much time to learn. Heat pooled in your core, leaking out through your pussy, and Sukuna lapped it up like a fine wine – his thumb finding your clit as his tongue traced patterns into your cunt, and—

And oh, god, you were crying again, tears dripping down your cheeks despite your pitiful attempts to brush them away. Sukuna’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you felt him smile against the inside of your thigh, his tongue dipping shallowly into your cunt once, twice before he pulled away, straightening his back. His hand quickly replaced his mouth, two thick fingers thrusting into pussy with a humiliating sort of ease, spreading apart and curling against you and filling his bedroom with those embarrassing, wet, vile noises you’d never been able to stand. He didn’t seem to mind, holding your gaze as he spoke. “When did you put it together?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t play dumb.” And then, as his thumb traced harsh circles into your clit, “You knew what you were looking for. What gave it away? The texture? The smell?”

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t answer, a fractured moan falling from your lips in the place of anything more intelligent. Sukuna hummed, adding a third digit, and you spilled open in an instant. “Your restaurant,” you managed, the words rushed and sloppy. “No matter what I ordered, the meat would always taste the same. At first, I—I thought you were just being cheap, but then I noticed how often your regulars would just suddenly stop coming in, and—”

You were cut off by your own miserable, keening whine; his calloused fingers catching on something tender and vulnerable inside of you and taking advantage of it. “And you kept coming in,” he finished, hushing your whimpering. “Loyal little brat. Uraume wanted to get rid of you, but I knew I was right to take you in.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy moving your hips against his hand, seeking out the pleasure that your body craved and your mind rejected. Sukuna took pity on you, cooing as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap, supporting you as the movements of his hand turned short, erratic, as he edged you closer and closer and closer to your climax. You came undone with a sob, burying your face in his chest, and Sukuna was kind enough to nurse you through it, to hold you against him as your body crumpled and your poor, beaten soul seemed to give out entirely.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I think,” he said, bowing his head and running his tongue over your cheek. “It’s time for you to learn to cook.”

You couldn’t think, but you didn’t have to. There was only one thing you ever would’ve said.

“I’d like that.”

[iraot]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The slick was the issue.

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

An Alpha’s scent.

An Alpha’s knot.

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

Not worth the gamble.

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

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

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

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

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

Now, all she had to do was wait.

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

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

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

A pair.

[AbyssalFlame Messaged You]

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

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

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

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

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

The message read:

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

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

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

Still, she hesitated.

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

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

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

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

Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hit send.

The response came almost immediately.

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

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

She wasn’t sure which one unnerved her more.

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

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

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

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

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

He’d come prepared.

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

She could practically feel it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then let's begin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” Rafayel asked him.

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

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

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

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

“Kitten.” He rasped, "I need to—”

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

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

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

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

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

“More,” she begged, her voice broken.

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all he needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re just getting started.”

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t just biological—it was profound.

And it was making her feel it too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pushed inside slowly with a deep shuddering groan, feeling Rafayel stretch around him

Gasping, Rafayel’s eyes rolled back slightly. “F-fuck—”

Sylus didn’t start slow. He didn’t want to be slow. His body was still humming with need to take, to own and Rafayel knew that—wanted that. Sylus fucked into him with sloppy, desperate thrusts, his grip bruising on his hips as he chased the heat pooling in his gut.

Rafayel loved this, loved the way Sylus lost himself in him, fucked him like he was the only thing keeping him from going feral. His moans were breathy, punched out of him with every snap of his lover's hips, his body pliant, open.

Sylus growled against his throat, licking over his scent gland, tasting the sweat and heat on his skin. He wasn’t an Omega, but Sylus still wanted to mark him, to claim him in a way words couldn’t define. His rut was far from over, tamed for now by her slickness, but his instincts still roared for this, for them, for her sleeping beside them.

“Say you’re mine,” Sylus snarled against his jaw, his thrusts becoming erratic, rougher, sloppier.

He moaned, wrapping his legs around Sylus’s waist, his fingers digging into his back. “I’m yours,” he gasped, his nails scraping down his spine. “Yours, Sylus.”

A strangled groan escaped Sylus, his teeth clamping down onto Rafayel’s shoulder, enough to claim. Rafayel cried out, his entire body tensing, his cock jerking between them as he came, his release smearing between their stomachs.

Sylus wasn’t far behind. With a final, broken growl, he slammed deep into Rafayel one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his knot swelled, locking him inside. His body shook with the force of it, his cum spilling deep inside his Beta as he collapsed over him, panting against his throat, laving at the bite mark he’d placed there.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies tangled, sweat cooling on their skin.

Then, Sylus shifted, his knot popping from Rafayel’s tender hole, grimacing softly. He rolled onto his side and pulled him against him, kissing him softly. “You okay?”

Rafayel chuckled breathlessly, “I think you broke me.”

Sylus snorted fondly, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a lazy kiss against his forehead. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” Rafayel admitted, sighing contentedly as he melted into Sylus’s warmth. “I do.”

They both turned their heads toward the Omega sleeping soundly beside them.

“She’s out,” Sylus murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain.

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah,” he whispered, “she is.”

And this time, there was no doubt.

The next time she stirred, it was to the feeling of gentle fingers running through her hair and the distant sound of running water. The room was still warm, the heavy scent of heat and sex lingering in the air, but the haze in her mind had softened, the worst of her exhausting ebbing away.

“You awake, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice was soft, soothing, his fingers still stroking over her scalp. She let out a soft hum in response, nuzzling into the blankets, her body sore but pleasantly so.

Rafayel chuckled, shifting closer to press a kiss to her temple. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fond amusement. “Let's get you cleaned up before you pass out again.”

She made a noise of protest, but before she could burrow deeper into the nest that smelt of them, strong arms slipped under her, lifting her with ease.

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled against his chest, too tired to put any real bite behind it.

“I know,” he replied with a grin, carrying her toward the bathroom, his ocean eyes gleaming happily. “But you love it.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so damn tired. Instead, she let herself relax into his warmth, her limbs heavy and pliant as he brought her into the steamy bathroom. The shower was already running, warm mist curling around them, filling the air with the scent of clean soap. Rafayel eased her down carefully, helping her step under the spray, his hands never leaving her skin.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

She nodded, blinking up at him. “Yeah,” she murmured, feeling the water wash over her, easing away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. “Just….tired.”

“Figured,” he smirked, stepping into the shower behind her, running his hands over her shoulders, working the tension from her muscles. “You were a little busy, after all.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but before she could retort, Rafayel’s fingers worked over her scalp lathering in the shampoo with slow careful strokes. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and she let out an involuntary sigh, her body sinking further into him.

He chuckled, “that good?”

She hummed in response, tilting her head into his touch, the intimacy of it making her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her heat. Rafayel had been so careful with her, so steady. His hands worked over her like she was something precious, something to be careful of.

She wasn’t used to that.

“Let me take care of you, cutie, “he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just relax.”

So she did.

By the time they emerged from the shower, she felt lighter, more grounded, the sharpest edge of her heat dulled—at least for now. The scent of food hit her first, something warm and savory drifting through the apartment.

“You cooked?” she asked, her voice still a little rough from sleep as she leaned against the doorway.

Sylus, who was standing by the stove, shot her a smirk over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweats, his messy white hair still damp from a shower of his own. “Raf cooked, “he corrected, “I just taste tested.”

She snorted, moving to sit at the counter, her body still feeling a little too loose and content to argue. Rafayel slid a plate in front of her—an omelet with onions, peppers, salmon and cheese. On the side, he had cut up some fruit and put it in a bowl with some granola. Simple, but it made her stomach growl on sight.

“Eat,” Rafayel said, nudging a fork toward her. “You need it.”

She obeyed, shoving a bite into her mouth. It was good—perfectly seasoned and warm, filling.

Sylus leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched her eat with an amused expression. “Guess she was hungry,” he mused.

“Told you,” the other replied.

Despite the teasing, something warm settled in her chest as she ate. This—whatever this was—felt natural. Comfortable.

And the way they were both looking at her, it made her heat start to rise all over again.

She didn’t mean to end up on her knees in her nest, but somehow, it’s exactly where she was. Rafayel was beside her, his eyes gleaming with playful competition as they both pressed closer to Sylus, who was now leaning back against the blankets, half-hard already from the way she and Rafayel had been teasing him.

“Think we can make him lose that famous control of his?” Rafayel mused, his lips brushing against her ear as his fingers traced over her thigh.

She smirked, eyes locked on Sylus’s already darkening gaze. “I think we can.”

Sylus scoffed, but there was a tightness to his jaw, his hands clenching at his sides like he was waiting for them to move. “You two are ridiculous.”

Rafayel grinned, reaching to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You love it.”

Sylus growled lowly, his hips jerking slightly into his hand, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up and use that pretty mouth of yours.”

Rafayel laughed, but he obeyed, leaning down to press a slow, wet kiss to the top of Sylus’s cock before licking a long and teasing stripe up the length of him.

She followed his lead, mirroring his movements on the other side, their tongues brushing against each other as they worked Sylus in tandem. The groan that tore from his throat was filthy, his head tilting back against the blankets, his muscles tensing beneath them.

“Fuck,” Sylus hissed, his fingers threading into Rafayel’s hair, then into hers, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

Rafayel shot her a smirk. “Watch closely, cutie,” he murmured before taking Sylus into his mouth, his lips stretching around his length, his throat relaxing effortlessly. She swallowed, heat pooling low in her stomach at the sight.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, pulling back slightly, his hand still stroking the base of Sylus’s cock. "Like this.”

She followed his lead, dragging her tongue slowly around the tip, teasing just like Rafayel had. Sylus groaned, his grip on her hair tightening.

“Good girl,” Rafayel praised, shooting her a wicked grin before going down again, his mouth hollowing around Sylus as he sucked.

She followed, their movements synchronized, teasing, drawing ragged curses and groans from Sylus as his restraint started to crack. Their mouths and tongues each covering one side of his cock up and down his length soft whimpers from them both at his heady scent as their tongues touched in a partial kiss around his cock.

When he finally broke, he grabbed their heads and fucked up between their mouths with a desperate growl.

Sylus snapped. His grip in their hair was firm, controlling, as he fucked up between their mouths his cock slick with their spit, their tongues working together to drive him over the edge. His growls filled the air, ragged and demanding. His control shattered completely as his thick length twitched.

“Fucking—fuck,” Sylus panted, his head tilting back against the pillows, his muscles tensing as he used them, barely able to decide which one he wanted more.

She moaned as she felt Rafayel’s tongue meet hers as they lapped at his cock eagerly. Rafayel let out a breathy chuckle around his cock. It was filthy, and hot as they shared the taste of him.

Sylus’s breath hitched, his grip tightening and then with a sharp groan he came his cock twitching as ropes of thick cum landed on their mouths and face. They worked together to swallow down what he gave them, licking at him, cleaning him up with soft, slow drags of their tongues until his body sagged into the nest.

He looked wrecked.

But not done.

His crimson eyes flickered open, hazy, dark with the need still lingering in his gut. His rut was still there, but her heat-- the scent of it, the feel of it clinging in the air, still rising—was pulling him back under.

His growl was low, warning, as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her up onto his lap. His lips crashed against hers. His tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting himself on her, his hands slid over her skin, nails biting into her hips.

“You want me again, kitten?” he murmured against her lips, his voice teasing, “can smell it on your-fuck-your heats kicking back up isn’t it?”

She whimpered, nodding, rocking her hips against him, already desperate for him again. Rafayel hummed, licking his lips as he sat back on his heels, watching. “Guess she can’t help it,” he mused, fingers trailing over her spine. “She’s an Omega. She needs you, Sylus.”

A groan pulled from him, his cock already hardening under her, “Fuck, you’re right.”

And then he was flipping her, pressing her down onto the nest, his body covering hers, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread her open beneath him. She gasped, her body arching, and then he was inside her, hot and deep, stretching her all over again.

He didn’t start slow this time. He couldn’t.

Sylus slammed into her, his growl vibrating against her throat as he fucked her rough and deep, chasing the heat, the primal, instinctive need to fill her, to breed her.

