#reduce your work load

[jatanshahskill]

Skill Nation Reviews | Teaches you Advanced Excel

You want to become more efficient & reduce your work load? – Masterclass teaches you Advanced Excel & PowerPoint

[helloyellowsunflower]

My thoughts on Idia (a messy essay ig?): Contains some spoilers from Idia's story and Chapter 7: ruler of the abyss.

I've been thinking about him lately, which prompted this messy essay/character analysis, and let me tell you; first and foremost: I am no psychology major, I am not someone who ususally gets all the nuances a character has; so if I miss some details, please don't go hunting me down :D.

So, looking at canon, Idia reads to me as someone who may hate himself but also believes that no one is better than him; at least in some aspects.

He's very much a shut in guy who doesn't enjoy interacting with people (at least face to face) who spends 80% of his time playing video games, which I believe keeps fueling his inability to mantain standard social interactions. In an RPG, you kind of know how things are meant to go, you know how charcaters are supposed to interact with each other and you know that if things go south, you can always restart the game or try again.

With real life people, you can't. Once you've said something you can't exactly take it back, and you can't exactly predict how people are going to respond to things, which I think terrifies Idia. On top of that, things irl can touch you, they can cause physical harm, unlike a game character; which makes potential confrontations a thousand times more scary for him.

I mean, picture this: you've lived alone, secluded, for most of your life (because your brother, the only company you had, died when you were kids; something you blame youself for, to this date), and all of a sudden you're thrown into a boarding school where you are expected to interact with people from all backgrounds. You don't know these people, but you know that they could physically hurt you if you said something wrong.

So Idia being Idia, decides to shut himself in (and I mean, I get it, I'm not saying that was a healthy response, but it's an understandable one).

And by shutting himself in and being afraid of others, comes this "disdain", this lack of understanding that just gets worse the less he interacts with others. Because when you don't interact with people, you create these expectations, these "ideas" of how someone is, based off entirely of what you hear about them, or what you see (normally without context); and the more you construct these images in your head, the harder it is to actually get to know them, because you have to break down everything you believe they are.

This shows many times during the game, for example, in the latest chapter (ch 7 I believe); when Idia goes off on a rant about how Malleus has always "acted cool" and "kept his strong character image", when he literally hasn't! It's not that he keeps an image, it's just that he's literally that strong! Sir! If you got to know him better you'd realize that you're more alike than you think!!

In conclusion, I think Idia is a very interesting character, and I look forward to seeing him interact more with the rest of the Twisted Wonderland cast.

Masterlist

[cowsabungus]

Art Hacks for Physical Disabilities!!

I know art can be inaccessible to physically disabled people for a lot of reasons, and I think art should be accessible to everyone, so here’s a couple of the things I found to help for a few different issues you may face that stop you participating!

I have a link to all these items (UK) in my link tree!!

IMAGE DESCRIPTION

Slide one: illustration of a white woman with pink hair, wearing a pink outfit, sitting in a power wheelchair, looking at the viewer with thumbs up. Text Reese “hacks to make art more accessible”

Slide two: illustration of three different kinds, using three different types of pencil grips. One hand uses a circular grip. 100 is a large, rectangular grip. Another uses a grip that is ergonomic and fit into the hand. Main text reads “Paul, grip, strength and dexterity”. Subtext reads “there are loads of different types of pencil, grips or design for different disabilities and conditions. Increasing the width of the pencil can give more texture for a better grip using a pencil with a thicker with also reduces the amounts of pressure needed to hold a pencil you can make your own using items like pool noodles. KT tape an air dry clay. You can also put these groups on things like paint brushes.“

Slide three: illustration of a hand using a tool that looks like a wrist support with a paintbrush connected to it text next to it reads “this talk next a paintbrush to your hand in a way that means you don’t need to hold the paintbrush with your fingers and you will need to move your arm around“ on the bottom right hand corner is in photograph of a guided hand device. Text read “regarded hand as a tool designed to reduce the need for moving your hands and fingers and relies on the movement of your shoulder and upper arms and can be used with different materials like paintbrushes, pencils, pens and styluses.

Slide four: main header reads “when in bed“. Illustration of an iPad pillow with a iPad in it is next to text that reads “iPad pillows, put your tablet at an easier to access level when sitting or lying down“. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a girl sitting in bed in her pyjamas with a pillow behind her and a bed table as she is drawing. On the left hand side is a photograph of a bed table with the text reading “bed tables are used to give you a flat tire up surface while in bed, and are often height adjustable”. In the bottom right hand side is a bedsit, a pillow with the text underneath, reading “ bedsitters of specially shaped pillows that you put behind you in bed to help you set up and give you a soft surface to lean back on”.

Slide five: maisie had a read out “at a desk left”. On the left hand side is a photograph of the document holder with the text “document holders put your paper at an angle to help prevent crane in your neck down”. On the right hand, middle side is an illustration of someone using a armrest and on the bottom left hand side is a photograph of the armrest. Text next to them reads “economic arm rests clip onto your table or desk and give you a surface you lean you’re forearms or elbows on. This can be used to steady your arm and reduce pain and fatigue while sitting at a desk”.

Slide six: maisie reads “foot and mouth painters” . on the right hand side is an photograph of swapping Augustine, an Indian woman with no arms, wearing a sari painting with her left foot. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a woman with green hair painting using her mouth. Text reads “foot and mouth painting is a technique used by artists who do not have, or cannot use their arms so hold the paintbrush in their mouth or using their foot. Swapna Augustine is a foot painter who has painted with her feet and participated in multiple exhibitions of foot and mouth painters. Her art is stunning and I would definitely recommend checking some of help work out.“

Slide seven: main text reeds “art without brushes and pens”. On the left-hand side is a photograph of a spin art device. Text next to read it reads “spin out involves using bottles of ink and squirting them onto a spinning piece of paper to create spiral art. On the middle right hand side is a illustration of a laptop with coding art written on the screen. Text me next to it reads “coding art involves making programs that design and create art pieces digitally. This could be used in conjunction with an eye tracking software.“ On the bottom left hand side is a photograph of a child in a power wheelchair with paint on their wheels painting onto a large piece of paper. Next to this is text reading “wheelchair painting involves putting paint on your wheelchair wheels and moving around and large piece of paper. Sometimes you can connect a roller to create more marks.“

Slide eight: text reads “what do you do to make art accessible for you?”

End of ID.

[changes]

Tuesday, April 1st, 2025

🌟 New

We have refined post headers and footers in the iOS app. On the web, only the headers have been refined so far, with footer changes on the way. And, in the Android app, both changes are still on the way.

To reduce tech debt, we made the difficult decision to remove the fast queue feature. We know this was beloved by a small cohort of active users, but usage is too low for us to justify continued development. To be clear: queuing still exists and will be maintained; this only affects the fast queue feature.

We have revamped the filters of the Activity column in Patio to help you stay on top of what matters to you.

🛠 Fixed

We fixed an issue where the “not interested” items under a post’s meatballs menu might not have been working for some folks.

We fixed an issue that prevented joining a community via an invite link.

We fixed a missing background when Activity is loaded as a column in Patio.

🚧 Ongoing

No ongoing incidents to speak of right now.

🌱 Upcoming

No upcoming launches to announce today.

Experiencing an issue? Check for Known Issues and file a Support Request if you have something new. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with other users.

Wanna support Tumblr directly with some money? Check out Premium and the Supporter badge in TumblrMart!

[suksatoru]

Satoru Gojo had never known true love before you.

Of course, all of his students admired him - looked up to the absolute spectacle of a man and their teacher with a humble type of appreciation that made Satoru happy.

The higher ups hated him, he had some good sorcerer friends too - so why did he always feel like he was yearning for something more?

He felt greedy for even thinking about wanting something more in his life. He never hinted to the possibility of being unsatisfied, putting up and easy going and pleased facade that managed to fool everyone every. single. time.

And by the way - he wasn't trying to knock the love of his life over. He swears it was a mistake! He just got so... distracted by your pretty face.

You were a new teacher moving into the classroom across his. Wine red heels clicked against the floor as you carefully maneuvered through the halls with your arms carrying a load of boxes.

Admittedly, he was just walking over to help whoever was behind the stack of boxes they were carrying in their arms. It definitely looked like you were struggling. And who was he to walk by a helpless colleague of his in need of some assistance?

He dropped all your boxes onto the floor when his eyes met yours.

He was smiling like a lovesick fool after getting yelled at by you. You looked so pretty with flushed cheeks - poking his chest with a single, manicured finger as you ask the white haired asshole why he came over and knocked all your belongings onto the floor

He'd peek his head into your classroom while you were teaching his students. The kids would always come to your defense - throwing pencils and erasers at Gojo as he leaned in the doorway, all of them telling him to go away. Megumi - forever the teacher's pet - would drag out the 6'3 foot man from your classroom by his ear for you when necessary.

But that never stopped Satoru. He was a determined man, after all.

He learned how to work the coffee machine so he could bring you a warm cup everyday. It took his rich taste a while to figure out the simple machine, and maybe it was too sweet or lacked the right amount of milk sometimes - but you took it with a small smile anyways.

He'd worked his way into your life, unknowingly making you fall head over heels for him.

You were a sweetheart who fussed over him in ways he'd never been before - he felt like a baby with you sometimes. The strongest man to ever live was reduced to mere pouts and groans in your presence, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Not with his love.

[haztory]

the lonely fight.

— masterlist | part one | part two — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, this is a crack/fluff followed by angst, alcohol consumption featuring the night shift team and team bonding exercises, more yearning, more wanting, escalation of tensions, city girl confronting jack's deep rooted issues, jack being a traumatized man — word count: 6.3k — summary: Karaoke night is supposed to be a morale boost for the team. It only escalates tensions even further for you and Jack. 

It’s late into your shift on Wednesday when Ellis and Shen find you in the brief lull. 

Saying the night has been easy is an insult, one you’re not keen on doling out without proper padding and a roll of sterile gauze clutched to your side, battle tested and ready for war. You’re down an attending, the three residents that were scheduled for tonight have been reduced to one, and two nurses have been cut early in the night due to budget constraints. Leaving only a skeleton crew to man the deck for the night. 

You manage. You all do. With gritted teeth and the incessant propensity to keep moving.  

Would manage even better in between putting your notes in for the girl in Room Three who got an earring stuck inside of her lobe if the network for the EHRs wasn’t experiencing a statewide slow-down. You’re one more loading screen away from punting the computer altogether when the two doctors brace either side of your work station. They settle next to you with a tired air—one not quite exhausted but close enough to know that they’re counting down the minutes until sunrise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask the two of them, eyes locked on the buffering screen in front of you. 

“We might have to go to paper.” Shen says.

Your eyes find him, quickly. “Who said that?”