“Fuck, kitten,” he panted, his hands gripped her waist, holding her still as he ruined her. “Feel so fucking good—can’t get enough of you—”

She sobbed his name, her body burning, her nerves on fire, her slick dripping onto the blankets. She could feel her orgasm creeping closer, every hard thrust pushing her further into it, making her whimper, making her beg. Sylus groaned, his pace stuttering as his knot began to swell again, one thrust, two thrusts, three and he groaned as it caught the fourth time.

“I got you, kitten,” he growled, “gonna fill you.”

“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails dragging down his back, “Please, Sylus—“

His cock stayed in her, stuck as he filled her with rope after rope of cum. Grinding deep as he spilled, her body opening up for him. She came with a broken cry, her walls clenching down and milking him, making him snarl into her throat. Tempted once again to mark her and make her officially theirs.

For a long moment, they just breathed, tangled in each other, the aftermath still humming in the air. When he slipped from her the sound of his cock slipping out of her soaked pussy made him groan.

Then, Sylus turned his head, eyes landing on Rafayel, his rut in full force now.

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” Sylus drawled, his voice rough but teasing.

Rafayel huffed out a laugh, stretching out beside them, his own cock hard and aching between his legs. “You are good at reading me.”

Sylus grinned, “get between her legs.”

Rafayel’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening, but he obeyed. “Fuck, she’s soaked,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste her, his voice reverent.

Sylus chuckled as he moved behind Rafayel and lifted his hips up so he was on his knees, bent over with his mouth on her cunt. “Lick her clean,” Sylus commanded, his voice edged with something dark and possessive.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched on to her, licking deep, drinking from her, his tongue slipping inside, tasting both her slick and Sylus’s cum as he moaned against her.

The action had him feeling drunk, surrounded by their scent, his own cock twitching in anticipation. She cried out, her entire body shaking, the over stimulation nearly too much.

And then, Sylus was behind him. Strong hands gripping his hips, dragging him back. Rafayel groaned, his tongue still buried in her as Sylus used his cum soaked fingers to ready him for his cock. One finger, then two, then he pressed the head of his length to the opening before pushing inside in a single thrust.

“Fuck,” Rafayel sobbed against her, his whole body shuddering.

Sylus growled, his grip bruising as he fucked into him, his pace immediately unforgiving. Her moans, their moans all echoing off the walls of her room. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against her.

“Good boy,” Sylus purred, his breath hot against his spine as he fucked into him with deep short thrusts. “Just like that,” he whispered, and they all came together.

It was too much. It was perfect.

And none of them wanted it to stop.

The aftermath was a slow, breathless tangle of limbs, bodies collapsing into the nest, still warm and slick with sweat and release. Their bodies were exhausted but sated—for now. The room was thick with the scent of sex… of them. A scent that had become something familiar, something that felt like home.

Rafayel was the first to move, rolling onto his back, his chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths. A lazy, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he turned to look at them.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice rough, “that was...something.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh, curling instinctively into Sylus’s side, pressing her face against his chest. “That's one way to put it.”

Sylus chuckled, his arm tightening around her, pulling Rafayel closer with the other, sandwiching them between his warmth. His fingers idly stroked over her back, then up into Rafayel’s damp, tangled hair, smoothing it out as he kissed his temple.

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me now,” Sylus murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something real.

Rafayel sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his Alpha’s touch. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She swallowed, tilting her head up to look at them both. There was an understanding between them, something unsaid but deeply felt.

This wasn’t just a heat arrangement.

This wasn’t just Sylus scratching the itch of his rut.

This was more.

And it terrified her—but it also settled something deep inside her, something she hadn’t even realized had been so restless before.

The desire for a family.

Sylus must have sensed the hesitation in her, because he cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward him, focused. “Kitten,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin. “Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She hesitated, then let out a small, shaky laugh. “I guess, I just...didn’t expect this.”

Rafayel shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her closely. “Expected what?”

“This,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “to want this, to want you, both of you.”

Sylus’s grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid she might slip away. “You do want this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

She exhaled slowly, her body still aching, still sensitive—but there was no denying the truth of it. She nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

His entire body relaxed as he pulled her in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Good.” he murmured against her skin. “Because I’m not fucking letting you go.”

Rafayel chuckled, rolling onto his stomach so he could drape himself over both of them. “Possessive.” he teased, “typical alpha behavior.”

Sylus shot him a flat look. “Shut up, you love it.”

Rafayel smirked, but there was nothing but fondness in his gaze. “I do.”

She felt warmth spreading through her chest as she relaxed into them, letting their scents surround her, wrap around her like something safe.

“We don’t have to define anything right now,” Rafayel murmured after a moment, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. “We don’t have to rush it, but we do have to acknowledge it.”

Sylus made a small disgruntled noise. “I already know what I want.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “I want you, both of you. And I will make you mine.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

And neither of them wanted to argue anyway.

Rafayel smirked, leaning in to kiss him softly, “Yeah?” he murmured against his lips. “That's a promise, Alpha?”

Sylus growled, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing him again, slow and deep. “Damn right it is.”

She watched them, her heart swelling in her chest. This felt right. It felt good. It felt real.

For the first time in a long time she wasn’t afraid of it. She smiled, pressing a kiss to Sylus’s shoulder then to Rafayel’s cheek before settling between them. Their warmth cocooned her completely. “We’ll figure It out,” she murmured.

Sylus grunted, already half-asleep, his grip on them protective. “Damn right, we will.”

And as they drifted off, tangled in each other there were no doubts in any of their minds.

This was theirs.

And none of them were letting go.

[chlorinecake]

✰ don’t give me that look | l.at oneshot

pairing: switch! producer boyfriend! anton x sub! f. reader

🇨​​💿 ​​🇳​​🇹​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​​🇸 ꗃ SIZE KINK, kissing, lap sitting, tit & clit play, anton records a sex-tape in the studio, unprotected sex (back shots), roughly 1.8k words … !?

a/n: for @antonitty and her delusions - hope u like it bae !!

You sat idly on the studio couch, admiring your boyfriend from afar as he silently toggled with the sound desk, mixing a few rhythms.

Crossing your legs, you eyed him up and down, taking in the view of his focused frame.

“You’re pretty good at flicking and twisting those knobs, y’know?… I wonder how nice it’d be if you used that same energy to please me…”

He let out a soft breath, eyes still trained on the soundboard as he spoke, “Babe, you know I’d rather spend time with you… I just have to produce this track sample before tomorrow…”

“And then?…”

“I’m all yours,” he finished, flashing you a promising look through his shaggy bangs.

“Fineeee,�� you agreed in a sarcastic tone, slightly rolling your eyes at him, “but can you let me try something on the record first?… it might help…”

Anton quirked a brow, turning to meet your face with his own intrigued one, “You mean like… singing?”

You simply nodded in response, just before promptly getting up from the couch to sit on his lap at the music desk.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands now that you were this close to him, so he simply rested them at each arm of the spinning chair.

“You might even learn a thing or two from me if you pay attention,” you went on, knowing that he’d smile at your playful words.

“Go ahead then, superstar… blow me away,” he whispered tauntingly, keeping his thighs firm as you adjusted yourself on top of him.

With his headphones secured around his head, Anton prepared himself to hear whatever it was that you wanted to add to the track project.

Pressing the red “record” button, you let the instrumental play for a few moments as you got a feel of the beat, this one sounding more R&B compared to his usually chill rhythms.

You started by toggling in a few bass notes on the drum-pad, watching Anton’s reflection in the soundproof screen ahead for any sign of reaction.

So far, he only bobbed his head slowly, still anticipating your next move.

That’s when you picked up the mic, bringing it to your lips and letting out the most pornographic moan you could muster.

Anton’s hands flew from the chair arms to take off his headphones, reaching forward to pause the track recording as you suddenly burst into a fit of giggles.

“Babe, what the hell?” He blushed, covering his face with one hand as butterflies rushed through his stomach, the sound of your moan replaying in his mind over and over, “this is serious, y’know?”

You turned around in his lap, taking in your boyfriend’s shy demeanor as you fought to hold back the laughter growing in your chest.

“What? Was it bad? I can do better if you want me to…,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes at him as he put his hands behind his head, slightly smirking at you despite the evidently nervous red flush of his cheeks, “you can even help me...”

“Don’t give me that look, ____,” he sighed, voice sounding a bit more raspy while still maintaining its usual softness.

Was it nerves?

Was he horny?…

Either way, it didn’t matter to you because he sounded so fucking hot right now—

“What look?” you pressed with a feigned expression of innocence before very intentionally wiggling in his lap a bit.

“Like you wanna be fucked,” Anton said with a wince at your actions, letting his eyelids fall slightly while looking down at you with a clenched jaw.

You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth so smoothly, his confidence alone causing you to squeeze your thighs together, already feeling so eager for him…

You couldn’t handle it when he behaved so switchy with you… starting off all shy before gradually becoming more and more bold.

His eyes eventually wandered back to the soundboard, so you took it as an opportunity to change the subject.

“You never told me if it was bad or not,” you started in the silence, mind just now becoming aware of Anton slowly getting harder beneath you.

“Well,” he hummed, letting his hands leave his head and slip down to your hips, “it was a solid 50-50, if I’m being honest…”

You scoffed dramatically, an offended hand flying to your chest, “How so?”

“Because… I always love the sounds you make for me, but not when you force them…”

His grip on your hips was firm now, holding you in place before just barely rocking you against his lap in skilled motions.

Despite the simplicity of his actions, your body started to feel dizzy with desire, mind fogging up as his clothed tip continued grinding beneath your core.

“Anton—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, the feeling of his breath below your ear making you internally shiver, a feathery yet steady groan escaping his lips.

“Can I try something now?” he asked breathlessly, even though the question sounded more like a declaration than a proposal of permission.

“Mhmm,” you nodded submissively, eyes feeling heavy as the warmth amongst your bodies only grew, thanks to how stuffy the studio was.

Clicking the sound desk back on “record,” Anton slipped his headphones over your head, feeling himself get even hotter at how cute you looked in this moment, his chunky earmuffs barely fitting around your much smaller head.

By now though, Anton had easy access to your lower half, given the high-pleated-skirt you decided to wear that day.

You almost felt like half of your body escaped to another planet when Anton’s touch started to wander lower, his hands practically covering the entire expanse of your exposed thighs given how big they were.

His breath remained steady in this moment, despite how his heart kept stuttering like a broken record.

Or perhaps, a sexually excited one…

The subtle movements of your legs helped Anton to shimmy your panties down past your hips, all the way down to your ankles, and eventually the floor.

You sat with your soaking wet core atop your boyfriend’s lap now, two of his fingers soon finding your clit in slow, circular motions.

The thing was, Anton had finally let his intrusive thoughts win, having wanted to get a genuine recording of your moans for a while.

The idea always meddled in the back of his mind whenever you pranced into the studio while he was working on beats…

However, the only issue now was that you were feeling a bit shy with the recorder on again…

“C’mon baby, lemme hear you,” the boy nearly begged, words sounding a bit mumbled with the way he was kissing along your neck.

“I know you want to,” he taunted, free hand sliding up to grope your left tit while his other hand continued toying with your pussy, “no wonder you wore this slutty skirt for me today…”

His voice… it practically intoxicated you… the way it sounded so pure yet so condescending at the same time…

“F-fuck,” you stammered with a moan, furrowing your brows as his fingers applied pressure to your clit, the other hand slightly pinching your nipple as he knew just how to get you to those pretty sounds that he wanted out of you.

“Good girl~,” he whispered in a cooing manner, “but I know you can do better than that…”

He guided you to stand up on your wobbly legs, his fingers meddling with your slick as he towered behind you.

And although your ears were still muffed with his headset, you could clearly make out the sound of his belt unbuckling with tingly clinks, your pussy only pulsing with need.

Before you could even beg to be fucked, you felt one of Anton’s hands hike up your skirt, the other forcing your back to arch over the sound board as his hard length pressed between your folds.

He was way too fucking big, but part of you liked the idea of him potentially breaking you.

It wasn’t easy, but your boyfriend eventually slipped himself inside, letting his tip tease along the ridges of your heat before picking up the pace, the soft pants and occasional groans from his body sounding loud and clear thanks to the headphones you wore.

There was also something about hearing your own moans so audibly on top of his… hearing how he turned you into a whiny mess so easily…

Anton’s hazy eyes met your fucked out reflection in the glass screen ahead, your own vision wandering off to the sound wave reader on his music board.

The way it’s lines heightened with each desperate moan that left your sweaty bodies did nothing but crazy things to the knot tightening in your stomach.

“Touch me, Anton,” you practically whimpered, voice coming out in small hiccups given how hard he was pounding into you.

His hands were already so tight around your waist, but your whiny request let him know exactly where you wanted him… where you needed that extra intensity.

He went to grope your tits, lifting your body away from the sound board with ease as the sight of his flexed biceps nearly made you drool.

The pace of his hips remained fast and controlled as he continued fucking into you, the tip of his cock reaching so deep that you’re sure you felt it in your belly button.

Looking down, Anton saw that the recording had reached just over 3 minutes, despite how your pussy desperately clenched around him, a clear sign that you were close to finishing.

His mouth was full of saliva, not even remembering to swallow given how pleasure drunk he was right now.

And somehow, you caught onto this, turning your neck at an angle and guiding his plush lips to kiss you, only a few seconds passing before he inserting his tongue, grunting into your mouth.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” he said in between kissing you sloppily, right before taking his headphones off your head and tossing them on the couch, still connected to the music desk by a thin black wire, “listen…”

He whispered the last word against your lips, maintaining the most gentle look in his eyes as he kept bouncing your ass on his cock.

You meant to say something, but the weak cries of pleasure kept stalling your speech, the words becoming a jumbled mess in your head.

Anton’s strength helped to hold up your shaky body just as you felt your release gush around him, a bit of it seeping onto his thighs as he continued thrusting.

It didn’t take long for him to cum after that too, a beautiful series of moans spilling from his lips as he panted over you, letting his hand slide away to end the recording.

The screen read ‘5:18s’ before Anton reached over to save the track, leaving both of you shocked that you even finished that fast together…

Still a panting mess, your boyfriend held your hips close to his, letting his weight fall back in the spinning chair with you on top of him.

“We should totally do quickies in the studio more often,” you huffed tiredly, leaning back against Anton’s chest as he hugged you close, still inside your pussy.

“Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but maybe after I install an air conditioner in here, we can plan something,” he smiled, not even bothering to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face that inevitably kept your hot bodies clung together.

Your hand found his, fingers idly toying with the rings he wore as he adjusted himself beneath you, “I should probably let you get back to work now since I’ve distracted you enough already—”

“Let’s just stay like this for a little longer,” he interrupted, almost yawning at how comfortable he felt buried inside you in this moment, “please?”

“Of course, superstar,” you replied playfully, nestling into his warmth and letting your eyes fall shut as you listened to the sound of his gentle heartbeat…

✶ taglist: @squoxle, @nikisdubblchococake, @wonbinisbabygurl, @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @ot7sevenlvr

✶ 🎀 ✶ check out more works like this on my RIIZE masterlist !!

[r0-boat]

Hello! I really like your whb writings, and I wanna request a headcanon?: what would the kings say/do if they saw mc/Ra-On in their clothing? It could be just post sex "there is nothung else clean to wear" or its cold and they give yoy their jacket orrrrrrr classic sneaky I-stole-my-boyfriends-hoodie. I like the last one best. I even bought you a kofi as encouragement.

Hi thank you so much for donating!

I can totally do the classic wearing and stealing boyfriend's clothes!!

Whb Seven Kings react Reader wearing their clothes.

Sfw&Nsfw

Satan

'HOLY FUCK HOW ARE YOU THIS FUCKING CUTE?!'He screams at you as he grips onto something so hard it almost breaks. Warn him next time when you do something cute he's afraid that he might level the entire castle to ground level if you catch him off guard again.

Depending on how small or large you are it doesn't matter Have his shit! You are the only one that can wear it. As other devils fun over how cute you look he will just smile in pride... Before beating the shit out of the devil's looking at you. Maybe if you want He can get you the same clothes that look just like his and you can match! FUCK!! HE'S GOING TO PUNCH A HOLE IN THE WALL JUST THINKING ABOUT IT!!

Every time he gives you his coat it is literally drenched in his super strong ass body spray.... Are all devils this??? Territorial?... Yes yes they are. wearing their clothes and smelling like them means territorial claim.

Mammon

Cute... So cute and small. From a mountain demon like maman no matter what size you wear anything will be huge on you. And that's the way he likes it, his clothes draped over you like sheets.

As much as he enjoys it and believe me he does he'd rather you wear the clothes he bought you instead of the ones he has.... But honestly he doesn't mind he'll like anything you wear that is his.

Though his clothes do not do your beauty just... How about some jewels in pearls? He thinks you will look absolutely stunning glittering and gold and jewels. Suddenly you were trying on his entire wardrobe...

Leviathan

Levi's face may look uninterested but there is an inner turmoil going inside or his heart is pounding so hard but he thinks he might die.

The sight of you in any devil's clothes will drive anyone mad by just the sight alone You're cuteness is the power to level entire continents! You must never ever ever wear any other devil's clothes (except his of course)

Fuck fuck fuck It's so cute He can't take it! He hates how much you're affecting him right now but he can't bring himself to tell you to change He can't bring himself. From now on He will be sending you his own clothes to wear He will even buy extras just in case you decide to wear them again Don't even bother giving them back. If other devils see his clothes draped over you they'll think twice.

Beelzebub

His smile just widens and suddenly for the entire day he can't keep his hands off you. If you think he was bad before oh buddy he was practically fondling you in public.

Other than that he's just normal Beelzebub However the true fun starts when you give them back...

Burying his nose into the fabric he slowly stroking his cock. He might have discovered something new about himself... Who knew the smell of your clothes will get them this worked up. Usually he'd rather sample from the source... But this... This is far more arousing than anything he could have predicted.

Lucifer

"Hm..."Is all he says. And honestly that is a huge compliment. He will now find any excuse to get you in those clothes.

Does he find it attractive? Of course he does any animal would be draped in one's scent and coat it is part of biology. Angels are not as territorial as devils but angels are fiercely loyal and devoted almost borderline worship and he is both of those.

On the inside hidden by his poker face His thoughts are plagued of what he saw this morning.

Belphegor

There is nothing in this world that's better. Then cute human in your clothes sleeping in your bed warming it up for you. You're giving him all he wants and more why must you tempt him...

You're tempting him to bed more than the devil of sloth himself... You should be ashamed.

His clothes are already soft and comfortable. And you worn it enough to make it smell like you. You're soft body mixed with your scent he just wants to *snoooore*

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is barely wears anything You probably just got out the shower or something and had nothing else but his cloth to drape over... Or maybe you're just seduced by your curiosity wanting to know how comfortable the fabric really is for a man to wear it all the time and just that for that matter.

Once he saw you the wide-eyed look on your face made you shudder in fear?? Arousal?? You're not sure honestly.

His look darkens as he snarls, "Honey, if you don't take it off, I will rip that off you. You will not leave this bed until You are drenched in my cum and scent. "

[maeveandark]

Gojo Satoru is at his wits end.

Out of all the things in this world vying for his attention; curses, women, men, his adorable students, more women, and the sorcerer world's bureaucracy slowly grinding up what's left of his grey-matter—you are what keeps him up at night.

YOU drive him crazy.

Precisely because, you never give him the time of day.

⚠️ Dark content ahead - 18+, MDNI pairing: toxic/unhinged!gojo satoru x guarded f!reader cw: noncon, manipulation, toxic relationships, dacryphilia, blood, forced kissing & grinding, biting, scratching

Now, it’s not that you’re some young, dumb, inexperienced little thing that can’t tell when a man is interested in you. Far from it in fact.

You are frighteningly perceptive when it comes to people and curses alike; which is perhaps why you've given him the cold shoulder from day one. You have always been able to see right through any false visage--the tight, fake smiles that most people adorn--including his own.

Gojo supposes he deserves this to some extent—“you reap what you sow” and all that nonsense that shouldn’t apply to him. It’s not like he intended to make you self-conscious when the two of you were teenagers, teasing you each and every time someone of the opposite sex paid you even the slightest bit of attention.

"Don't be stupid, he's not seriously asking you out. Who'd want to date some serious, stick in the mud like you?"

And it’s not like he orchestrated those bad relationships you'd fumbled in your early adulthood. It was just coincidence that the men he'd introduced you to left you for a prettier set of legs the moment they'd gotten you into bed. As far as Gojo is concerned, he's just the…unintended benefactor of those sad situations, and in the end, they had been good lessons for you.

It's just you and him against the world, and that is how it will always be. He is the one who truly gets you--the only one who has ever managed to crack your stony exterior wide open and see all the soft and tender bits you hide away inside. And sure, he might have a little bite to him--might make you cry once in a while--but he is always there for you.

To bind your wounds, to kiss them better, and help you pick up all those jagged, little pieces. Always unflinching, even as you claw, hit and spit venom at him.

"You're horrible," You half-snarl, half-hiccup through a river of tears, your nails biting into the flesh of his bicep as you try to push him away. "Forcing me into a corner and making me look at you...you get off on seeing me cry, you sick bastard."

Gojo can stop you if he wants to of course--activate infinity and watch your pathetic attempts to mark up his skin. But, he never does. Gojo loves this feeling, the euphoria of witnessing those ugly parts of you rise to the surface. He's seen all your worst parts, dissected every vulnerability you hide beneath that iron mask, and yet he's still here.

There's no stronger bond then the sick, twisted one the two of you have forged together, and Gojo happily carries the burden of proof, in every scratch and every bite you punish him with. Each time he looks at those scars, he can't help but fall even deeper into that loving obsession. He needs to test just how deep he can burrow himself into your head.

Into your heart.

Gojo traps your wrists in his hands and pins them to the tile of the bathroom wall behind you. He stares down at you for a moment, soaking in just how beautiful you look all ruined like this, before leaning down and sealing your lips with a passionate kiss.

You bite him of course, and Gojo half-growls and half-groans as he releases your wrists and swoops you into his hold, pinning you against the bathroom wall with his sheer size alone. Your surprised gasp is his release.

"Go ahead," Gojo taunts as he grinds his stiffening cock against your cunt. "Bite me again."

He kisses you forcefully this time, giving you a sample of the blood you had drawn. You squeeze your lips shut, ever defiant, but that doesn't dissuade him.

There are plenty of other soft parts for him to corrupt.

[scientia-rex]

I had one of those days where I just had too many feelings to fit inside my skin, and I’ll have to recover from it.

Telling a patient she has breast cancer. Telling a patient she has dementia. Calling a patient at 6:30pm, still sitting at my desk, because even though I finished seeing patients at 5pm, I have work to do. Doing an endometrial biopsy on a patient who may have cancer. Calling a company so I can get the password to a website so I can recredential every three months so my clinic can charge for my work. Working with an assistant on whom I’ve also done an endometrial biopsy. My regular MA is out with COVID. I’m getting a year-end bonus for the first time in my life. Some idiot kid thinks I don’t know how ears work. I saw back to back ADHD patients; one is a trans woman who paused her transition because she can’t afford it. One is a kid who did loops around the exam room chairs the whole time I talked to his mother. His mother was frosty towards me at first because I was running late because I was telling a patient she had breast cancer, and she was crying, and her daughter was crying, and when her partner died of a different cancer last year the hospice workers were homophobic and she’s afraid of hospice. A different idiot kid thinks I don’t know how soap works. The ADHD kid’s mom warmed up to me when she realized I cared and knew what I was talking about. The kid said, “AHEM. What’s up, chicken butt?” I laughed and high fived him. I gave his mom the Vanderbilt forms to assess ADD symptoms across multiple environments. I saw a patient who had a certain air about her that I recognized intimately, and at the end I asked what she did, and she was a doctor, too. I knew it had to be something like that. When I explain medical concepts I aim for lay language, but I can see when people get faintly impatient with me for it, and I’ll add in more and more technical language and see when they start looking confused; she didn’t. I could watch every new patient take in my brightly-colored hair, combined with the utterly forgettable rest of me, all browns and grays and dress slacks and comfortable shoes, because the hair is my one concession to my deep need for attention; in the exam room, I need to recede into the background so the patient can be the focus. Studies have shown that patients don’t like it when doctors disclose that they have the same medical issues. It might seem like bonding, but it shifts the focus away from where it belongs: the patient. That island of time is theirs. The breast cancer patient’s daughter said to me, “Thank you for spending the time with us. I know you didn’t have the time.” And I said, “From each according to their something or other, to each according to their needs. It’s lukewarm Marxism.” I don’t think she heard it all, or took it all in, which was good. I had a migraine that made my head feel three sizes too big with a steady drumbeat of pain despite taking two Ubrelvy, two Aleve, and two Tylenol, plus 100mg of caffeine and a propranolol and a Zofran. You have to disconnect each patient from the next. I can’t bring the breast cancer patient’s grief and heaviness into a room where a little boy is doing hand-stands and telling me silly puns. One of the nurses brought me a sublingual Toradol from a stash—someone’s purse, somewhere—because she wanted me to feel better, and I felt tears stinging my eyes because she cared about me. I couldn’t afford to cry. I just told a woman she has dementia and she doesn’t believe me. I told her to bring her husband to our next visit. I ended my clinic day doing an endometrial biopsy, trying to pass a uterine sound through a stenotic cervix, but I’ve done this before enough times to know to have the set of dilators ready. I dilated her cervix gently but firmly, with the back pressure of the tenaculum, until I could get the sound in, and then I left the sound there while my assistant handed me the sampling pipelle, because if you remove it there’s a good chance the cervix will tighten down again and you’ll have to repeat the dilation. The patient was holding her husband’s hand and chanting to him under her breath, in pain despite the Xanax I gave her.