”Richmond’s on the phone with admin.” Ellis says, leaning her chin into her palm. “They’re talking about it.”

You sigh, waving the white flag with the computer. “If they want handwritten notes, they’re not going to be up to standard and I don’t want to hear shit about it. I have three patients that need to get logged in and more that are going to come in soon.”   

“Broken left hand. X-rayed. Fixed.” John supplies, dryly with a pantomime of his hand writing on paper. You snort in agreement. Shen bobs his head from side to side as he looks around the floor. “At least it’s quiet.” 

Your head snaps to him just as Ellis’ falls into her hands and groans. 

“What is wrong with you—“

“—do you ever learn—”

Shen shrugs you both off. “You guys are so superstitious.”

“We need a smarter attending on the floor.” Parker sighs, dragging her hands down her face. She looks at you, desperately. “How long before your boards, sunshine?”

You laugh at her, pitiful and flat. “Don’t count on me so soon. I’ve still got time.”

“We need more attendings who don’t play with God on the floor.” Parker pins an ugly stare at John, just as he shrugs in return. 

“Jokes on you, Parker. I feel like I play with God everyday.” You tease, but you sympathy for her sorrow and continue, offering your answer as a means of consolation to her. “I take them in six months.”

Thing One and Thing Two nod slowly, digesting the words in what should be a passing understanding. But—there’s a look in their eyes. Too knowing, too conspiratorial, to be considered innocuous. 

Your eyes narrow at them, “What?”

”What?” Parker parrots.

“Why do you guys have that look?”

John turns his head to Parker, then back to you. “We don’t have a look.”

”You’ll be here, right?” Parker ignores your question, giving her own. “After you pass?”

John seconds Parker. “Not going back to New York?” 

”Or Florida?” 

“No.” You tell them, skeptical at their line of questioning. Still, you give the truth. “Pittsburgh is home for a while.”

“It’s the winters, right?” John asks. “Keeps you coming back?”

Parker scoffs. “No, it’s definitely Eliza Furnace Trail. The smell of piss and shit, just addicting.”

“There’s reasons to stay.” You tell them, finalizing your notes on the system and returning to the home screen. A shadow moves in the corner of your eye, drawing your attention to it quickly. You spot Jack exiting North 10, speaking quietly to Anna Maria as the two head further into the hallway. 

You turn your attention back to the Scooby and Shaggy, only to find them staring curiously at you. Then, with glib interest, you tack on, “And maybe it has something to do with you two.”

“Oh, sure.” 

“Yeah, totally.”

Your laugh is light and the two smile knowingly. Peace settles in the air, complimented by the steady beeps of the machines in the examination rooms and the soft chatter across the floor. 

Ellis clears her throat. “You’re coming, right? Friday night?”

You nod. “I am. Taking roll call?”

“Gotta make the reservation for the table.”

“Who’s going?”

“Us, Hilly, Anna Maria, a couple of people from day shift.”

“You guys ask any other attendings?”

“Basu’s doing a double, Robby gave a hell no, Walsh is on the fence and we’re fine with that. And we were going to ask Abbot, but—” Ellis’ voice trails off and she weighs her hand like a scale. 

Shen cuts in, dryly. “We were hoping you would do it.” 

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum remain pointedly innocent even as your glare turns deadly on them. 

“You both have to stop this.” You grit out. “Why me?”

“Because you guys got that weird telepathy thing going on.” Shen provides, simply. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looks to Ellis for backup, which earns a supportive smile from her.

“He will give you the same answer that he will give me.” You insist for the hundredth time, punctuating the statement with an eye roll for emphasis on exactly how you feel about it.

They both stare blankly at you. Not that you blame them entirely. Try as you might otherwise, even you can hear the gentle deceit on your tongue when you insist on normalcy between you and the attending. 

If anyone asks, it’s respect. Admiration, trust, and all the sister siblings of a well-meaning accord that force you to hold the man in high regard. Nothing more. 

You keep the low pulse of hope and longing that toils within your stomach pointedly quiet.

“Just ask.”

“You guys are ridiculous.” You stand from your desk, deciding the moment has dragged on and you’d rather not be caught in the crosshairs of further investigation. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my patients before Shen’s curse catches up to us.”

“Tell him we’ll cover the beer!” John calls after you as you make your way down the hall, conveniently in the same direction Abbot went down. 

You wave your hand in the air, brushing the two of them off. “I know how to do it.” 

They wait until you’re a safe distance away from earshot before turning to each other. 

“Good work.” Parker tells John, holding her fist out to him. He bumps it in relaxed victory. “You adjusting?” 

He shakes his head, his lips turning downward in a frown of intrigue. “Nah. I still think that it happens before the boards.”

“I’m switching to eight months.” Ellis supplies lowly. 

“Why eight?”

“When she gets results back and passes, that’s when it happens. Abbot’s not going to fuck a fellow, too much of a power thing.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’d fuck any fellow, but he’d make an exception for that one.”

“My money is on when she becomes an attending. Abbot would fuck an attending.”

“So… you’re saying I have a chance.” John says and Parker shoves his shoulder with a laugh. 

—

Luck is something rarely afforded to the ED. It’s sheer will power that things manage to work, human perseverance and triumph even in the moments of clear sabotage as the unit is denied more staff, denied more resources, forced into a corner to fend for themselves with bare threads of patience and the bottom of the barrel that nobody else wants to touch.  

The floor isn’t lucky that the number of people waiting for care is relatively tame at the same time that the hospital's servers are undergoing an update that’s halted everything in its track. Luck implies something good, something that changes the tides for the better. The floor is just coincidentally in the eye of the hurricane at the moment. One ambulance away from teetering over the edge and plunging the unit into the swirling winds and drowning rain. 

Jack doesn’t count his blessings. That’s asking for fate to be tempted. He watches the time tick on his watch and waits. Listens for the distant sounds of thunder approaching, finding only the soft squeak of sneakers on the tile floor.

He hears you before he sees you. The familiar sound of your steps, the steadied pattern, the jingle of your badge against the swivel clip on your chest

He’s standing beside the rolling cart outside of North 15, having given up on any attempt at reviewing the team’s charting notes when the screen gave its fourth error message. You lean against the door frame, watching him. 

“I talked to Richmond. We’re switching to papers.”

“Medieval times.” His expression flickers with disbelief, before smoothing into one of calm neutrality. His jaw clenches, tight for a second. “We’ve been through worse.”

“Don’t speak too soon. The psych eval that was about to get sent up just got delayed because they can’t get access to his medical history. Probably going to get worse for my other three that were ready for transfer to different units that also have their records in a system that is shut down.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He meets your eyes, unabashed in his displeasure.

“I wish I was. I called, tried to strike the fear of God into Psych but those people aren’t scared of shit. They said it’s too risky.”

He scoffs. “If they really want to know risk, why don’t they come down and see how the other half lives?”

“That’s what I said. I was able to pull a favor with Ortho. On the record, they’ll accept four so long as we provide them with some form of medical history.”

He raises a brow, “Off the record?”

“They said they want a sticky note, minimum, but can be convinced for oral presentation as long as we’re available for any questions. I told Shen and Parker to choose the most important to go up. Just need your sign off.”

The still nonchalance cracks slightly. He smirks. Impressed. “Done. Good work.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re scary, you know that?”

“You like it.” You smile and he shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t deny it. And you know then that you’ve caught him ripe enough to push further. “By the way, Shen and Ellis want to know if you’re going to the karaoke night thing on Friday.”

It draws a narrowed stare your way. “You their messenger now? That’s the third time this week.” His eyebrow raises, entirely unamused at the prospect. 

You take his annoyance to be directed at the invitation. He’s concerned by the fact that the two doctors know to send you.  

You push past it, giving it little thought. “Are you?”

“…No.” 

You catch the hesitation. Brief, but there. “Why not?”

“I deal with this place enough, I don’t need it cutting into my day off.”

“C’mon. It’ll be good for morale.”

“If I wanted to be tortured I’d pick up a double, not sit and listen to you all scream at the top of your lungs.”

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Fine, be a grouch. If you happen to find yourself free on Friday night, we’ll be at Riley’s. Eight o’clock. I’ll be wearing a blue sweater and singing ‘Single Ladies’. Can’t miss it.” 

Jack looks at you from beneath lashes. “Don’t do Beyoncé like that.”

You pull your head back in amazement. “I’m surprised you even know who Beyoncé is.”

He steps towards you, his hands falling to hold the stethoscope around his neck. His gait is slow as he crosses the small distance from the cart to the other side of the door frame. You can see how he’s favoring his left leg yet makes no betrayal of that on his face. “I’m not that out of touch.”

“Had me fooled. You’re allergic to fun.”

“Our definitions are drastically different.”

“And what do you do for fun, Dr. Abbot?” Your head tilts. He leans against the other side of the frame and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flick quickly to the sight, tempted by muscle and veins. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” His smile slants. Hung and crooked, like a crescent moon in the sky. It creases into his skin gracefully and the urge to bask in the luster that shines from the rarity of his smile surges within you tenfold. 

“I would, actually. I’d like to know what you get into on your days off. Except for building furniture for sleeping people.”

He huffs a breath, his head tucking down to his chest. Not in embarrassment, but shyness at the reminder of his good deed performed by the other side of Jack Abbot. One revealed to you in parts, with his hand lingering on your back, his eyes fixed on you, and care imbued in the small things he does. 

He peers his head out of the doorway, looking over the floor before meeting your gaze. He thinks, for a moment, before deciding that disclosing is low in some kind of risk.

“I run.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah really. Good for the heart.” He bats.

“Bad for the knees.” You return.

“Good thing I’m already down one.”

You hum, amused. Delighted to know more. “What else?”

“I read.”

“Yeah? What do you read?” 

Jack shrugs, blasé. “Whatever catches my eye.”

“Romantasy, right? You seem the type.”

“Is that the elf shit the nurses are talking about?”

“Faes.” You correct.

“Whatever the fuck that means. Pointy-eared weirdos frolicking in flowers.”

“God, you are old.” Your laugh is soft, gently reverberating through him and he finds himself leaning into it. Watching it, letting it wash over him like a warm sip of coffee on the long shift. A sweet relief. “I’ve got some good recommendations if you want them.”

“I don’t want to read fairy porn.”

“No, I save that for the people who will appreciate that. I’ve got some memoirs, good educational reads, fun stuff. We can start our own book club.”

“A book club?” He repeats, eyebrows raised on his face in disbelief. “Now who’s old?”

“Well, the difference here is that I go out and have fun while still embracing old people things.”

A message interrupts, then. It sounds over the intercom and both your attentions are called to it. It’s over as soon as it happened, one of the nurses announcing someone’s name and instructing them to see The Hub, but it’s the disruption to the easy rhythm. A reminder to you both in your respective yet silent realizations that there is a world outside of this moment—one that was easily forgotten, for a second.  