I’m a doctor. It’s everything to me.

[bigwishes]

Tummy Trouble

Connor flexed at himself in the mirror, he'd been lifting for years but still was no where near as big as he dreamed to be. He looked at some of his buddies in the gym that had gotten bigger than him taking roids but Connor didn't want any of that crap, he wanted to get as big as he could naturally, without risking his health.

Still he couldn't help but wish he was so much bigger.

Connor was on his way out of the gym when someone stopped him.

"Hey bro," the man grabbed Connor by the arm

Connor turned to see a unbelievable tall man who was insanely muscular. The straps to his tank top where barely visable between his shoulders and traps, the length of his tank top wasn't quite long enough to cover up his entire torso and his gym shorts looked more like spandex underwear. Connor was both turned on by the sheer size of the guy and turned off, he was clearly a roid head.

"eer, hey man"

"hey bro you look real fit, are you training to get bigger?"

"yeah man, as big as I NATURALLY can" Connor made sure to pretty much shout naturally at the guy, he'd had too many roid heads try and sell him gear in the locker room before but never had one brave enough to try it out the front of the gym

"aw yeah man, nice nice, look I got a sample for you"

"sorry man, Im not into enhancements or roids or whatever"

"you got me all wrong bro, no roids, its free gym gear we are giving out some clothing samples and asking for feedback for payment"

Connor's face turned bright red with embarrassment, now he seemed like some entitled asshole who thought he was too good to even talk to anyone not natural.

"bro I'm so sorry, I just, normally when a guy like you asks me if I want a sample in the gym" Connor began to stumble over his words trying to back peddle realising he basically just called this guy a roidhead without proof

"a guy like me?"

"yeah, eerrrrr, ya know big and..."

The giant man began to laugh and slapped Connor on the back "I'm just fucking with you mate"

Connor let out a sigh of relief

"but hey mate, so you're all about the natural look yeah? but you also wanna be a massive tank?"

"yeah man, look I know I might be dreaming but I wanna be fucking huge, like you, I just don't wanna take any enhancements"

"I think I got something for you mate, here"

The giant handed Connor a small carboard box with the words "Big and Bulky" written in bold black letters and a gift card for $100 Food delivery service stapled to the top.

"Free of charge mate, put em on when you get home and I'm sure you'll be feelin like a freak in no time" The giant man winked.

Connor took the gift and continued to thank him multiple times trying to make up for the fool he'd made of himself just moments before. He got in his car and sank in his chair. He opened the box seeing a pair of briefs, he couldn't exactly try them on in his car, he thought it'd be better to just come back with some feedback tomorrow.

----------------

Connor stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, he began his normal flexing routine in his mirror but thoughts about being staying lean and small invaded his mind fairly quickly. He contemplated if staying natural was worth it if it meant he'll never get his dream body. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind Connor slipped on the briefs he was gifted earlier and......they felt like normal briefs. He couldn't work out how these were made special for athletes but at least he got a food gift card out of it.

Connor picked up his phone going to take a photo whilst he looked good in the light when suddenly a golden light began to shine off the waist band of the briefs. It was like sunlight was coming out of the fabric itself. He saw the letters B....I.....G slowly appear and he watched in the mirror as his body began to swell. His shoulders broadened, chest expanded with every breath, his arms began to swell up and soon his pecs and arms were competing for space. His thighs became tree trunks and he had to readjust his package so it didn't get crushed between them, even his feet began to grow outwards. Soon it all slowed down and all Connor could do was stare at himself in amazement.

Somehow, by literally magic he had swollen up into the size of his dreams. he couldn't help but start flexing and even licking his own bicep. A small noise, like a shop bell interrupted his self worship as a tiny slip of paper was ejected from the top of the box. Connor picked it up...

"Thank you for choosing Djinn.co transformative clothing, the transformative clothes you have chosen will permanently change your body, no need to workout to stay in shape never loose muscle keep the body of your dreams... NOTE: Your attendant for the day was Big Guy Bob he has added extra command words to your transformative clothing, we here at Djinn.co only print two command words on our clothing however your interaction with Bob had him convinced you deserved more"

Connor was amazed, surely this was a dream, there was no way he had stumbled into a pair of magic transforming clothes. As Connor was caught up in this thoughts light began to shine out of the other side of the waist band, the Connor felt his body start to get bigger. A part of him thought he should take the underwear off but he wanted to get bigger, he wanted to be a giant like the guy he met today. Another light began to shine from begin but Connor couldn't see. He flexxed in the mirror looking at the letters B...U....L....K....Y appear on the waist band. He flexed as hard as he could expecting to see his muscles to double in size again.

Connor's muscles became slightly large but nothing really changed. He dropped his arms to his side hearing his stomach make a slight gargling noise.

"awww, is that it, nothing even hap-"

*FWOOOMP

Connor almost fell forward as suddenly his six pack expanded into a loose gut. Hair quickly coated his entire body and he started sweating worse than he normally would at the gym.

"WHA...M...MY ABS...MY SIX PACK WHAT THE FUCK"

Connor rubbed his new tummy on the verge of tears.

"oh god...what the fuck do I do with this thing"

His stomach let out a loud hungry growl as if almost to respond to him.

He picked up his phone and used the gift card to order some food, as if on auto pilot he spent the entire $100 instantly and even dropped another $100 from his own bank account on food.

Connor just stood in the mirror staring at his new belly disgusted. He had all the muscle he had dreamed of but felt his gut, pecs and ass wobble as he flexed. Soon the doorbell rang and Connor went to go grab his bags of food.

Bringing the bags in from inside and placing them on his kitchen bench his hands instantly dove in grabbed a handful of fries out the box without even taking the box from the bag, without realising he had stuff half the box of fries in his mouth, salt fell from his lips into his new forest of chest hair and he simply wiped his salt covered hand on his brief whilst opening a bottle of off the shelf protein shake. He began chugging it down and could feel little bits slips from his lips and into his new beard. Connor picked up all the bags and moved to his couch.

Connor blinked awake as if from a trance, all around him were empty plasic bottles from protein shakes and soft drinks, multiple empty fry boxes littered the look around him and he noticed his chest hair was tangled with salt, some burger lettuce and dried protein shake, his briefs were also covered in stain from where he had wiped his hands. He slid his briefs off noticing 3 words painted on the ass he didn't notice appear. "SWEATY, HAIRY, SLOB". Connor rubbed his new gut and tossed the briefs to the side.

His stomach began to gurgle and it sounded like a water cooler. He watched as his loose gut started to become firm.

"oh...god...whats happeneing now"

each time Connor inhaled his stomach felt worse

"I....god what the fuck"

A small ding noise interrupted Conners panting and panicing as another small slip of paper magically was printed out of the top of a closed chip box. Conner leant forward and read it.

"Hey man, Big Guy Bob here, today you expressed wanting to become a natural tank, so I made sure you got a pair to turn you into an absolute unit but I know you were worried about people thinking you might be on roids, just look at today you were so quick to think I was on them, so I added some key words to not only turn you into a huge tank but to turn you into a huge slob, enjoy the size bro"

Connor groaned as he tossed the note to the ground.

"FUUUUUUUCKKK IM SO.......BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP"

the pain subsided and his stomach went soft again. Connor stared at his enormous body in the reflection of the black glass of his TV.

"mm...mmaybe i can cut?" Conner said aloud, completely unaware of the cupcake he was stuffing into his mouth as he spoke...

-----------------------------------

I hope everyone who wanted me to write a weight gain story is happy with this one, this is probably as far as Ill every go with this kinda stuff but yall voted on it and I was happy to write it.

[hypernova-writes]

*in sad orphaned Canadian child voice* please... please do the rest of the pregnancy reveals, I'd give you a Looney, but I am all out. 🥺

a/n: Of course you can have the rest~! also only reason pyro isn't on here is that I have a fic planned with them about adoption!

Mercs finding out their S/o is pregnant! Spy,Medic,Engineer,Heavy,Soldier

Spy

You already knew how Spy felt about kids. And normally you two were so so careful because of this. You knew that he was Scout's father and how he was absent from his life. And you desperately didn't want to lose the relationship you had with him.

So you hid it. Swore Medic that he wouldn't say a thing. But the doctor was concerned.

"Y/n. I know you do not vant to tell Zhe Spy..but it could be dangerous if you go out on that battle field, and respawn vhile vith child." "I can't let him figure out Medic. I have to make it seem like I am normal."

You began shying away from his touch, not allowing Spy to touch your stomach, you hid the medicines Medic gave you for morning Sickness, and went out on missions as little as possible.

To Spy, something was fishy from the beginning. He'd notice you frequenting Medic's office, changing the size of your clothes, not wearing the stuff he'd bought for you previously.

Then when you started shying away from his touch, he just assumed you were setting a new boundary at first. Until he saw that you allowed MEDIC of all people to touch your stomach.

So today, he invited you to his smoking room, he saw that you were hesitate to enter, so he puts out his cigarette. He turns to you, his mask was off as he walked up to you.

"Care to explain.." He shows you the ultrasound photos, and you felt your breath hitch. He walked over to you to caress your face.

"You rather put yourself in danger, zhan tell me zhat you are pregnant?" "Spy-" "Non. I am talking. Why would you do zhis?"

Spy says as he lowers his hand to caress your stomach. "You put our child in danger. You're to stop immediatly. anything you need, I will take care of. Zhis is our child."

"I..I was.."

"Afraid. and zhat is my fault. but. I do not want to possibly lose you both because Of how i used to feel."

Spy holds you, allowing you to finally relax in his arm.

"I will be a better dad. For our child. I will not repeat my mistakes.."

Medic

(This is a bold of you to assume that Medic doesnt ALREADY kno-)

"Oh mein schätzchen! something has come up as an anomaly in your system! I'm gonna run some tests!"

Medic knew EXACTLY what it was, but he wanted to make sure that was what it was before he got all giddy.

He walked over and gave you a kiss before collecting the sample from you.

Medic was a wonderful lover, he always made sure to take care of you. His aftercare was amazing and he would always make sure that you were alright.

He was also the type of person to track your ovulation cycle. Medic really wanted to have a kid (i head canon that he is really good with kids-). So he tracked it so he would know when the perfect time to get you pregnant.

"Ah! My My I vas correct!"

He returns to your side and grabs your hand. "Ve're going to be expecting! You are pregnant!"

You kinda had a feeling, because of the morning sickness, but the giddy and happy expression on Medic face as he started to ramble off about baby things and eveything he needed to get ready and how he needed Heavy's helping building a crib was adorable to you.

"You seem more happier than I am baby.." "I Just might be! I've always vanted to be a Vater!"

Engineer.

This man RADIATES father energy. He'd already like the dad of the group (alongside heavy).

The two of you weren't trying to have a kid, but Engineer surely wasn't wrapping it before he tapped that sweet ass of yours. So when you fell pregnant, you were excited.

You would make your way to his workshop, ultrasound photo in hand as you skipped up to him. "Dell babykins!"

Engineer turns you with a smile on his face. "Howdy love of my life~. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You smile as you bring him away from his desk, and making him sit on the edge of the bed as you begin handing him things.

First you hand him a mug that says #1 Dad on it. Then you hand him a cute baby tool set you had found made all out of squishy toys, this makes him chuckle.

"Awe thanks sugarpie-" "That isn't all!" "Now what in tarnation do you have there"

You hand him the envelope and watch as he opens it while mumbles somethings to himself.

"Now sugarplum what is th-" He cuts himself off as he sees the picture, he tilts his head before he covers his mouth with his hand.

The two of you stand in silence for a bit before Engineer feels the tears start to run down his cheeks.

"Y-you're..W-we're..?"

You nod, making him him pull you into a hug, he rocks you back and forth pressing kisses all over your face.

You could tell he was excited, no more words needed to be spoken between the two of you.

Heavy

(Think of this as a continuation from his kinktober-)

Heavy noticed a change in your routine ever so slightly

At first it started with you stopping drinking after matches, it peeked his interests because usually you'd share a drink with them after a battle well done.

He could understand that, he barely drank as it is, so when you stopped he respected your wishes.

Then he would see that you stopped eating certain things, staying away from seafood in particular, usually you were first in line whenever they decided to get together and make a seafood boil or bake/fry fish. You were turn it down, sometimes the smell alone got you nauseous.

Now when you stopped fighting? Oh Heavy was worried now. So he took you to Medic.

"DOKTOR! SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH WIFE!"

Medic runs tests on you, and asks you simple questions before turning to Heavy.

"Vell..Congratulations! your vife is pregnant!"

Cue Heavy wanting to SMACK himself for not realizing the signs. He helped his mother around when she was pregnant with his sisters, so he was surprised he didn't realize that's what was wrong with you.

"I..should've known forgive me.."

You give him plenty of kisses and just ask for him to give you a massage.

Soldier

You would have to break it down for Soldier.

Because while he does understand that women can have children, and that you could possible bear his child. But his understanding stops there. Like he's not that stupid, it's just he just doesn't understand womans anatomy completely.

"Solly, Look!" You decide to sit him down on his bed, showing him a picture of an ultra sound that you'd gotten done.

"AND WHAT IS THIS A PICTURE OF?" "A baby Solly! Our baby!"

Soldier tilts his head, "OURS?" Soldier takes the photo and holds it close to his face. "BUT IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE OURS"

"That's because he's only a few months Solly, soon when he's born, he'll have our features."

"HE?" "Mhm. We're having a son!"

That'll make him excited.

He'll pick you up and twirl you around, kissing your cheek. He'll put you down and quickly ran out of the room.

"I AM GOING TO BE A FATHER!!!"

Pyro isn't in here because i have a seperate fanfic!!

[alexanderwales]

There was a recent study about how LLM usage decays brain function in some way, and while there are methodological flaws and small sample size, it's one of those studies where I think to myself "well, that seems obviously true".

That is to say, the brain is a muscle, and you need to use it in order to keep it honed. Or rather, the brain is neural net, and it's going to get better at the things that you train it to do, and connections will naturally atrophy for things that you're not training it on.

You can imagine someone who does a crossword every day, and someone who stops doing crosswords and instead goes to look up all the answers and fill in the crossword that way, and ... yes, obviously the person who is actually doing the crosswords is going to have better skills after a month? Obviously the person filling in the answers is going to get good at searching for the answers and filling them in?

And if you don't actually care about being good at crosswords, if you just want to fill in the crossword as quickly as possible, then maybe you don't actually give a shit about whether this skill is being honed or is degrading.

But you should think about whether you care about the skill, about what's happening to the brain.

I also tend to think of a lot of things in terms of skills, to think of the brain as this training system that needs deliberate care and attention if it's to be kept on track. So I do try to practice what I preach, and be very careful what it is I'm using the LLMs for, if anything: if the use case is an area where I'm genuinely okay with losing a skillset in exchange for having work done faster and worse.

[shadow211e]

Your girlfriend was at home, there was a knock it was the delivery guy dropping off a package. It was addressed to her but she didn't order anything. She took it upstairs to her room. Opening the brown box she found a beautiful red box inside. The outside of the box said "Evie-Corp". She had never heard of them before, but she opened the red box and saw this very beautiful set of lingerie. Pulling out the light blue pieces she wondered who would have sent it to her. Her boyfriend was a nice guy but this looked so expensive. She rubbed her fingers over it and started to feel excited. She never would have thought about wearing anything like this but now having it in her hands, why not try it on. It looked like it wasn't her size, that she wouldn't be able to fit enough into it to make it look good but what the hell right. Her folks weren't home and she was going to see you later. As she was starting to strip out of her clothes she noticed a card. "From Evie-Corp, Enjoy one of our many products designed to make you a new better you, find us online in the coming months to add to your collection of wonderful Evie-Corp products." She laughed it was a free sample. She started to put the top on, it fit into place but clearly it was designed for a girl who was more endowed then she was. Then she started to wiggle up the panties, as she got them into place she felt tingles spreading over her body. She gasped thinking something was wrong but her hips popped out slightly and she could feel her ass bubble. Her breasts were the more noticeable thing, she stared as they started growing, shaping themselves into perfect round orbs. Her hair started to become more smooth and changed colors, she gasped as her face started to take on the appearance of all those alpha girls at school. Her lips puffed up slightly and her eyes took on a predatory bitchy look that freaked her out. She had just watched herself go from a plain jane kind of girl into one of the hottest girls in school. She had to call someone, this company clearly .... she paused, the card said a better you, they didn't really lie, she had witnessed herself becoming a better her. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing. She wasn't noticing the subtle changes to her mind as she was admiring herself in the mirror. Her new big tits just hung there, she could picture walking around having guys stare at her lustfully, she had been jealous of girls like this her whole life but now she was one of them, no better than them, she was the hottest girl now. She took a deep breath, feeling that bitchy attitude taking her over, it was euphoric, never did she even consider taking off the set, now she had to let it finish, she wanted this didn't she? Looking so hot she was lost in the mirror, staring at herself, admiring how perfect she was now. She licked her lips, posing, seeing all her seductive curves. She missed 3 calls from her boyfriend, and when she finally saw her phone she rolled her eyes, the love for him was replaced by contempt, he wasn't worth her time, not anymore. She cleared the notification from the screen, just to hear her brother coming home. She heard another voice, her brother's best friend, a boy who was a major douche in her mind, or he was, now thinking about him, he was hot, built and played on the football team. Sure he bullied her boyfriend but really that loser had it coming. Now she thought something even more wicked, why not keep her boyfriend for now, string him along to get homework done for her, and have his bully too. It wouldn't take much, he would fall to her charms in a heartbeat, she knew that, she felt it in her core. She just needed the right time, and it came soon enough, he was going to use the bathroom, which meant walking by her room again. She waited until he was coming out to go back to the bedroom, she stood in her door. The minute he saw her he was hooked, she curled her finger, stepping back into her room, he followed, he was hers. He was the first step in her becoming the queen bee.

[natsvenom]

Angel

Jason DiLaurentis x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You’ve spent the past few days being distant with your boyfriend, Jason, after you and the liars are go to a coffee shop in town and run into his ex-girlfriend Cece Drake.

WARNINGS! Age gap, slight angst, alcohol ingestion, reader has an eating disorder (anorexia), body shaming, etc.

You and the liars walk into the Apple Rose Grill. Everything was stressful, per usual. Garrett had been let off the hook for murder and now Wilden was trying to make Hanna look guilty. There was currently a court order out for them to take a sample for Hanna’s blood. That would’ve been fine, knowing Hanna isn’t guilty. Except A has a way of making an innocent person a guilty one.

“Take it from me, you’re always better off with a really good lie.” A feminie voice said from behind you guys. You physically felt your heart stop in your chest. The voice was insanely similar to Alison’s.

“Is it just me or did that sound a lot like…” Emily mumbled. Younturned around to see a blonde girl standing at the register. There was no way that could be her, right?

“…Alison.” You guys said in unison.

The girl turned around with a smile on her face, but it quickly faded as she saw you guys staring at her like she was ancient relic, “Something wrong?” She asked.

“Oh, no, sorry.” Aria apologized, “You just sound a lot like one of our friends.”

“Hope she’s brilliant.” The girl said, “What’s her name?”

“Alison DiLaurentis.” You told her, staring at her like she was a lost dog.

She looked at you guys in realization, “You were friends of Ali’s.” She says, “Me too, I’m Cece.” You had heard that name before, you just weren’t exactly sure where from.

“Spencer.” Spencer spoke, greeting herself.

“Melissa Hastings little sister.” Cece noted, “Ali talked about you. She talked about all of you. A lot.”

“How do you know Ali?” You dared to ask.

“Before I moved to L.A our families rented summer homes in Cape May. We went through an intense couple weeks together. I dated her brother, Jason. She never mentioned me to you guys?” Cece explained. You suddenly felt tense hearing the mention of Jason. You could only imagine what she meant by an intense couple of weeks. But there was no need for you to be jealous, right? Jason was with you not her. But in the moment you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly gorgeous Cece Drake was. She had beatiful blonde hair, blue eyes, easily a size 4, and not to mention her confident outgoing personality. She was everything you weren’t.

For some reason this realization made you sick to your stomach. She looked perfectly healthy, while the reason you had looked the way you did was from practically making yourself sick. Almost your whole life you had been worried about your appearance; making sure you never ate more than 1000 calories a day, over exerrting yourself, and excercising till you felt your body break down.

You knew you were destroying yourself, but you wanted to be pretty. You wanted to be like the girls at your school who all the boys fawned over. You wanted to be the girl who was always picked first for group projects. You wanted to be the girl who wasn’t afraid to wear a crop top in public. You wanted to be like Alison, beautiful and destructive.

Alison had told you something that’s always stuck with you, “You’re pretty, but sweetie you need to drop a few pounds.” When she was alive you easily weighed 130 pounds. By the time your family moved back to Rosewood, you weighed 100, and now you weigh 110. everyone had noticed the dramtic changes over the years. Your family had done nothing but worry about you, the boys at school would whistle at you and make inappropriate remarks, Hanna was someone who you could relate to, and Jason was someone you could rely on.

Before you guys started dating, he found out about your eating disorder. At the time you and the other liars were still questioning if he was A, but after he had helped you get better you never once thought about him being A again, and dismissed the girls when every they tried to convince you he was just being friendly to get information. Luckily, things were different now.

You wondered why Jason had never brought up Cece Drake before. You silently wondered if there was any part of him that still thought about her. I mean she’s gorgeous, who wouldn’t be thinking about her.

You had been zoned out for so long you hadn’t even been paying attention to their conversation until you saw her about to leave, but she stopped in her tracks, “Do any of you girls know if Jason is seeing anyone? I hear he looks really good now-a-days.” Cece asked.

The rest of the girls looked at you subtly before turning back to Cece, “No clue.” Spencer said quickly, shrugging her shoulders. Cece nodded her head.

“Well if you see him tell him I say hi.” She said in flirtatious tone, making your skin crawl.

It had been two days since you last spoke to Jason. You spent the last couple of days worrying about your body, spiraling back into that same old self concious loop you had been so familiar with. He was starting to get worried about you. He had absolutely no idea what was going on with you.

You sigh, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car. You know you shouldn’t do this, but you really needed something to take your mind off Cece Drake.

Jason sighed as he sat down on the front porch of his house. He had absolutely no explanation for what was goingon and it was driving him crazy. He turned his head when he heard footsteps walking up to him. He had hoped it would be you, but was met with slight disappointment when he saw someone else.

“Hey.” Spencer greeted softly, walking up the porch to sit by her brother. He simply nodded at her, looking down at the cement floor, which suddenly became very interesting.

“I met Cece Drake this morning.” Spencer revealed. Jason looked up, a confused expression on his face. He hadn’t heard that name in so long, nor thought of it. Spencer could see the gears turning in his head.