You tap his arm, voice earnest as you appeal to him, just before either of you can be called to duty. “Come to Riley’s on Friday. I’ll let you pick what I sing.”

Jack shifts on his feet, settling his lean further against the door frame. His shoulders, broad and sturdy, sway before finding stillness again. “You’re stooping to bribery now?” 

“This is part of my tactic. Warm you up, bribe you, profit.” You explain. “I’ll pull out all the stops if I have to, which includes giving you the first pick of my song.”

“Your tactic needs some work.” He cocks his head at you. “You shouldn’t give someone that much power. Could land you in big trouble.”

“And yet, I’m giving it to you.” 

The banter stills. Halts completely, only the low hum of the fluorescent lights filling in the space. 

It’s not the first time you’ve said something to that effect—a seemingly simple declaration. Spoken as easy as you breathe, as if you haven’t further fractured the barely held boundary that lies blurred and frayed between you two. This tiny truth of yours isn’t a simple compliment. They’re windows of implications into something deeper. Something more volatile that simmers under the warmth of your skins and behind each tease. 

It happens, then. The inevitable, the familiar, the expected. The song and dance that has become so routine that escape seems futile. 

The induction of the soft feelings. The confusing ones.

Jack stares straight into the fire, unconvinced that you don’t know what you’re doing. Unconvinced that he should walk away.

“Beer will be on Shen.” Your voice lilts into a song, a means to diffuse the tension. 

“That’s a terrible idea.” He says disapproving, but there’s no malice in it.

“Whatever gets people to come.” A beat passes and you know that, at the very least, he’s considering the offer.

“Tell Shen and Ellis to stop making you do their dirty work.” He says quietly. You shake your head softly, suppressing the want to tell him that talking to him is the farthest thing from dirty work. It’s an easy task, one you look forward to most days.  

“I’ll consider it.” You say instead. He nods, knowing that the two will keep going to you for as long as the affinity he has for you is as obvious as it feels. 

“So…” You kick your foot out, tapping his leg gently, “Are you coming?” 

His lips curl, slightly. “…I’ll see.”

“Good.” You move from your place on the door frame, inching backwards into the hallway. Back into the rush and chaos of a world that feels so far away from this little bubble the two of you made. 

“By the way, Shen said the “q” word, so prepare.”

Jack sighs, heavy and annoyed. Luck and fate tempted once more. 

“Does he want a black eye?”

— 

The door to Riley’s opens with a squeal at 9:15 PM on Friday. The sound is drowned out entirely by the screams that erupt from the crowded establishment when someone’s voice tilts falsetto at the opening line of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’.

Jack’s eyes look to the stage, only moderately surprised to see Shen delivering the performance of a lifetime. A bottle of beer is clutched close to the man’s chest as he hits notes only a prepubescent boy could to a crowd more than supportive of his endeavors, a red flush to his cheeks. 

He wasn’t going to come. 

A morning traffic jam that resulted in a six car pile-up on I-279 this morning led to a late exit for Jack which led to an even later morning trying to tackle all of the things he wanted to do for the day. Grocery shopping for meal planning, a stop at a supply store to fix the rubber seal on his leaky kitchen faucet, start his week’s worth of laundry, fit in some semblance of sleep in there (maybe). Top it all off with ESPN and a beer. 

It wasn’t in the plan to come. It just didn’t fit.

…but then you sent a photo. 

A picture of you seated at a table with a smile so bright it could single handedly illuminate the dark and dingy bar surrounding you. Parker sits to your left distracted by something off camera with John standing behind the two of you, a peace sign thrown up as he leans down to stay in the frame. And to your right, an empty chair. Your text saying: Saving you a seat!

So he came. Because the promise of free beer and a means to decompress after a shitty week of long and trying shifts was enticing enough. 

(And because you asked, but he stomps out that answer like a low broiling fire needing to be put out.)

He finds you immediately in the surge. Blue sweater at the middle table and an empty chair beside you. Just like you said. 

His steps are cautious, dodging moving bodies and his own discomfort as he zeroes you in his sight. He fits in beside you just as your hands raise upward shouting a song lyric with the singing group, sliding into the seat as if he just came back from the bathroom instead of making his grand entrance. You notice the movement, your singing faltering as you look to defend the empty chair from pilfering. Your hair is loose from the usual style you have from work, strands framing your face, your body relaxed from the alcohol you’ve no doubt been drinking. There’s a scrunch to your face as you look at him that immediately peels into one of joy when you realize who it is. 

“You’re here!” You shout, your excitement bringing you closer to him. Your touch is liberal, spurred by the haze of drunken inhibitions. Leaning into him, your hands fall onto his shoulders, grabbing onto him as if you were afraid he would disappear. He lets you, watching amused as you fail to contain your elation. Affected, as you bleed into him. 

There’s a dry resignation on his face, like he finds this to be equal parts burdensome and amusing. But he makes no move to put distance between you two. “I’m here.” 

“Do you want a beer?” You shout over the noise, “Come on, I’ll get another one too!”

“How many have you had?”

You hold his gaze for a moment, smile turning sheepish. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s get you some water instead—” He moves for the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, grabbing a plastic cup sat beside it and filling it up.

“No! C’mon!” You grab onto his forearm, halting him from pouring anymore, “I don’t work tomorrow. Let me have fun.”

“You’re going to wake up nauseous and knee deep in regret tomorrow when you realize everyone’s recording you guys.”

“I don’t care.” You laugh, earnestly. “I don’t regret the things that I want, Jack.” 

As his hand hovers over the pitcher, yours falls onto his arm nearest to you. Grasping onto the breadth and holding him tightly. Even in the slur of your words, he sees the honesty behind it. How intently you say it, mean it. Might mean something else behind it all, too. 

“Come on.” You begin again, a siren song on your tongue perfectly heard even in the shrieks of the bar. “Grab a beer, have fun with us. With me. You held up your end of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

He looks over your shoulder, relieved to find that the table is too entranced by Shen’s glorious rendition of the ballad to be concerned with the intimate moment behind them. 

“I haven’t gone up yet. You get to choose my song.” 

Your eyes are warm, beautiful. And close. Too close.

“I was promised Beyoncé.” He says after a second, softer than the moment calls for, softer than he intended it to be. 

You smile happily at him. “Beyoncé and a beer, coming right up!” 

The soft feelings, the confusing ones, slip into the narrow space between you. 

Despite it all, Jack is steady. Sipping casually at his Miller watching person after person head on the stage and make a fool of themself. It’s that steadiness that has you drawn to him. Not sloppily or messily, but just teetering past a point of buzzed and into the embrace of loose. 

Your thigh touches his underneath the table mistakenly. Once, twice, four times. He presses back into you, comfortingly. You lean into him when you laugh, mutter the smart quip and teasing joke at a certain performance that he shakes his head at. His arm slings around the back of your chair, only slightly brushing against your shoulders. 

And it’s easy.

“This is for you, Abbot!” Shen calls over the microphone an hour later, his face flushed red with his drunken stupor as he clutches the microphone like it's his last chance. The static from the speakers blows from how close he holds it to his mouth. “This is dedicated to that epic pericardiocentesis you did the other day that I’m still thinking about, you handsome man.”

The rushing piano of “I Need a Hero” plays and it’s the first time you see Jack’s shoulders shake from laughter as he raises a beer up to Shen. The song progresses to an ensemble as the team all shout the lyrics, their fingers pointing back to Jack at each proclamation of needing a hero throughout the song. And you swear, swear, that a flush rises up his neck at the lavish attention paid his way. His head tucks into his chest, and his eyes narrow like the sound of Shen’s voice is physically causing him pain but you can see it as clear as day. 

He’s happy. And it dredges up a tingle in the depths of your heart that surges like a rushing tide you can’t hold back. 

It soars even higher—feels even worse—when it’s your turn. Microphone shoved in your hand, dance moves pulled out as you sing about needing a ring on your finger and feeling Jack’s stare bore into you the entire time. 

A smile, free, unabashed, admiring permanently fixed on his face.

—

“Someone get Mel home!” You call over your shoulder into the bar as you make your exit, the clock just creeping past midnight. Jack’s arm sits firmly around your waist, thick and corded as it supports and holds you steady. “I want her tucked in and sung to, precious girl.”

“Easy.” Jack’s voice is husky beside you and colored with a slight twinge of amusement. Startling, almost, as you’re reminded of how near he is. It’s rough and jagged and it flares a heat within you that has you whipping your head to look at him. 

“Don’t want you spilling guts all over me.” He’s firm and warm next to you, a beacon of quiet strength. You’ve always known Abbot was broad from his forearms alone. Seeing it is one thing, feeling it around you? It’s something else entirely. Temptation sings for you to fall into him. 

It’s hard to recover from it, taking much longer than you’d like to admit as your tongue feels thick in your mouth and your heart pounds in your ears. You blame that on the environmental circumstances of the night. 

“Don’t forget, old man.” You poke just as his arm tightens around you. Your own hand falls to his wrist held right against the front of your stomach, falling in step beside him as he guides you through the bar’s parking lot. “I’m from the city. I can handle my alcohol.”

His interest is piqued, despite all well-meaning efforts to hide it. “I know. You don’t let anyone forget it.”

“Watch it. Don’t make me mad, I can take you if I need to.”

“Yeah? Gonna go for my ankles?”

“Oh please, this again—”

“You gonna slide across the floor again for my feet?”

“He was running away with a catheter in him. If I didn’t take him down it was going to be golden showers for all of us.”

“Yeah, but going for the feet puts you in the direct line of sight.”

“Alright, then next time you stop the meth head, Lieutenant Dan.” 

“And get a mouthful of urine? I’m not kinky enough for that.” He says nonchalantly and you guffaw, your hand landing a smack at his chest. His walking slows as he approaches his truck towards the end of the parking lot. Shiny and well-taken care of, the car you remember him driving you home in before.

He guides you towards the passenger side of the car, loosening his grip on you as he fishes his car keys from his pocket. “All I’m saying is that the Giants missed an opportunity in their draft pick.”

Separating from him, you slump against the passenger door, watching him pull out the key fob. “If the Giants put me on the roster, we’re coming out with a ring every year, baby.” You hold your hand up for emphasis, pointing at each of your fingers. “You can kiss ‘Single Ladies’ goodbye.”

A beat passes. Jack’s eyes bore into yours. “Nevermind, let’s call the Steelers.”

You laugh echoes around the empty parking lot. A song on the wind, a hymn in an empty church as it bounces into the night. Your head leans back in joy, resting against the side of his car. Relaxed, easy, happy. 

“Tonight was fun.” You hum. Jack nods, slowly. Carefully, guarded. 