“What?” She questioned.

“Was y/n with you?” He asked, looking at her desperately for answers.

“Yeah, why?” It suddenly clicked in his head what was going on with you. You weren’t ignoring him because you were mad at him. You were ignoring him because of something she had said.

You sat on a hard red stool at the bar, thanking Alison internally for getting you a fake id. All you had to do was flash it to the bartender and he came back with exactly what you thought you needed. Alcohol.

You had only drank a little bit, but you were already starting to feel tipsy. You were clearly a light weight, and almost everyone knew it.

“What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing here all alone?” A masculine voice asked from beside you. You turned your head to see a man sitting next to you, a glass of something that was defintely stronger than what you were drinking.

“I’m wondering the same thing myself.” You heard another voice say from behind you. You didn’t have to think twice about it to know who it was. You spun yourself around in the stool and were met with his warm green eyes. You groaned dramatically, pushing youself off the stool. You forgot that the stool was hightened, and practically fell right into Jason’s arms.

His arms wrapped around you quickly, pulling you back up straight. Well, straight as you could get in that moment, “I’m taking you home.” He said strictly, making you giggle. It wasn’t really funny, but right now everything seemed comical to you. You pushed past him walking out of the bar. You felt the cold night air hit your face. It felt good at first, but then it made you feel sick. You threw up into the bushes right outside the bar, right before warm hands pulled your hair back for you.

“I don’t feel good.” You mumbled, wiping your mouth off.

“Mm, I wonder why.” Jason quipped, rubbing your back as an attempt to soothe you. You groaned, shoving your head into his chest. He put one of his hands in your hair, rubbing your head comfortably.

“You smell good.” You mumbled into his chest, making let out a breathy laugh, “Can we make out now?” You asked, pulling him down by his jacket. He kissed the top of your head.

“Not right now pretty girl.” He said softly. You groaned, the annoyance making you roll your eyes. You pushed away from him, walking through the parking lot, Jason following closely behind you.

You stopped in the middle of the parking lot, looking at a group of trees intensly, “Hey, who put those there?” You wondered, observing the trees like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Jason came up behind you, shrugging his jacket off and putting it over your shoulders. He didn’t say anything, knowing that explaining the process of the life cycle of a tree to a drunk person would just end up with and endless amount of stupid questions.

“I think you should take a nap and then google it in the morning.” He said, intertwining his hand with yours as he walked you to the car, opening the door for you and helping you get in. The car ride home was relatively quite, but it wasn’t uncomfortable silence, it was nice.

When you got to the DiLaurentis house, Jason’s hands stayed on your waist as he guided you up the stairs. You plopped down on his bed as he pulled something out of his closet for you to wear. He helped you unzip your little black dress and pulled his hoodie over your head. You yawned as you threw yourself back onto his bed. He sat down next you, pulling the covers over you and placing a gentle kiss on your head.

“She’s pretty.” You mumbled into the cold pillow, grasping it in your hands. Jason sighed, knowing this conversation would end up happening one way or another.

“Whose the girl that I let sleep in my bed everyday and steal every single clothing item I own?” He teased, making you smile into the pillow. You knew he was right.

“But—”

“But nothing. I love you, and only you.” He assured, pulling you into him as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You cuddled into his chest, grasping his shirt in your hands.

“I love you too, Jase.” You yawned.

“I know angel.”

[imsojules]

After the tide turns – Part 2

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tw: Outbreak violence, swearing, blood, military control, medical testing, inspired by the last of us, established relationship, not fully proof-read, english is not my first language!

a/n: Hi all, I'm trying to speed up the uploads for the next parts!! bear with me, hope you enjoy this one, and as always, feedback is my fuel!♥ 🫂 sorry for any mistakes this was written at 1am

taglist: @chuuuchuuutrain, @d3adfa1ry, @maddsgrace, @darkparablesfan

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | previous | next |

They shove JJ through the tent flap like he’s livestock.

He stumbles forward, jaw tight, hands raised halfway—half threat, half surrender.

“Yo—hands off, alright?” JJ snaps, ripping his arm back. “I’m walking. I got legs.”

The soldier doesn’t even blink. Just gestures him forward with the muzzle of his rifle.

JJ steps inside, breathing hard. The air hits him like a gut punch—stale bleach and copper, like a hospital and a slaughterhouse had a baby. A plastic chair faces a folding table where some exhausted looking guy in scrubs rubs his face like he’d rather be anywhere else. JJ sizes him up immediately, definitely not military. Probably a volunteer. Or a hostage, it’s hard to tell.

“Sit,” the guy mutters without looking.

JJ exhales through his nose, jaw tight. His pulse is a hammer in his ears. He hates all of this. Being separated, feeling caged. “Don’t love the whole secret-experiment vibes you got going here.”

The medic just gestures at the chair. JJ huffs and finally sits, bouncing his knee like he’s got a bomb under his skin.

“Any symptoms?” the guy asks, reaching for a scanner.

“No,” JJ snaps. “Unless being pissed off counts.”

“Any injuries?”

“Just from running for my life,” JJ says. “And I’m not the one biting people, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

The scanner beeps over his arm. Clear. The medic doesn’t react. Just scribbles on a clipboard like this is all a Tuesday.

JJ catches sight of the blood still crusted on his sleeve from earlier—yours, maybe. Maybe his. Doesn’t matter. The guy’s eyes flick to it.

“That’s not mine,” JJ says quickly, voice dropping a notch. “Or, like—it is. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t ask,” the medic mutters, pulling out a needle.

JJ jerks his arm away. “That’s not happening.”

“It’s a blood test.”

“That’s how the guy dies first.”

The medic rolls his eyes. “You want into the safe zone, I need a sample.”

JJ stares him down. You want into the safe zone, like it’s a goddamn hotel check-in. He swears under his breath and sticks out his arm.

“Better be a small needle,” he mutters. “I’m delicate.”

The guy draws the blood, no apology, no words. JJ watches it leave him—dark, thick. Like it means something. The medic labels it. JJ catches a half-smudged FEMA logo on the label. Doesn’t feel real.

The guy turns to a beat-up laptop and starts typing.

JJ’s leg bounces again. “So what, you get my blood, and then what? Put me in a box?”

“If you’re clean, you’re processed into long-term QZ,” the medic says.

JJ eyes the tent flap behind him. Two guards. No way out unless he wants a bullet in the back. He leans back in the chair, tension simmering just under his skin.

The tent flap rustles. A soldier pokes his head in. “He cleared?”

The medic nods. “Yeah. Temporary zone C, until results are verified.”

“Move,” the soldier says.

JJ swears under his breath, then lets the soldier shove him toward the exit.

Outside, the air’s just as stale, just as suffocating. Rows of tents. Military patrols. Screaming in the distance. Somewhere, a baby’s crying.

And he can’t see you or the others.

They walk him to a chain-link gate, buzz it open, and shove him into a makeshift compound—plastic walls, cots, people wrapped in blankets like ghosts. JJ turns in a slow circle, scanning faces, heart pounding.

You’re not here. Not yet.

He sinks onto an empty cot, elbows on knees, fingers curled into his hair.

If you don’t come back out, he feels like he will burn the place down.

— 

The cot feels like punishment. Cold, thin, barely held together with rusted welds and fraying fabric. JJ doesn’t really lie down on it—he just hovers near it, pacing the small stretch of space between it and the back wall like a caged animal. The sweat on his skin mingles with the dust in the air, making him feel grimy, heavier than he should be.

He used to be good at this. Cold under pressure. Quick and calculated.

His fists ache from clenching. His jaw has been tight for so long it’s starting to throb. Every breath tastes like bleach and stale sweat and fear. Tents flap in the stale wind. He scratches his fingers absently against the calluses on his palm, trying to ground himself. It doesn’t help.

And still, not a damn sign of you.

He’s seen too many people dragged out of processing already—some crying, some silent, one screaming so loud it sounds inhuman. The guards never flinch. They just shove them out through another gate. Everyone knows what that means. That’s where the infected wander. Where no one comes back from.

His foot taps the ground in a relentless rhythm. He tries to convince himself you’re fine. That you'll be walking in any second, complaining about the guards or demanding food or cursing the government.

But the longer the silence stretches, the more that hope slips through his fingers.

“JJ?”

He turns sharply, heartbeat jerking like it misses a step.

John B stands at the entrance of the tent, framed by harsh daylight. His face pale and thin, like someone has carved the boy he knew down to the bone. But it’s him. Alive. Breathing. Behind him is Pope, clutching a clipboard so tight it looks like his fingers might snap.

JJ doesn’t say anything. He just moves. Fast.

He reaches them in three strides and crashes into John B like the ground has vanished beneath him. They lock arms tight, clumsy and desperate. JJ lets his chin rest against his shoulder for just a second before pulling back like nothing happened.

“You made it,” Pope says, voice thick and rough like it hasn’t been used in hours.

JJ steps back, blinking hard, eyes flicking between them. “I made it?” he snaps. “Where the hell were you?”

John B runs a hand through his tangled hair. “They split us up at the gate. Didn’t even know Pope was in this zone until I saw him this morning.”

JJ’s gaze shoots over their shoulders. “And where’s—?”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. His body already knows you’re not with them.

John B’s face darkens slightly. “They said you passed the blood test. You’re being moved into the main zone.”

“And her?” JJ asks, voice lower now. Harsher. “She behind me?”

Pope shifts awkwardly, glancing toward the guards stationed outside. “Could be. They were doing different groups in shifts.”

JJ doesn’t respond. He doesn’t blink. He just stares at the tent flap like if he focuses hard enough, it will part and reveal you standing there.

Then—more movement.

The flap rustles again, and someone steps through, but it isn’t you.

“Holy shit,” Pope breathes. “Kiara?”

She looks tired, her clothes rumpled. Her left arm is pinned in a makeshift sling, and there’s a streak of dirt down one side of her face. But her eyes are sharp and alert. Locked on them.

JJ freezes for half a second before stepping forward, grabbing her in a quick hug that surprises even him. She leans in, squeezing him back, her good arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“Where were you?” he asks, pulling back to look her in the face.

“I came in with my family,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “We got separated during the first checkpoint, but they let us through. They took us into another sector. I only found out you guys were here a couple of hours ago.”

“Did you see Y/N?” JJ asks again. This time his voice cracks just slightly at the end.

Kiara shakes her head. “No, I haven’t seen her.”

JJ barely hears the rest of whatever she says.

And now, standing here in the choking air of the QZ tent, heart pounding so hard it makes his ribs hurt, he catches it, just a flicker of a voice from the other side of the canvas wall. Two guards talking in that too-casual, too-tired way people speak when they’ve stopped caring.

“Girl in blue? Flinched during blood draw.”

“She panic?”

“Full freak out. Wouldn’t calm down.”

“They send her out?”

“East gate.”

JJ goes still.

The world tilts beneath him, as if the ground itself is giving way.

Blue hoodie.

You have his blue hoodie on.

The cold that floods his chest is instant and paralyzing, like drowning in ice water. His hands clench before his brain can catch up.

You panicked. You don’t do well with blood, with being alone. He knows that.

He sees it all—your face twisted in fear, guards grabbing your arms, dragging you down the same path that man took earlier. The East Gate. No second chances. No warnings. Just protocol.

“Fuck!” JJ shouts, voice raw.

The entire tent jolts. John B reaches for him.

“JJ, don’t—”

But JJ is already moving, barreling toward the flap. A soldier steps in his way, rifle half-raised.

“Back off!” the man barks.

“JJ, stop,” John B yells, grabbing his arm. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

JJ’s breathing is ragged, wild, shoulders hunched like a dog backed into a corner. His entire body buzzes with adrenaline, too much grief, too much dread. His pulse thunders in his throat, his vision threatening to tunnel.

And just as the sun hits its highest point, there’s a new movement at the tent.

Boots.

A familiar voice arguing with a guard. JJ’s head snaps up like he’s been electrocuted.

You step inside, face dirty, a scratch on your cheek, but alive.

He crosses the tent in three long strides and collides into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. His arms slam around your waist and lock there, unyielding. He clutches you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second. His face drops into the crook of your neck, breath hitting skin in ragged bursts.

“You’re late,” he mumbles, voice breaking on the second word.

You wrap your arms around him just as tightly. “Got held up. You know how it is.”

You blink up at him. There’s a tremble in your lip.

“I thought they were gonna shoot me.”

He doesn’t say anything, not out loud. But something shudders through him.

Because so did he.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hands trembling now too. And then he pulls you back into him like he could press your chest to his, heart to heart, like maybe if he holds you close enough he can feel yours beating and believe it’s real.

They don’t take long to process you once you're cleared, moving quickly. One of the soldiers gestures for you to follow, giving no room for hesitation, no time to second guess. JJ's steps are tight with contained anger, but he keeps quiet, leaning into your presence like a tether to sanity. The others follow behind, still on edge, but trying to stay calm in the face of what’s about to come.

The QZ feels like a ghost town in the middle of a warzone.

The transition from the tent compound into the main section of the quarantine zone is jarring. The first thing that hits you is the smell. Everything smells faintly of chemicals, of cleaning, of too many bodies crammed into too little space for too long. The atmosphere here is oppressive, like the air itself has grown thick with fear. Every step you take feels heavier, the ground beneath you a reminder of how close the world has come to falling apart.

The buildings are small, makeshift things. There’s a high fence, a double-layered security perimeter reinforced with guards patrolling every other corner.

“Welcome to the safe zone,” the soldier mutters, the sarcasm in his voice too sharp to miss.

You glance around, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on you. Everything looks… bleak. The people walking around seem hollow. They move in the same way—tired, resigned, shuffling from one task to the next. Some glance at you as you pass, their eyes flicking away quickly, like they're afraid to make any kind of eye contact. Others are too busy with their own misery to care about the new arrivals. The place feels more like a containment zone than a home.

Your eyes dart from face to face, hoping for a glimpse of some kind of familiarity. The others are behind you, but it's hard to spot anyone in this mess of bodies. Everyone seems to be blending into the concrete and steel of the zone.

The soldier leads you further into the QZ, past checkpoints, overgrown gardens where the wild tang of mold and decay mixes with the remnants of once-tidy parks. Now, they’re barely maintained, full of weeds and stray scraps of plastic and broken concrete. Every corner feels like it’s been abandoned by hope.

Finally, you reach a section that looks slightly different, more organized, more like a camp meant for people who’ve been living here for a while. You see a few tents lined up, with families gathered around small fires. A few makeshift stalls are set up in the corners where people trade what little they have: cans of food, medical supplies, sometimes even old clothes or weapons.

“You’ll be placed here for now, temporary quarters. No fighting, no wandering, no complaints. You wait here until relocation,” the soldier says, motioning to a row of cots in a dimly lit tent. He doesn’t even give you the chance to settle in before he’s walking away, leaving you in the middle of the chaos.

As soon as he’s gone, you let out a breath, your legs weak from the tension of the last few hours. JJ leans against a post, eyeing the area, keeping his guard up.

"Well," he says, turning to you, "this is... something."

You feel a bitter laugh bubble up in your throat but can’t bring yourself to let it out. "Yeah. Home sweet home."

— 

The hours stretch. Time doesn't pass here—it drips.

Eventually, the five of you gather near the center of the tent, hunched in a loose circle around a salvaged heating coil someone managed to barter for. It glows weak orange, barely warm, but it’s something. You sit close together, knees brushing, eyes tired, backs curved like the weight of everything is finally sinking in.

No one speaks at first.

Pope chews on the cap of a pen, notebook open in his lap but blank. John B picks at a loose thread on his sleeve like he’s unraveling more than fabric. JJ watches the entrance. Always watching. He doesn’t trust this place. Not the fences, not the soldiers, everything feels like a trap with better branding. Like a cage they put flowers on.

Kiara sits cross-legged with her sling resting across her lap. She’s the one who breaks the silence.

“I should head back soon,” she says, voice low. “My family’s in sector six. They’ve probably already noticed I slipped out. Thought you were dead.”

 “You too,” Pope mutters. “It’s been a day.”

Kiara manages a tired smile. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow if I can. But I need to check in with them. My mom’s probably freaking out.”

You reach over, rest a hand on her knee. “I’m glad you all made it in.”

“Me too.”

JJ glances at her. “Let us know if anything changes. If they move you.”

Kiara nods. “I will.”

She gets to her feet carefully, adjusting her sling. Then she crouches down and pulls you into a one-armed hug. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she mumbles.

“No promises,” you say.

She squeezes Pope’s arm on the way out, then locks eyes with John B. “Take care of them.”

He just nods, jaw tight.

And with that she’s gone.

The tent feels different without her, like it just lost one of its walls.

You and the boys sit in silence for a while after. Listening to the low hum of voices outside, the shuffle of boots, the tired murmur of this strange, broken camp.

JJ shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours. He doesn’t say anything. Just stays there.

Eventually, Pope lies down on his cot, notebook on his chest. John B stretches out beside the heater, hoodie pulled over his eyes.

You don’t move yet. You just sit, letting the weight of the night settle in. Letting JJ’s presence beside you be enough, for now.

Later that night, it’s just the two of you still awake.

The others are out cold—John B half-snoring in the corner, Pope curled around his notebook like it might protect him. The tent is quiet except for the hum of a floodlight outside and the distant, unplaceable sound of someone yelling. Or maybe it’s laughing. You can’t tell anymore.

JJ sits beside you on the cot, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. His head leans back against the tent wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

You glance at him. “You ever gonna sleep?”

He shrugs. “Not really my style.”

You nudge his foot. “Not sleeping isn’t a personality trait.”

“Tell that to insomnia. She’s my girl now.”

You snort under your breath. “Figures. You always go for the toxic ones.”

JJ finally turns his head, slow and tired and fond. “And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”

You pretend to be offended. “I didn’t follow you.”

“Oh, okay. So you just happened to run into me with a knife and a death wish while the world was ending?”

“I had a plan,” you lie.

“Yeah?” he glances at you. “Did that plan involve stabbing a guy in the neck with a kitchen knife?”

You pause. “It involved surviving. Stabbing was a bonus.”

JJ chuckles, but it dies too fast. He looks down at his hands. They’re scraped. Still dirty.

He goes quiet for a beat.

You want to say something comforting, but everything in you is tired and scraped raw. So you just lean over, rest your shoulder against his.

“You’re going to stuck with me like it or not” you murmur.

JJ tilts his head until it rests lightly against yours.

“You better be,” he says. “I’m not stable enough to be your tragic backstory.”

You huff out a laugh. “Please. You already are.”

JJ lets out a breath. “Touché.”

A long silence stretches. Not bad. Just… full.

“Hey,” he says eventually. “If I have anxiety spiral at three a.m., you gonna be up for it?”

“Sure. As long as you promise to return the favor when I inevitably lose it over canned ravioli or something.”

JJ bumps his shoulder into yours. “Deal.”

[five-rivers]

Dreams of Time 2

[Written with prompts from @ventisettestars and @bubblegumbeech!]

Danny might have been reckless, but he wasn’t actively suicidal.  Or passively suicidal.  Or suicidal at all, actually.  He liked being alive.  Just as a general thing.  Not that he hated being dead.  A ghost.  He meant he didn’t hate being a ghost.  Which… was a type of being dead.  

Existing.  He didn’t hate existing.  He liked existing.  

Yeah.

He might be dumb, too.  

The point was, he knew Nocturn could overpower him.  Especially now that he’d overpowered him once, and stuck that thing in his throat.  Luckily, he was used to playing along when in a room with an enemy and someone clueless.  Vlad was good for that, at least.  He rubbed his neck and grimaced at the stickiness under his fingers.  

“Are you feeling alright, Daniel?” asked Clockwork, turning from his work.  While he wasn’t looking, the spring in his tweezers turned into a miniature cherry branch with blooming flowers.  Danny’s attention was pulled away when Clockwork touched his forehead.  “Hmm.”

Danny would have liked to tell Clockwork exactly what was bothering him, but heavy midnight black ooze drooled from between his lips instead.  Clockwork didn’t seem to notice.  

“Would you like to lie down?” asked Clockwork.  “If you are feeling unwell, you can always rest in your room.”

Danny shook his head and eyed Nocturn apprehensively.  “No, I’m fine.”

“Truly, there is no point in lying,” said Nocturn.

“Now, now,” said Clockwork, twisting to pat Nocturn on the arm.  “There is no need to make accusations.  You may always change your mind, Daniel.”

Clockwork picked the tweezers back up.  “Ah, this happens sometimes,” he said, indicating the cherry branch.  Then, he went back to describing the mechanisms of the clock he was assembling.  None of them made sense, but Danny wasn’t sure if that was because they were inherently nonsensical, due to being in a dream, or because Danny wasn’t paying close enough attention, due to Nocturn looming over them.  

Okay.  So.  Shocking Clockwork.  With Nocturne there.  Okay.  Danny could do this.  

What would be shocking?

For him, the first time he’d encountered Nocturn, it was Sam kissing him (which shouldn’t have been that shocking, they’d done a lot of fake-out make-outs), for Sam, it was ‘Dash Phantom,’ for Tucker, it was just…  Danny showing up… Which was kind of mean…  And, for Jazz, it was being married to Dash.  

Lots of relationship drama type stuff.  Not that four people was a big enough sample size to be statistically relevant.  

(Hey, Danny paid attention in science!  That’s where he learned about space!)

So, Danny should probably try to generate some relationship drama.  His eyes slid over to Nocturn.  Nocturn gave him a thin, dangerous, smile.  

Danny pulled his lips back in a sort of instinctive half-snarl.  More goo leaked out past his teeth.  

Maybe– Maybe Danny should kiss them.  That would startle Clockwork, right?  And show Nocturn exactly how gross their weird dream goo was.  

And then Nocturn would kill him.  

(Plus, Nocturn was, like, a million years old.  Kissing him, even for shock value was just–  Yeah.)

Danny looked away.  Clockwork absently patted his knee, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.  That was going to be hard to get used to.  

So, relationship drama between Clockwork and Nocturn was…  Not out, exactly, but shelved for the moment.  Until he failed to come up with a better idea.  

What else?  Well, if Clockwork thought Danny was his kid in this dream, maybe he could run away from home?  Except Nocturn was very capable of dragging him back, or making a fake dream-Danny.  Well, it’d be safer to try.  He’d put that on his list.  

Faking a seizure or something?  Clockwork would be able to see through that, though, wouldn’t he?  Maybe if Danny added in some judicious use of powers, like duplication–

Duplication.  Would the thing in his throat duplicate?  It wasn’t part of him, but then, neither were his clothes– Or were they?  His suit warped with him, healed, dissolved if it was separated from him for too long…

“Daniel?”  Clockwork was checking his temperature again, and this was absolutely not the right time to have an existential crisis.  On any subject.  

He bit his lower lip, and then wrenched at his core to duplicate.  

Duplication was a difficult power even in ideal circumstances.  Danny’s present circumstances were far from ideal.  He was dream-hopping, and there was a foreign ghostly presence (however weak) lodged in his throat.  

He encountered the problems caused by the compressed sleepwalker first.  While he was separating, peeling apart from himself, it wasn’t, and when he started to slide away from himself, particle moving from particle, it caught.  The effect was like his throat being grabbed, twice over, but he had experience with that, so he pulled. 

Which is when he encountered the next problem.  

In the real world, the waking world, duplication was somewhere between mitosis and intangibly splitting himself.  Which wasn’t an explanation that satisfied Sam, Jazz, or even Tucker, but Danny didn’t have a better one.  Especially since he was probably doing it wrong in the first place.  

But this wasn’t the real world.  This was inside Clockwork's dream, inside his mind, inside his body.  So instead of stepping away from each other and into clear air, the duplicates stepped back into the net-maze of Clockwork's will.  

Danny was slammed back into his body, his throat aching as if he'd been screaming for hours.  His fingers felt numb.  He had also fallen off the stool. 

Huh.  He didn't have to fake a seizure after all.  He could just have one.  

A blurry mass of purple and blue entered his vision.  “You are back with us,” said Clockwork.  “How do you feel?”

“Bad,” said Danny.

“Do you know who you are?”

“Danny.”  