You see it, even in the sway of the uncountable number of drinks you’ve had that only makes you slightly unsteady—you see it clear as day. The way he is bobbing and weaving, ducking and side stepping a truth he’s not quite ready to admit yet. Not as though it’s a particular harrowing one. Your eyebrow flicks up, curiously.

“I didn’t know Shen had that in him.” He says, pointedly neutral. 

“Neither did I. You must have brought it out.” You push. “Everyone was really happy to see you.”

A grimace pulls to his lips, small yet noticeable. It confirms a suspicion, then. 

Jack Abbot can banter without issue. He can do the sincerity and the comfort when it comes to someone else needing it. But in this moment, cool, confident, and steady Jack Abbot actively avoids acknowledging a truth that implies something good about him—admitting that people wanted him around and that he actually had a good time.   

“Someone just needed to make sure you guys didn’t burn down half of Pittsburgh. And drive your drunk ass home.” He demeans, disguises, dissuades.

Maybe it’s not that serious. Maybe it’s just a defense mechanism he uses when near drunk people, a release of a pressure gauge but for some reason you’re not having it. Blame it on drunken fixations, but they’re the heart of sober thoughts. You’re on the crux of something, inching closer and closer to the soft center of the man. Spurned on by little more than his continued dodging and the need to know, you ask. “Why did you come tonight?”

Surprise colors his features for a second before he schools it. “Morale boost.”

“For the team or for you?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think that you wanted to come out this whole time.” You dig. He stiffens, minutely. 

“You promised ‘Single Ladies’. It was too good to ignore.” He says, stilted. Almost forced. 

“No, before that. You wanted to come. You’re just using that as an excuse to justify it.”

“What are you trying to say?” His gaze turns stony, his voice curt. 

His lips are drawn tight as he stares the particular Dr. Jack Abbot speciality into you. You should probably feel intimidated, should probably be scared into a dynamic of hierarchy between you two, should probably heed the warning signs that crease in his crow’s feet and settle in the lines of his small frown that tell you to stop where you stand. 

You don’t. You stare back, equal in your press into him. 

(Because you’ve seen the softness before, know it exists. It was only a few weeks ago that he drove you home, sat at your table, talked to you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Only a few months ago Jack made it a habit to start meeting you at each of your shifts with your coffee mug in hand, a quiet check-in in his eyes. Only a few days ago the two of you lost yourselves in the safety of a bubble built by the two of you in the midst of a chaos. 

You know where the softness sits, you know it will keep creeping out. 

And right here, right now, you can see how he tries to lock it away. Pretends that it doesn’t exist with all of the good in him.)

“I’m saying you’re allowed to want something for once, Jack.” You tell him, honestly. “You’re allowed to want, and to hope, and to have faith that for a moment something good will happen if you let it in. You’re allowed to want something and have it, because you deserve it.”

He says nothing. Only stares. A charged silence buoys between you two, lit only by the haziness of the street lamp. A warmed yet dulled light that casts a gentle halo around the suppleness of your face—soft and angelic as you peer up at him.

To anyone else, your words would be the ramblings of a drunken woman. Let off the tongue with nonsensical meanings. Prompted by nothing, and supported by whims. To Jack, it’s something else entirely. Not the once foreboding noose— the omen of the invitation, the threat of giving in. What he thought would be a long fraying rope beckoning for the sounds of his choking is replaced instead with you. Your hands, warm, and soft, and well-meaning that wrap around his throat and squeeze until his breath gets caught in his chest. Your nails digging in the skin in search of something he has long since buried. Fingers tenderly massaging out the truth, his reckoning, his undoing.

The in-between of your words isn’t hard to make out. Something good will happen if you let it in. 

If you let me in.

He wonders if you know how close you are to getting to it. He wonders if he even knows how close it is to being released.

The night hums softly. Beckoning a closeness that is filled with a hostile tensity. Like peace and war, heat and ice, fusing into one. Becoming the energy that you both fuel. That something—the one that seems to follow you two when moments like this fall, when it’s quiet and the two of you acknowledge that the air feels weird—is here. 

Loudly silent. Quietly screaming. 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He gives, finally.

“Yeah. You are.” You huff out a breath. Then, with the familiar sound of a door being knocked on, you say. “I’m glad you came out. It made my night better, too.”

Your eyes flick down to his lips. His do the same. A question sits in the air. 

Will you let me in?

He swallows, then makes his choice. Buckles the armor up his chest, shuts the door that has been creeping open all this time, that you’ve been pushing against. He locks it, keeps you barred on the other side.

“You gonna get in?” He asks, nodding his head to the car. 

The air spoils as quickly as it was heated. Now cold and void with all of the things left unsaid. 

You nod, simply. Leaving well enough alone. “Yeah. Okay.” 

He opens the passenger door for you quietly, his hand hovering over you slightly as you step up into the seat, but he never touches you. You buckle yourself in, silent as he enters through the other side. Then he drives you home. It’s quiet, a suffocating, choking quiet, but neither of you make any effort to break it. The radio buzzes on the lowest volume, only barely filling the void. 

You thank him for the ride when he gets to your apartment. He nods his head. You go inside and he watches until you're safely inside before peeling off on the road.  

He pointedly tries not to think about anything the whole way home. Puts it onto the shelf, blocks it out, does everything to not remember how earnestly you looked at him, to not remember how you were the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long time. But it’s his luck—the old funny thing called karmic fate that this night is the first night that he dreams of something other than the tense soundscapes of agony and grief that plague him and draw short bursts of sleep. 

He wakes up with his mouth dry, sweat beaded on his temple, his heart pounding, and the phantom feel of a hand on his chest. 

He dreamed of you. Eternal, effervescent, you. 

Shrouded in the warm hazy light of a bedroom, your laugh on the wind. A quiet moment of serenity, peace. Enjoying the stillness of you two, basking in the feel of giving in before it transformed into something else. You, then, bare on a bed beneath him, your wistful sighs in the air of his room. A prayer on your tongue, the words that fuel his desire, unlock all that he’s kept held back and that’s released something he hadn’t allowed himself to yearn for. And he knows then that the door that was slightly ajar by your gentle hand, the one he so quickly and concisely shut earlier, has now been thrust open by a gust of wind from his exhaled shaky breath. 

“Shit.” He thumps against his pillows in defeat, his hands rubbing at his face harshly. 

He admits, here, in the dawn of his bedroom with sunlight slowly filtering in through the curtains, the long held truth. The guilt is tumultuous; roiling and biting. Shredding through his skin, through muscle and tendon and into the marrow of his bones as he realizes, harshly, violently, with a voracious sense of betrayal and fear—

—that he liked it. He liked seeing you in the after hours with your hair down and your smile effortless. Liked seeing you in something other than scrubs and liked hearing the squeal of your laugh. Liked the way you leaned into him throughout the night. Liked watching you, liked being watched by you.

Liked, liked, liked.

For the first time in years, he laughed—truly, belly achingly laughed— and the burden on his shoulders levied just as the lowlights of the bar fell onto the sweetness of your smile. In the sanctity of a spartan bedroom lingering with the last remnants of a life long lost and hollow of his own that aches to be filled, he admits it.  

The familiar something that exists everytime the two of you meet has a name. 

Want.

And Jack wants you. 

All of you.

a/n: imma be real i don’t love this chapter but we need it before we get into the meat and potatoes. i was second guessing myself the entire time and then i remembered this is fanfiction so who CARES

this chapter was inspired by "the lonely fight" by mk.gee :)

[reasonsforhope]

"In one of the more remarkable marches of human progress, Bangladesh has reached the point of near-universal electricity access for its citizens.

Coupled with the rapid electrification has been one of the greatest single declines in the poverty rate of a nation ever seen, falling from 44.2% in 1991 to 18.7% in 2022.

In 1991, only 14% of the nation had access to electricity. By 2021, 99% had access.

Granted, half of these households are considered according to Our World in Data to have lower tier access, which accounts for home lighting and charging mobile phones at least 4 hours a day, but the other half are considered as having higher tier access, defined as the added capacity to power high-load appliances (such as fridges) for more than eight hours a day.

Bangladesh is the world’s most densely populated large country with a density of 3,020 per square mile. As the twelfth densest country in the world, the 11 above Bangladesh are all microstates whose combined land area would not even equal half the size of the smallest state in Bangladesh.

To put this into perspective, (a rather silly perspective) if one wanted to reduce the population density of Bangladesh to that of Mongolia, its borders would have to include both all of Africa and all of Eurasia. That’s how crowded Bangladesh is, and what these amazing reductions in poverty truly mean to global human flourishing."

-via Good News Network, January 21, 2025

--

Note: This is the kind of thing I mean when I say that very, very few people in the West know the degree to which absolutely massive societal progress has been happening in a lot of different developing countries.

Especially around access to infrastructure and access to electricity.

The quality of life improvements to electricity access are massive.

It's not just access to phones/the internet (already a huge deal that opens up massive channels of communication and information-sharing).

It's being able to preserve food because you have a fridge, meaning you get to spend less money on food/have less food waste/run fewer errands/have way more flexibility around food.

It's being able to do things after dark, because you have a lightbulb. It's being able to work late, make more of your time.

It's less air pollution because people can use electricity instead of burning fuel for things like heat/light/cooking. (Yes I know these things often use fuel or natural gas still, but they can be done with electricity, and a lot of developing countries are skipping over a natural gas/etc. phase and straight into renewables.)

Hell, it's safety. I had a friend when I was younger who was from southeast Asia. She was horribly injured when she was a kid because her family only had kerosene oil lamps that had to be manually refilled. If her family had had access to electricity, that never would have happened.

It's infrastructure for heating, air conditioning, and water access. It's so, so many things. It's huge.

[gotaksboyfie]

can we please get some seongje nsfw hcs?? thank you 🙏💗

keum seongje nsfw hc's

female reader + male reader + general

gif creds: @1liv

» absolutely relentless on your clit. seongje finds your reactions to him abusing it so cute. your thighs twitch and try to close, and your face scrunches up in pleasure. your clit is always sore and throbbing afterwards

» would want to try anal, but doesn't really care which hole he fucks. it's up to you, and he'll take anything you give him

» loves it when you sit on his face. he'll pull your thighs down, making sure you're glued onto his face with no way out. he's completely obsessed with the way you taste

» a tit fucker 100%. the visual of you holding your tits together for him to fuck gets him close almost embarrassingly fast. he likes it when you stick your tongue out too, making his tip basically kiss you with every thrust

» strictly tops. it takes loads and loads (pun intended) of begging on your end for him to barely say yes to you fucking him. he finds the sensation pleasant, but he doesn't particularly love it. on the rare occasion he does, he'll be riding you and in complete control

» a throat goat, but he doesn't give blowjobs a lot. he prefers to get straight to fucking instead of fiddling around with foreplay. if you do something to get rewarded, he'll give you a bj. otherwise unless you really want it, he wont give head often

» loves slapping your cock. precum always flings around, making a small mess on your stomach or thighs. you always whine in pain and the noise is like music to seongje's ears.

» would definitely put you in a cock cage. seeing you squirm as your cock throbs against the restraints is so pitifully cute. he'll fuck you with it on, marveling in how visibly hard your cock is.

» slightly thick and long. a little over 6'5". with a little bit of effort, he can probably give you a belly bulge

» a hard dom. he'd be into some super kinky shit, and is open to trying basically anything with you. he hates submitting because he doesn't want to let go of his control, but maybe once in a blue moon he might for you (this man is always folding for you)

» into cum marking. creampies, facials, cumming anywhere on your body is a biiggg yes for him. he especially loves cumming in you, plugging you up, and making you walk around with the plug in

» probably into public sex and exhibitionism. seongje will take any chance to show you off, even if it means fucking in front of everyone. no one else can make you feel as good as he does, and he proves it

» super into cnc. doesn't like roleplaying scenes because he finds it a little corny, but he loves it when you act like you don't want it. he'll make you take it until you succumb to the pleasure, crying for more

» high stamina. it doesn't take long for him to near his peak, but he can hold it in for a long time. he wants to reduce you to a sputtering mess before he finishes, and is always successful

» extremely rough. sex with him is basically getting mauled with a few orgasms thrown around. you leave his house with trembling legs and an ache in your back that just wont go away. not to mention the countless bruises and marks he left on you

» probably into some painplay, being the masochist he is. when you slap him, it gets him so riled up. also into getting choked. the lightheadedness just feels so good to him, even if it means baring his neck to you

» freeuse. he'll take you anywhere he can, even if it's in some changing room in a random store. seongje is like constantly horny, leaving you to deal with it. you've grown used to quickies in just about any place imaginable, but you love it

» loves using toys on you. seongje enjoys seeing you squirm in overstimulation as he holds a vibrator to your clit/head while he continuously thrusts into you

» seongje is always degrading you, slipping in a little praise here and there. he'll call you his slut, hole, cumdump, or just anything dirty. he keeps the praises minimal to make you work extra hard to earn it, especially if you're a sub

» despite being as rough as he is, he'll put you first. the second you say a safeword, he'll stop immediately to check up on you. he always gets somewhat clingy after sex, mostly as a way to gauge how you're feeling.

fin

[mullermilkshake]

Sixty one days

Part 3 <- Part 4 -> Part 5

Two months. Two fucking months.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Canon-typical violence,Trying for a baby, Jinwoo is getting a little desperate,Authoritative pressure,Mentions of pregnancy/unprotected sex/sexual acts/breeding

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

Two months later. And still no baby.

The morning followed news of Hae-In’s pregnancy announcement. You were still training and if you weren’t pregnant by now, that was the root cause.

You were pushing yourself too hard, Jinwoo knew it just by the sweat dripping from your forehead. The pressure from the association was the contributing factor that morning, paired with Jinwoo’s system quest, you and he weren’t doing so hot.

Each time you received Jinwoo’s load inside you, it was delivered on the hope that one would get you pregnant. One after the other, it grew way more than just a quest for him to complete. Jinwoo was driven to the point that he solely wanted those two little lines on that stick to prove that he was more than enough to look after you.

The whole day put Jinwoo in a foul mood, standing off by the viewing platform to witness your abilities alongside Jong-In. He wasn't participating, just mulling over how to smooth things with you and that strained apartment.

In a versus sparring match, Jinwoo put his money on you, despite knowing Jong-In’s abilities, yours were more of a utility. You were of the variety where you quickly learned that you were capable of fighting close and long ranged combat. Your abilities as a mage made you one of a kind for close quarters fighting despite your lack of experience. A perfect counter to other mage types like Jong-In.

The one ability Jinwoo took interest in was your direct spell casting. Royal’s Gatekeeper.

After the hunters finished swarming Jong-In with congratulations, he entered the area and faced you. Jinwoo’s eye twitched at the way you patted Jong-In on the back before standing in the indicated half box to await the match's starting point. He hated the way you were so friendly with him, loathed it, wanted to rip his hair out and slice the man up into pieces.

Like he was the ‘ultimate weapon’ and lately, Jinwoo found himself wanting to put that assumption to the test. It was clear who would win if Jinwoo took Jong-In on.

“Things are going to get hot in here.” Hunter Baek stood nearby with Hunter Ma, watching along as the match between two S-Rank hunters began.

“Yeah, but she’s pretty good at capture the flag.”

Baek shrugged and disagreed. “But Jong-In is pretty fast, she’ll have to break the distance first before she can even land a hit on him, her long range spell isn't refined enough yet, she's still got a long away to go. I'm not sure he’ll give her that chance at least, he was pretty riled up this morning.”

Ma scratched his head and rested on his chin over the railing. “But with her ability… makes it kinda difficult, right?”

Royal’s Gatekeeper was a peculiar ability which could beat Jinwoo’s shadow exchange in comparison. A direct summoning spell that essentially ripped holes in reality, making miniature gates for teleportation of objects and people. Shadow exchange had a three hour cool down, Jinwoo was working on reducing that tirelessly, however you just naturally received it, right in the palm of your hand without any delay, operating it in real time.

The things Jinwoo could do with that ability were infinite. For one, which you had displayed once before, was creating a way out of a red gate, allowing safe passage back. An escape spell.

Though Jinwoo did not need it to escape as such, he wanted it for something more elusive. The fascinating thing was that the gates themselves produced minute amounts of energy, explained by you to use practically none of your mana either. But if he controlled you, he had access to it. 

Jinwoo watched you run towards Jong-In, eager to bridge that distance as quickly as possible to avoid his wider spread attacks. Jong-In however, fired repetitively, sending you on a run around in the arena.

On another note, not only could you present these gates for teleportation and switching, you could hide them too.

Hence why your perception was so high.

Now, as a mage type, your strength was nothing to brag about, while you could fight in close combat as an S-Rank, your overall strength still lied in distance or evasion. Your natural skills lied in more with your agility and perception, the other areas could use work.

Jinwoo preferred it that way. Because then, you were weaker and you would have to rely on him more for your survival. Your fierce independence was nothing to shake a stick at, but it proved more of a hindrance when it came to your relationship with Jinwoo. Yes, it was developing, albeit slowly, into a relationship. Just a strained one.

You most probably took that frustration out in your training, Jinwoo saw the determination across your face and it must have spurred you on after your close call with Jong-In’s fire spear. It seemingly burned you upon contact that was barely there as it whizzed past, and what damage resulted, faded away in a blink.

That was your secondary ability. Eye’s handmaiden. Solely for your own gain and that fact did not pass you as a healing mage. A being that drained significant mana when summoned upon instinct, you barely registered it, its presence merely as a passive outsider until the battle ended and you no longer took damage.

The summoned being healed you constantly, it could not be destroyed and would withstand even Jinwoo’s attacks, its sole purpose to serve you blindly.

Jong-In threw more fire and Jinwoo noticed the smoke screen, because as the fire and destruction came away from the essence stone walls in the corner of the training room, you were gone.

Disappeared.

Vanished from thin air that even Jinwoo’s perception couldn’t locate you.

Until a hole in the wall appeared, its darkened mass sparkling like a million stars in the night sky from inside like a vortex. Like a sheet of paper, it was flat and non-existent. But it was there. Jong-In noticed and acted on instinct, launching his spear right through until it shot back out from across the room and lodged in the ceiling at speed. It vibrated, shaking from side to side at the raw power behind his throw.

Yet you did not emerge with a hole through you, Eye’s Handmaiden remained stagnant on the side lines, keeping its humanoid arms taught by its side and casted no spells to your health.

Then, you cropped in view, right behind Jong-In and tapped him on the shoulder.

Ma gasped with an exclamation that Jinwoo would describe as a child on his birthday. “Woah! She got him- she got him… That was slick!”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Beak crossed his arms with a pleased grin. “She’s improved…”

You tapped Jong-In on the shoulder which made him turn, revealing your path to victory right on his back.

So that pat on his back was a diversion for placing Royal’s Gatekeeper in a place she could secure the flag. Impressive. 

Baek wandered over to Jinwoo with his finger quizzically on his chin. “I never knew she could place that on living things, she really has improved… Hey, Jinwoo? How’s things going with you two? I hear the association is riding your asses right now.”

Ma came over to join and stick his nose in things as Jinwoo tensed up under his ginormous hand on his shoulder. “Probably why she’s been trainin’ so hard. That’s a lotta pressure for you two.”

“I think we’ll be alright, these things just take time, right?”

Baek shrugged with indifference, Ma chuckled and watched you conversing with Jong-in. “I heard that- what’s that sayin’ the one about Rome? I was never built or somethin’."

“It's Rome wasn’t built in a day, Dongwook.”

“Yeah, that’s it!”

Well, Jinwoo wanted it built in a day, with his abilities, his shadows could build an entire city in a day for sure. While on that thought, he never took his eyes off of you, smiling away at something Jong-In said and waving him off like you were trying for a baby with him and not Jinwoo. 

Just the thought made his blood boil and hiss under his skin. He hoped that your frustration still existed, because he was getting rough tonight. Jinwoo ensured it. And if you weren’t flustered enough by the time you reached the apartment, he’d find a way to get a rise out of you and expose that bratty attitude come the drive home after their invitation to a dinner hosted by Chairman Go.

“I guess so… Well, I’ll be going now, we have plenty to do before the association dinner tonight.” Jinwoo left with his hands in his pockets and stepped away.

“Sure thing! See you then!”

“Hold on, Jinwoo. I’ll walk you down.” Baek followed him off of the viewing platform with his hands tucked into his pockets and the world on his shoulders. “Look… I know this isn’t my place, but I wanted to ask you how things are really going?”

“Hm?”

“Things might look dandy on the outside, but things have gotten pretty dark the last two months. There’s been a lot of facade going on around here to show the Chairman we’re all on board with this even though we’re not.” He let your name slip from his lips. “And she’s a good person and she’s never been his riled up. Things are pressured and I wanted to let you know, I’m here if you need anything. I know what the association can be like at the best times, so when shit like this crops up, I can only imagine what you two are going through.”

Jinwoo was having the time of his life, and you’d come around to it eventually. Even if it was ‘just sex’ to you right now. But Jinwoo knew different and Baek sticking his oar in it shot up his hackles and they were pointing right at his idiotic face.

Though, Jinwoo wasn’t idiotic, he knew when to pick his fights coming from where he did. This was not one to get hung up on, not when you were waiting by the entrance to go home.