“Do you know where you are?”

Briefly, Danny hoped that the reason he was on the floor was that he'd managed to wake Clockwork up, but, no, there was Nocturn.  Smug bastard.  

“Workshop,” said Danny, when it became clear he wouldn't be able to say anything at all unless he lied.  He tried to sit up, not wanting to lay in the puddle of goo he had produced. 

Clockwork pushed him back down.  “Wait.  Are you injured?”

“I– No.” 

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “I’m fine.  Really.”

Clockwork frowned.  “Nocturne, love, will you watch him for a moment?  I will fetch his medicine.”

Nocturn hummed.  “Of course,” they said.  

“Thank you,” said Clockwork.  He leaned close to Danny again and pressed another kiss to his forehead.  “I know this is difficult, but it will be alright.”

Danny didn’t want to be left alone with Nocturn, but he wasn’t able to say that, because Nocturn was a jerk.  

“That was quite a performance,” said Nocturn.  “Very dramatic.”

Danny scowled and rolled over to push himself to his knees.  “It wasn’t a performance.”

“Everything is a performance.  Just because it is genuine doesn’t make it less so.”

“Whatever,” said Danny.  He looked around the workshop and all its detail… Although some of those details were warping in Clockwork’s absence.  If it was like this in a dream, how much did it matter to him?

The seed of an idea took root.  It wasn’t an idea he liked.  It also wasn’t something he wanted to try with Nocturn right there.

“Oh, dear me.  It seems you have managed to have a thought,” said Nocturn.  A lounge chair materialized for them to sit in.  “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

“Like you could,” said Danny, before he could think better of it.  

“You are in a dream I control.  Of course I could.  I already did.  But I’m curious.  And I would very much like to disillusion Clockwork as to your… virtue.”

Danny scowled, but shut his mouth before he could say anything else.  “You really aren’t going to stop me?”

Nocturn smiled. Black liquid came up out of Danny’s throat with enough force that it started to pour out of his nose.  Danny’s hands flew to his face in an instinctive attempt to clear his airway.  

“Remember.  I could if I wanted to.  Easily.”

Danny gagged again, then sucked in a wet-sounding breath.  

“You’re already beaten,” said Nocturn.  “The only reason I haven’t squashed you is because that would upset Clockwork.  As soon as he no longer cares.”  Nocturn mimed squishing a bug.  

Danny reached out and grasped the edge of a workbench, pulling himself up.  He made eye contact with Nocturn.  Then, he grabbed the clock Clockwork had been working on and smashed it to the floor.  

Nocturn looked bored.  

Danny put his other hand on the edge of the workbench and heaved it upward, overturning it.  He looked back at Nocturn, who looked even more bored.  

So, they really weren’t going to do anything.  

Fine.  Great.  That probably meant that this wouldn’t work, if Nocturn was so unconcerned, but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. 

He overturned all of the tables and swept his hands over the shelves on the walls, knocking everything off, then hit the shelves themselves with a few ectoblasts for good measure.  When that didn't destroy the more robust mechanisms, he  manifested an ectoplasmic construct in the rough shape of a hammer and started hitting things.  

“Daniel?”

Clockwork’s tone was so confused that Danny felt his heart plummet even though that was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.  He wanted Clockwork to be shocked.  That way, he’d wake up.  And rescue Danny from Nocturn.  Hopefully.  

(Danny really didn’t like how Nocturn had gotten the best of Clockwork, to put him to sleep, but he hoped that Nocturn had just taken Clockwork by surprise.  Despite Clockwork being able to see the future.)

“Why would you do this?” asked Clockwork.  He was standing in the doorway, holding a small, antique medicine bottle and a silver spoon.  

“Because–” Danny couldn’t just say ‘you’re in a dream and you need to wake up,’ so… “I hate you and you aren’t my real dad!”

Clockwork’s face cleared instantly.  “I see!” he said.  “You are testing my limits to see how I treat you when I am angry with you.  Rest assured, that I have no intention of harming you, kicking you out, or restricting your food access, as others have.”  He paused, thoughtful.  “Go to your room.  After you take your medicine, that is.”

“Medicine?” asked Danny, eying the bottle.  Knowing Nocturn - and dreams in general - whatever was in there would do something unpleasant to him.  

Clockwork flew up to him.  “For your illness,” he said.  “To help with the seizures, memory loss, and… other symptoms.”  He looked around the destroyed room.  “Of which this may be part.  No matter.”  He made a sweeping gesture and with a wave of blue sparkles the workshop jumped back to the way it was before Danny decided to wreck it.  

Right.  Master of Time.  Master of Time in a dream, even.

While Danny stared at the room, Clockwork had opened the medicine bottle and carefully poured something milky into the spoon.  “There,” he said, when the spoon was full to its brim.  “Take this, please.”

“Um,” said Danny, leaning away.  He took a step backward.  Clockwork took a step forward, raising the spoon to the level of Danny’s lips.  “No, I think I’m fine.”  

The milky substance smelled sweet and floral.  Not like medicine at all.  

“Daniel,” said Clockwork.  “You have had this before.  It is unpleasant, but it isn’t poisonous.  I must insist that you take it.  When you don’t, you have more seizures.”

Danny shot a look at Nocturn.  “It’s true,” said Nocturn, with mock concern.  “You will have more seizures if you don’t take that.”

That was a threat.  Judging by his expression, Clockwork hadn’t noticed.  

So… the choice was to have Nocturn giving him ‘seizures,’ or drink the mystery liquid.  Which was… Well, Nocturn could probably make him drink it, if he wanted to.  He was forcing him, basically, just with the force of Clockwork’s concern and various threats.  

It was effective.  Danny would say that.  

Very reluctantly, he opened his mouth.  The ‘medicine’ tasted like grass.  

“There we are,” said Clockwork.  “Now, I will walk you to your room.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Danny, because he’d been hoping to escape into the depths of Long Now to plan his next attempts to escape.  From the dream, that is, not from Long Now.  Or dream Long Now.  

“Daniel, you just had a seizure.  I don’t want you to have another one while you’re walking down the hall.”  He paused.  “I could carry you.”

“No,” said Danny, quickly.  “That’s weird.”

“Then we’ll go together.”  Clockwork put his hand on the small of Danny’s back and steered him out of the workshop.  

For a second, Danny thought that Nocturn might stay behind.  He was disappointed.  

The hallway wasn’t as clearly and sharply defined as the workshop was.  It was almost generic, an average of all the hallways in the lair.  Walking down it took both longer and shorter than it should have, the walls, floor, and ceiling sliding by at different rates.  It was both ruler straight and twisty enough that he couldn't see more than a meter ahead. 

By the time they appeared in front of the door (or the door appeared in front of them), Danny was thoroughly dizzy and leaning on Clockwork for support. 

“There we are,” said Clockwork, opening the door and leading Danny in.  He patted Danny's back.  “Clean yourself up and take a rest.  I will come get you when it is time to eat.  Unless you would prefer me to stay?”

Danny glanced at Nocturne, then shook his head. 

“Would you like Nocturn to stay?  Pajamas he can put you to sleep–”

Danny shook his head harder. 

“Very well,” said Clockwork.  He flew back out into the hallway.  “Call us if you need us, please.”  He shut the door, the latch making a faint clicking noise as it fell into place.  

Danny was alone.  In a dream that wasn't his.  Briefly, he wondered if the room he was in was going to fall apart or dissolve. 

When that didn't happen, Danny looked around the room.  It was kind of amazing, actually.  Just… not in the way that Danny usually expected from Long Now and Clockwork.  

It was detailed, just like the workshop, although the edges were soft, comfortable, rather than sharp.  The bed was covered in a blue quilt with pale gold stitching.  It hadn’t been made quite right - actually, it looked a lot like how he made his bed when he was in a hurry - and the sheets underneath were peeking out.  The pillows were slightly askew, but they looked soft and fluffy.  The rugs on the floor continued that theme.  There were shelves along the walls that contained books, model rockets, and other knick-knacks.  The walls had posters for bands and space shuttles.  A desk in the corner had both drawing tools and a sleek computer on it.  A window looked out on what appeared to be outer space itself.

In short, it was the kind of room Danny would design for himself, if he didn’t have a budget, complete with the contents of the bedside table.  Actually, some of the things in the room - posters, models, and books - were stuff Danny had in his room.  His real room.  

He didn’t know whether to be creeped out or touched.  

Danny wanted to look at those books.  He wanted to turn on the computer, and flip through the sketchbook.  He wanted to know what Clockwork thought he would like, what he thought he’d draw, or play.  

The palms of his hands itched and he licked his lips.  

He shook his head and looked away. 

Just in time for Nocturn to appear.

“Did you truly expect to surprise or shock someone who can see the future?” they asked, mockingly.  

Danny was pretty sure that he had surprised Clockwork.  It just hadn’t been enough.  He had other questions. 

“Shouldn’t he be able to tell what’s happening now if he can still see the future and the past and everything?”

Nocturn waved a lazy hand.  “Clockwork is Master of Time, I am Master of Dreams.  He does not read minds.  I can.  Everything that is happening is happening inside his head.”

“But then I should be able to surprise him,” said Danny, holding on to his point.  “Since he can’t see what I’m going to do.”

Nocturn’s eyes were solid red, but Danny knew the body language that went into an eyeroll.  “He may not be able to see what you are going to do now.  But he has seen every possible action you could take, over and over, in his waking life.  What he has not seen, he has imagined.  There is nothing you could do to surprise him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” said Nocturn.  “Just as I know that you would be doomed to fail even if you could surprise Clockwork.  You picked a fight with me in a dream.”

Danny felt himself flush.  “Well, I wasn’t going to let you do whatever you wanted to Clockwork!  And I’m still not!  I’m not giving up just because you’re stronger than I am.”  He hadn’t done that with Dash, and he wasn’t going to now.  

For some reason, this made Nocturn pause.  They swept their gaze over Danny, from his head to his toes.  It made his body feel tingly, and he crossed his arms.  

“I see,” said Nocturn, tone significantly more subdued than before.  It didn’t make Danny feel better.  “But your plan, if it can even be called that, failed.”

“My next one won’t.”

[autisticlee]

I must know. i've been told by many people that it's normal to go months without talking to friends, I should get used to spending time alone, and other things like that. at the same time i'm told we are a social species and need social interaction and i'm "too isolated" and need to have "better friends" in my life because it's "not healthy" to spend months alone in my room without anyone to talk to (not by choice, I struggle to make and keep friends because autism/disability, but would like to have close amd consistent people in my life)

so I need to ask. how much do all of you interact with another person in a positive, meaningful way?

i need to add context so you know what i mean exactly:

by this I mean you have full and enjoyable conversations, hang out, talk on the phone, talk in dms, play games together, etc with another person you're close with in life online or in person (friends, family, partners, etc). this can include hanging out/talking with with a partner or roommate or family you live with because you enjoy hanging out or talking together. there was actively a choice to be around each other. if you have a partner/family/roommate you live with and enjoy interacting with each other daily on purpose, this counts as "daily." this is only about chosen interactions where you both want to interact with each other because you enjoy each other's company and choose to socialize together. where you're already close, or actively trying to get closer. where you feel loved and appreciated by the person and enjoy your time spent together.

as opposed to when you have a short passing interaction, like you interact with customers at work or small talk coworkers, have a conversation with a stranger, interact with parents or siblings just because you live together, interact with classmates just because you're in class together, and things like that. circumstantial conditions, basically. spending all your time closed off alone in your room with random forced interactions you don't particularly enjoy or choose. like a parent only talks to you because you left your room and walked past them. or a partner comes home from work and demands you make food and they go watch tv alone and go to bed alone (loveless marriage type thing). or anything similar doesn't count here. if you *only* have those type interactions then it counts as "never"

(this includes everyone in general in your life combined. do you interact positively with your partner every day but friends once a month? then answer "daily." do you have daily small talk with parents who mostly ignore or nag you, or talk about work with coworkers, classwork with classmates, but see your best friends once a month? then it's "once a month." if it depends, choose which one is the average each year. you can also leave a comment to explain it if you want)

((I hope I explained what I mean correctly! please reblog to get bigger sample size! my blog is too small to do it on my own! im very curious about this😭))