“Thanks, uh… it’s been difficult, but we’re both doing our part. I appreciate the sentiment- anyway, gotta go, I have things to do. See you tonight.”

“...Sure thing.” He wasn’t convinced, yet Jinwoo didn’t care.

His frustration riled him up enough through the day that he could have jumped in, dominated a dungeon and the rewards of levelling up still wouldn’t have satisfied him. His mind barely kept on the road and spoke no further in the car with you. You did not utter one word either. Even on the way up to the apartment, you walked two steps ahead like Jinwoo was a stranger to you

Well… That won’t do. As soon as you could step foot over that threshold, Jinwo would do all sorts of filthy things to you and he’d hear nothing about it. It’s just how things went for the last week, and secretly, he loved it. Craved it. Fantasised more about it which got him hard more times than he would admit out loud.

Almost there, and he’d fuck you angrily in to submission.

Almost, yet nothing close. Woo Jin-chul stood by the front door, glaring at Jinwoo down the hallway. “Good evening Hunter Sung.” He addressed you second.

“Why are you here?” You said. “We had the call with the association this morning, if you’ve come to lecture us, we already had both barrels this morning.”

You shot inside and left the door open for him anyway, Jinwoo followed in last and left the door to depressingly click with awkward silence.

Woo Jin-chul leant against the kitchen counter and cleaned his sunglasses absentmindedly. “I’m here on informal circumstances, I’m giving you a head’s up, nothing more. So I suggest you take the advice if you want this to work out.”

What could that be? If he’s made an unofficial visit, then the Chairman doesn’t know. 

“What advice?” Jinwoo could tell you were tired from the way you were rubbing your eye. “We have this dinner to go to tonight, for Hae-In’s announcement. There’s alot to prepare before we go.”

“I’m well aware of your dinner, I’ll be attending along with the Chairman and it hasn’t gone unnoticed how distant you two are, so I suggest you use tonight as a way to get back into the association’s good graces.” Woo Jin-chul held out each finger as he listed the rules off. “No drinking, no murderous glares and certainly no eating irresponsibly… you have the nutrition pack we gave you. Stick to it. As for the do’s, at least look somewhat happy, it makes for a dull room otherwise. Keep public displays of affection to a minimum, this is Hunter Choi and Cha’s night. Though ensure the chairman is watching when you do decide to get appropriately intimate. He will be watching.” 

You huffed and slouched, taking a glass from the cupboard to drink from. “When did this programme get political? We’re doing everything we can, I came off my pill not long before we started this, it can take up to a year, what’s the rush? We have to wait years before we see any results anyway- I don’t get it? All you’re doing is putting pressure on us- on me.” 

A year? Jinwoo stared at his system screen in his periphery, one month left and he’d run out of time on the other end. It wasn’t that he couldn’t withstand the penalty, he just couldn’t be asked to. No way could he wait an entire year before getting you pregnant. He was already going out of his mind with this distance with nothing to show for it except great sex. He wanted to breed you so desperately, it ached, hurt his very being that out of all the things he could do, putting a baby in you was just something he was failing at.

No amount of leveling up or training could speed the process up or increase the likelihood. It just had to happen on its own and that was the frustrating part.

“How often are you part taking in intercourse?”

You almost spat water all over Woo Jin-chul. “W-what?! Why would you ask that?”

“I must enquire so I can give you more customized advice.”

“Jinwoo…” Your eyes were so wide and adoring when you were borderline pissed off. “Say something- no way we’re telling him that.”

He didn’t care who he told, preferably Jong-In to rub it in his face. But with Woo Jin-chul, there was a possibility for something in return. 

No… no way could I be that lucky…

“Maybe we should hear him out- hold on.” His hands went up in defense. “It could get the association off our backs for a little while, right?”

When you didn’t respond, burying your face in your hands, Jinwoo took it as a cue to say out loud to the world how frequently the two of you had been fucking. “Three times a week. Like we were told at the start.”

“Is that true?”

You looked between the two men with flushed cheeks. “Yeah…”

“Then double it, preferably once a day, everyday. Starting from tonight. I trust it’ll help speed up the process, but if that fails, we’ll have to look at secondary options.”

“And what’s that?” You chased Woo Jin-chul towards the door as he opened it. “You can’t just say that and walk away.”

He sighed, slipping his sunglasses on over the threshold to the hallway. “We’ll have to look at pairing you both with someone else. Now that Hunter Cha is pregnant, the association has approved more Ranked hunters for the programme. So, if you want to skip more formalities and stick together, I suggest you do anything you can to get her pregnant, Hunter Sung…”

Jinwoo nodded and stood there in a state of shock as Woo Jinchul left and the door closed behind him. Another pairing was disastrous, downright wrong and bad and not an option.

Shit, how the hell could Jinwoo get himself out of this? He only just got you close to him. No fucking way would he let you go and if he had to take on the Chairman himself, he’d make him disappear into blood mist before he let himself slip from the lulling confines of the space between your legs.

How on earth was he going to sit across the table from that man who was set on ripping you away from him?

Self restraint. That’s how, though Jinwoo barely had much when it came to you.

He was fucking you tonight, and his load better take.

Part 3 <- Part 4 -> Part 5

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974,@snowy-violet,@sky2lar,@starrynights23x,@minh907

@yessirr7,@aussie-boys-wife,@yihona-san06,@mashiromochi,@daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator,@alia-17,@otomegamesforlife@m00n-estelle,@towomatos

@stormnightingale,@johnnysactualgf,@solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved,@johnnysactualgf,@solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved

@notleclerc,@minkuro,@misakicchi

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[szarina]

the first thing gojo does after getting released in the prison realm is fucking you.

there's no such thing as a greeting but with his hands wandering all over the expanse of your soft body and his lips peppering all over your round face. his muscular arms picking you up and pinning you in nearest wall and let him do all the work.

drilling you with his cock that got your toes curling and hips arching from the slap of his hips into yours. his arms into your creamy thighs, hands into your plush waist.

“missed this pussy so much, baby.” he babbles. loving every inch of your fat pussy being wrapped around his thick length.

you can't help but gush around him, your juices coating his cock and gojo pounds mercilessly in you. can you blame him? he misses you so much and its been so long since he tapped that pussy of yours and it's heavenly just like the last time but sure he is taking his time to embrace the warmth of your walls against his.

despite being out for so long, gojo still retains his cheekiness and being a tease. randomly edges you to get a whine from your pretty lips and bumps his huge cockhead into your cervix making you cry.

gojo being mesmerized from your body bouncing, taking every pound and slam of his body to yours. you are such a good girl for him for taking him so well.

gojo can't help but to bite the flesh into your neck and moans. desperate to leave marks into your skin just like he always does and marking you as his. you're so soft and plush and he wants you to breed over and over again.

gojo who can't help but to break into a huge grin, seeing you so dumb and drunk from his dick. so pretty. the words coming from your mouth reduce into whines and moans.

and gojo finally dumping his huge load into your fat cunt that it spills even his cock is stuffed deep inside you. spurts and spurts of his cum still coming after one another as you came undone from the bullying of his thick cock inside you.

you think he's finished after that but his cock is still hard and begging to be wrapped around your fat pussy and who are you to deny him.

after all, he misses you so much.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Don't Go where I Can't Follow Part 1/2

pairing: Dr. Jack Abbott x F!Nurse!Ex-militaryReader

summary: You join Jack at the hospital after waking up alone, and the activities of the day bring up bad memories as the shooter closes in on the hospital

(Warning for normal Pitt mayhem, and gun violence. I know nothing about medical procedures, nor do I know anything about the military. Reader is Australian because I am a self indulgent bitch)

The Pitt was overrun by the time you walked through the door.

Everyone was rushing as the urgent cases were dealt with and those marked non-urgent were shuffled off to the side, interns being left to manage what they could.

You took it all in and smiled, it was like you were back in a MASH unit, a place you were more comfortable in then the sterile and normally ‘almost orderly’ Pitt that you had moved countries to work in. 

Your shift wasn’t due to start for hours but once you had awoken to an empty bed and a blaring radio there was nowhere else you could be but here.

Out of the staff room, with a phone to her ear rushed Dana, her hair long since fallen out of the messy bun you had seen her in at the beginning of the day. 

And she was sporting a shiny new bruise under her eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?” you said as you both fell into step, your fingers dancing gently over the growing bloom of blue and purple.

“Idiot patient, it's fine, not even the worst thing that happened today.”

You blew out a breath in sympathy, “Usually the crazies come out at night, is an eclipse due?”

“Only in the Pitt.”

Dana’s always watchful eyes shifted over you, and rested on your exposed neck where you knew a godawful hickey was blooming.

“Looks like you also had an exciting day.”

“And yet I woke up alone.”

Dana sighed as you laughed, it was a never ending conversation about your failed love life.

You and Dana were both charge nurses who spent more time in the hospital than at home with family and friends. When you had arrived here, fresh from an honorary discharge with a rough Australian accent and more PTSD than anyone should rightly have, she had given you a couch to crash on and all the hard truths you needed.

As you reached the desk you both shared, you were grabbing files and barking orders before your jacket was off. 

Knowing what you would be walking into you had run to work in your scrubs, not even bringing a handbag or your keys. At least four people in this hospital had a set of keys to your flat and they would either lend them to you or walk you home at the end of the day. 

“Incoming!” was yelled from the loading dock and you ran towards the sound, Dana was the best charge nurse in the country, she didn’t need you hovering.

You had been a MASH nurse for the Australian Armed Forces for over ten years, this was what you could do in your sleep.

You grabbed the first gurney that came through the doors and started working. 

Within fifteen minutes you are soaked in blood and sweat but the wave of bodies that reduced and you could catch your breath.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

You turn slowly, plastering a fake smile on your lips, as you pull off your apron before grabbing another.

Jack Abbott was a stone faced bastard, with greying hair and eyes that looked straight into your soul. In the time you had known him he had made more people cry then you had made laugh. 

“There was a shooting- where else would I be?”

He pulled your arm and led you from the main room of the Pitt into an exam room that now held all the emergency equipment they would need, very shortly, if the news was to be believed.

“Your shift starts in two hours-”

“So does yours.” you cut him off, ripping your arm from his grasp.

His eyes softened and his voice dropped, “You don’t have to be here. You can come back when it's done.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Of course you knew why Jack was telling you to go home, but you wanted him to say it himself. 

“No I don’t, why shouldn't I be here?”

Jack let out a sigh and looked down at my shoulder, his glare felt like it could see through the scrubs and singlet I wore and see straight to the raised scar tissue that ruined my ability to wear a strapless top forever. 

“I got shot once. I’m good, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with a bullet wound since. God Jack, it's not even my first mass shooting! You can’t hide me away everytime we get gunshot victims in the ER, we live in America!” Your own accent dragged out the last sentence and you laughed without humour. 

He swallowed what he was going to say, and instead stepped closer, his own breathing becoming jagged and he leant his forehead to yours, your breath mirroring his as you both took a moment to ground each other.

“I’m not going anywhere.” you whispered to him as you kissed him gently.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

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

Once upon a time somewhere in the middle of a warzone, you and Jack had met. He was already an angry senior doctor, with more medals than he could physically wear and an attitude problem they could see from space.

You were new, a baby nurse, who had signed up on a whim. 

Hands deep in the cavity of a lieutenant that had made the mistake of wandering too far afield, a weird friendship had bloomed. 

He snarled at you, and you followed him around like a puppy desperate for love.

And while it may have been an unconventional place to find it, after a year, love had come. Or at least you had thought so. 

The years passed and you both relisted again and again to serve your respective countries. And fate had put you both back in the same towns, sharing hospitals made of canvas or blown apart buildings.

But as many relationships that had happened in the desert, with war raging around you, you were torn apart by circumstances beyond your control.

You were sent to a different MASH unit, with an inexperienced doctor who needed your steady hands. By this point you had almost as many medals as Jack, and experience that none of your colleagues could hold a candle to.

It was at this MASH unit where your military career had ended, with a stray bullet in your shoulder and a bomb destroying the medevac team that came to save you. 

You laid in the sand, holding your own wound together, under the wreck of the jeep for two days before someone came to save you.

From there it took you six months to recover physically, first in a hospital in Cairo then home to Sydney where you spent months staring at a ceiling, waiting for Jack to walk through the door.

He never did and when you finally got your phone working again, you had expected calls, messages or even an email from him, you didn’t expect complete radio silence.

He had never rung, never messaged and even your spam emails held no words of wonder from him.

Before your accident you both had communicated daily, in some way or another just to let the other know you had made it through another day. 

But you had received nothing.

With blind fear you had thought he too had been attacked, that he had lost his life somewhere in the sand. 

With shaking hands you had contacted a mutual colleague, a civilian, who had explained Jack had left the army and was now working in Pittsburgh of all places.

So that's where you went.

After three planes and way too many painkillers you found yourself at the front door of the ER.

Dana had been the first person you saw.

“Excuse me- I am so sorry to disturb you but does a Doctor Jack Abbott work here?” You had been friendly, professional and to the point. 

She smiled slightly, with a tilt of her head, “Who's asking?”

You had returned her slight smile, knowing that she would give you nothing if your next answer was not honest.

“An old friend, we used to work together.” Your posture and style didn’t require you to elaborate, between your almost crew cut hair (Most of it had burnt away in the bombing) and your no nonsense clothing, you knew she knew you were ex-military.

“He’s around here somewhere, but we’re busy so you may have to wait in chairs.” She gestured to the overcrowded waiting room, and you almost cried at the thought of sitting down. Your body was exhausted, you had left the Sydney hospital against medical orders, and the travel had exhausted you beyond anything you had ever felt.

But that faded away as he walked into the room.

He had his head down with a frown etched across his forehead as he angrily pocked at the ipad in his hands.

You would have laughed if it had been any other time, you had both been terrible at technology and preferred handwritten charts and orders over pressing buttons on a tablet.

“Hello Dr Abbott.” You called out.

He turned slowly, his body stilling like a rabbit in headlights as he looked across the crowded room. You didn’t know if the hospital staff had all shut up to watch the interaction or if you just didn’t notice anything other than the man ten feet from you.

“You-” he started- the ipad tumbling from his hands as the ten feet distance disappeared and suddenly you were in his arms. 

He smelt like sweat and lemongrass, just like he had before, and your head swam with the smell. The anger and the pain melted away as he clung to you. 

You wanted to be strong, pull him off and give you a piece of your mind, after all you had rehearsed it the entire trip.

But as his fingers dug heavily into your skin, bruising as he held you tight against him, the words melted away.

“You didn’t call me.” you whispered into his ear and he pulled away just slightly, your foreheads now resting against each other. You see tears glistening in his weary eyes.

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive-” he kept muttering, his hands not leaving your body as he touched your back, your shoulders, your arms, he kept touching you, fear all over his face.

Then it hits you, Jack thought you were dead, he had heard about the shooting, or the bombing and he must have heard there were no survivors in the days before your rescue. 

“Baby- I’m okay.” you muttered to him, over and over as you two clung together in the middle of the ER, people walking around you. But no one interfered as you held each other tight, reassuring the other you were there.

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

“The shooter is coming this way.” Jack whispered, even though there was no one to overhear. 

“I guessed as much.” you said as you both pulled yourselves back together, there would be a time to wallow in your own memories, but the ER in the middle of an active shooter situation is not the place for you.

There were SWAT all over the hospital, in uniform and out, you had clocked them the moment you stepped into the ER driveway.

Both you and Jack had dealt with awful situations, providing medical assistance while bullets flew past your ears. But no one else had. The senior ER staff had dealt with more bullet wounds then many but the shooters never dared enter the building.

“I need you -” Jack started but you cut him off.

“I’m not going home Jack!”

And the grumpy doctor only sighed and then let out a breath that was almost a laugh, “I know that, I need you to go to the yellow zone and keep an eye on the interns. It's day one for most of them and this is not exactly something that's covered by the idiots in their classrooms.”

You nodded and with a brush of your lips you separated.

The interns didn’t need you as much as you had thought, in moments like these it would make or break new doctors in your experience and one of them stood out more than the others. Melissa or Mel as she quickly asked to be called, had taken on the role of teacher as she worked between five different beds, yelling over patients to give her fellow interns any assistance they may need.

Time falls away as between the two of you, the yellow zone falls into a steady flow.

It was in an almost peaceful moment where you stopped to show Santos how to tie off a field tourniquet, after catching her trying to do something only found in inaccurate medical dramas. 

She had started to explain her actions, talking as if she was more senior doctors and you an idiot but you snapped at her, and her eyes filled with tears as they grew larger.

“You don’t get to make calls like this without an attending, do you understand Ms Santos.” She was not looking at you now and before you could snap at her you heard a small shriek from Mel who came up behind Santos. Her own eyes turned to saucers and her body shaking as she gestured for you to turn around.

The world swirls as you turn slowly, raising your hands on instinct. 

The shooter is before you, his face half hidden under a cap and his clothes, once they would have been nice, but after all the violence they were steeped in the blood of his victims. His piercing blue eyes look straight at you and his lips curl into a cruel smile.

Your training kicked in and stepped a little closer to him, your hands now way above your head, your body covering Santos’s who you could just see on your peripheral.

Mel was not in your eyeline but you prayed she stayed behind the other intern.

The shooter was talking but you heard nothing as blood rushed to your head, the gun was raised higher and higher and he stepped closer to you.

“This is a hospital, we will not hurt you but I need you to put the gun down.” It has been years since you had used your military voice but it fell from your lips without pause.

The shooter just looked at you, and his smile got broader.

“I’ll shoot you first.” he promised, raising the gun up to your chest.

You didn’t close your eyes, you didn’t rush out of the way, because if you did that the interns would be in the firing line. You would hold your position.

Movement behind the shooter caught your eye just as the bullet was released from the chamber.

Time stopped as you looked at Jack, his face now deathly white as he realises what he's walked into.

“I’m sorry-” you mouth to him, and then time resumes and you fall to your knees, pain erupting in your chest. You hear a scream and another gunshot but you can’t tear your eyes from him.

He’s running to your side but bodies stop him and then hands are touching you and grabbing at you and darkness keeps threatening to take you under.

“I’m sorry.” you try to say, but your throat fills with blood and you cough against the pressure.

I’m sorry Jack.

I’m so sorry.

[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.

[rebouks]

Keeping Lag to a Minimum...

I was chatting about a few things I do to combat lag over on discord and realised I do quite a bit of maintenance to reduce lag/load times. I decided to write em all down and before I knew it, I had a big ol' list. Here's hoping it helps!

Save/File Tips:

Clear your caches (located in the same spot as your mod folder fyi) I usually delete the onlinethumbnailcache, avatarcache and localthumbcache caches every time I exit the game, the main one to delete regularly is the localthumbcache file, they're just temporary files but it can get pretty big after a while.. if you're having any mod issues, particularly ui ones, it's always worth deleting that to see if it helps.

Remove any saves you're not using from your saves folder, and keep an eye on save file sizes. In my experience, any saves over around 30-40mb start to get a bit laggy. Things that bump this size up are the amount of townies in game and the amount of lots/objects in the world.

Regarding the above point, I regularly bulldoze lots I don't need anymore, just to save the game from having to cope with extra shit to load in the background and reduce save file bloat.

Similarly, I delete a lot of unnecessary townies. Also, try to keep the amount of outfits on townies to a minimum, ain't no townie need four swimsuit outfits, the game will thank you..

If you have cheats enabled you can usually shift-click/delete object on things like random coffee cups or stray cupcakes sims foolishly drop around the world (or eat em.. whatever tickles ur pickle) just get rid!

Whilst we're keeping objects in game to a minimum.. I try to clear sims inventories now and then, including townies. You can do this via mccc even if you're not currently playing that household by heading to MC Cleaner -> Sell Sim Inventory/Sell Household Inventory. RANDOM LUMPS OF CLAY BEGONE!

Think of a save file like a lot.. the more objects in it, the laggier it gets! Try your best to remove anything or anyone unnecessary where you can.

Hit "Save As" instead of "Save" now and then - the more you overwrite a save, the more chance it has of going wonky, treat your game to a fresh one now and then and remove the old one from your saves folder (maybe don't delete it right away in case you wanna roll back, keep it somewhere safe).

If you can (although ik it can be a pain) set up a new/fresh save, you'd be surprised how bogged down old ones can get! For legacy players, it's usually best to do this whenever you have a small family to save yourself some pain, since you can just save the household and take em to a new save (you will lose sims inventories/household inventories/relationships with sims outside the household tho so beware! Pictures/other collectables can be saved to a lot however, and you can always cheat back relationship bits etc.. bit of a last resort but new saves are shiny and fast!)

Make sure your Screenshots/Video folders are empty - move em somewhere else, it works, trust me. If you have a lot of custom music installed try n' clear some of those out too.. the smaller that Sims 4 directory is, the better.

Delete any last exceptions/last crashes (same spot as your mod folder again) you don't need em unless you're planning to upload em somewhere for help.

Settings Etc:

If you get a bad lag spike, opening the main menu and/or saving can randomly stop this. If it doesn't, try exiting the game, clearing your localthumbcache and restarting.

Clearing all notifications from the game panel can also help.

If you can, close all other apps and background apps you don't need whilst playing, ts4 is super memory hungry so it can definitely help.

The GraphicsRules Override file by Simp4Sims can reduce lag/latency and make your game look a little better in the process!

Srslysims Simulation Lag Fix mod can help reduce lag too (if you've altered the game speed via mccc tho, don't use this unless you plan on resetting it to default).

If you aren't keen on, or barely use a pack, consider disabling it.

Not ideal, especially for those of us taking screenshots, but lowering the graphics settings whilst playing definitely helps.

If you use re/g-shade, consider switching it off whilst playing and only turn it on for screenshots.

A clean and tidy pc/laptop runs better in general. Remove anything you're not using/don't need anymore to free up space, remove temp files, clean up your folders now and again etc etc.. especially that dreaded mod folder, speaking of...

Managing Mods:

SORT OUT YOUR MODS FOLDER FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.. skdsjdjs it doesn't have to be immaculate but at the very least try n' clear it out now n' then. Also try to separate your script mods/overrides from the rest, patch days don't need to be so stressful ;-;

Personally, I don't merge my mods; if something breaks it's much harder to pinpoint! It makes it easier to find/delete specific mods too.. and let's face it, there's usually one or two items in that set you could do without lmaooo.. also, don't think it helps much tbh! Yeah you could say the game doesn't have to work as hard to load merged files but that's debatable, it's still the same amount of items/polys at the end of the day ¯\(°_o)/¯

If you like merging files and/or see results from doing so, you can merge stuff you definitely know you're never getting rid of, especially CAS/BB stuff.. but steer clear of merging gameplay/script mods! If a merged file seems to be the culprit when using the 50/50 method, try unmerging it and 50/50ing it again! You might not need to get rid of everything if something's borked.

Bulk Rename Utility can be used to remove all spaces and special characters from your mod files, the game doesn't particularly like loading those so it'll thank you.

The Sims 4 Mod Manager is a great way to sort through your mods, you can easily see, move and delete files from here (not great for build/buy, poses etc as thumbnails are usually missing, but great for CAS stuff). An extra hint with this that I've noticed is that if any of my mods get renamed with [D1] at the beginning after looking through them via the mod manager, it means it's a duplicate file so you can get rid.

I also use the Sims 4 Tray Importer to help me sort through mods. Simply save a sim/lot with any cc you don't want and find it in the importer, you can then go through all the cc in the cc tab and delete/sort it (I also use this to sort cc if a bunch has the wrong tags etc, makes it easier to find in my folders by saving em to a lot or w/e - it also spots duplicates which is handy).

It's a ballache, but the 50/50 method is tried and tested if you're having issues.

I like to keep an abandoned cc folder tucked away somewhere, that way you can remove mods willy nilly without stressing about losing them. If you change your mind, you can always grab it back!

[twistedpink]

nsfw below the cut! 2 1

The format is Character/Length (in inches)/Bedroom Skill

Rook Hunt - 4 - 6/10

-His only sexual education is very much “Rabbits make more rabbits” but his romance is to die for!!! You won’t even have to ask to be indulged- all you have to do is say yes :)

-Rook is astonishingly well groomed for someone who works on their feet. The spare hours of self care he gets between his beauty sleep and people watching does wonders for any sport-stenches (I mean, unless you’re into that kind of thing). He’s always doing something with the “presentation of his undercarriage”, and isn’t afraid to let you cop a feel in public!

-He’s all about experimentation with your pleasure, and it’s not that he refuses online resources, but isn’t it so much better naturally? Where’s the sense of adventure if some stranger on the internet is telling you where to touch him? After lots, (loads, really) of trial and error, he’s sure you’ll get a sense of rhythm. It’s never too early to start exploring!

Idia Shroud - 7 - 3/10

-Everyone can agree that Idia is too big for his own good. Massive, really- And he hates it. He’s been perma banned from the most comfortable thing on earth! How’s he supposed to enjoy going commando when his tip’s out in the open??

-He does NOT know how to use the monster in his pants, but he’s not objecting to a teacher :) When you first start getting “active” he’s painfully professional about it. No eye contact, no problem! You’ll wear him down eventually, but it’ll take awhile for anything truly intimate,,

-The worst thing about sex with Idia is the need. White-hot and throbbing, but so infrequent!! His libido is SO high, always pawing at you after school, but he can’t hold back for the life of him :/ Ten full minutes of rest for another three of penetration? Oh no, your only option is to overestimate him,, whatever shall he dooooo

Malleus Draconia - 3 - 7/10

-Two words. FUCKIN MARATHONS!! Malleus is comically bad at anything sexual- and you’re the one who has to initiate most things, but he can go hours without any pain between the two of you! And the AFTERCARE?? 10/10. Imagine playing with his scales while you wait on breakfast in bed <333

-Malleus is far too big for any usual quicky spots, but nobody can compete in forced proximity! It’s so easy to drag him into a broom closet between classes- Everyone avoids him anyways, and because he very rarely slouches he has to in the confines of your rendezvous, so it’s a completely new angle!

-He’s a little (lot) inexperienced, but he’s learning so much with your help! Nobody questions that he keeps his nails short or demands chapstick whenever he recalls the time, because nobody questions Malleus Draconia. He’d like very much for you to change that- order him around, kiss him bloody! So long as it’s you he’ll be happy :)

Lilia Vanrouge - 5 - 8/10

-Lilia’s a believer of “it’s the motion of the ocean - not the size of the wave”, and he KNOWS his ass has motion. All these years working on his core and arms only to be reduced to some petty slut :/ It’s all he’s ever wanted!

-Doesn’t bother shaving, nothing on him grows quickly enough for regular maintenance, and that does include his sex drive :( He wakes up sweaty and shaking whenever he ignores his rarer urges, but he’s lucky enough to have you! You’ll indulge him for a little biting, won’t you? Not his fault if you want more,,

-He’s a MASSIVE whiner, but he knows you loveeee it <3 All these years muffling his voice for colleagues and kids, it’s a miracle to have soundproof walls! With his little bouts of energy, you won’t be leaving bed anytime soon- lay back and let him cook for you! Or maybe you’d rather he just eat?

(no full proofread until tmr, we die like Malleanor)

[bethanydelleman]

One criticism of Jane Austen is that she ignored the lower classes. I find this kind of dumb on multiple levels, primarily because not every work of fiction or social criticism needs to include every single social ill, but also because she does talk about servants/the lower classes quite a bit more than people realize and what she says is important.

The overall theme: kindness to servants/the lower classes/the poor is a very important mark of character.

We all know that Elizabeth Bennet changed her mind about Mr. Darcy after hearing a positive character reference from his housekeeper, but that is just one example of many. The Dashwood girls are better employers than John & Fanny since they easily find servants to move across the country with them: Her wisdom too limited the number of their servants to three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland. Also, servants tended to brag about having wealthy employers, these three servants wanted both a far away and a less prestigious job. John & Fanny were really that bad!

Another mark against General Tilney's character is that he gets irrationally angry at/scares servants:

To such anxious attention was the General’s civility carried, that not aware of her extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite angry with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to open the door of the apartment herself. “What did William mean by it? He should make a point of inquiring into the matter.” And if Catherine had not most warmly asserted his innocence, it seemed likely that William would lose the favour of his master forever, if not his place, by her rapidity.

“Why! How can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost in frightening my old housekeeper out of her wits, because I must go and prepare a dinner for you, to be sure.” (Henry, on his father coming to his house for a visit. This may be half a joke, but General Tilney is very critical of the meal)

Mrs. Ferrars's character is made quite plain in this complaint about paying annuities (basically a pension here) to some of her husband's old servants:

I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely at my mother’s disposal, without any restriction whatever.

Mrs. Ferrars is loaded, and she begrudges paying a few pounds to 3 servants. She is greedy and ungrateful.

Mrs. Norris's treatment of the servants is similar to her treatment of Fanny. It shows the depth of her miserliness (how much could one boy really eat?) and also cruelty:

"I had been looking about me in the poultry-yard, and was just coming out, when who should I see but Dick Jackson making up to the servants’ hall-door with two bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them to father, you may be sure; mother had chanced to send him of a message to father, and then father had bid him bring up them two bits of board, for he could not no how do without them. I knew what all this meant, for the servants’ dinner-bell was ringing at the very moment over our heads; and as I hate such encroaching people (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have always said so: just the sort of people to get all they can), I said to the boy directly (a great lubberly fellow of ten years old, you know, who ought to be ashamed of himself), ‘I’ll take the boards to your father, Dick, so get you home again as fast as you can.’ The boy looked very silly, and turned away without offering a word, for I believe I might speak pretty sharp; and I dare say it will cure him of coming marauding about the house for one while. I hate such greediness—so good as your father is to the family, employing the man all the year round!”

It also highlights her hypocrisy, as Mrs. Norris has moved in during the play to help with the preparations, so she is getting free meals all week but she won't let this kid eat when he's helping his father (who is building the stage for the play)

Mr. Knightley considers the common people of Highbury before moving a path, even though he likely owns all of the land and can do whatever he wants:

"But John, as to what I was telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly the present line of the path"

The kind Musgroves, who have given their nursemaid a retirement plan instead of turning her out:

A chaise was sent for from Crewkherne, and Charles conveyed back a far more useful person in the old nursery-maid of the family, one who having brought up all the children, and seen the very last, the lingering and long-petted Master Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings and dress all the blains and bruises she could get near her, and who, consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go and help nurse dear Miss Louisa.

And who clearly are rewarded for this kindness.

Anne Elliot showing kindness to Mrs. Smith, who has nearly fallen right out of the gentry, vs. her fathers disdain for charity:

“Westgate Buildings!” said he, “and who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings? A Mrs Smith. A widow Mrs Smith; and who was her husband? One of five thousand Mr Smiths whose names are to be met with everywhere. And what is her attraction? That she is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste! Everything that revolts other people, low company, paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associations are inviting to you. But surely you may put off this old lady till to-morrow: she is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day. What is her age? Forty?”

Added to Sir Walter and Elizabeth's idea to cut expenses:

“Can we retrench? Does it occur to you that there is any one article in which we can retrench?” and Elizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm, set seriously to think what could be done, and had finally proposed these two branches of economy, to cut off some unnecessary charities, and to refrain from new furnishing the drawing-room; to which expedients she afterwards added the happy thought of their taking no present down to Anne, as had been the usual yearly custom."

Vs. how the Crofts treat the poor:

She could have said more on the subject; for she had in fact so high an opinion of the Crofts, and considered her father so very fortunate in his tenants, felt the parish to be so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best attention and relief, that however sorry and ashamed for the necessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience feel that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kellynch Hall had passed into better hands than its owners’.

Henry Crawford's moral fall begins with ignoring the needs of his tenants:

"I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property... I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace me; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?”

Of course, Henry does not go to Everginham, as he knows is right, but instead goes to the party in London, where he again runs into Maria...

Yes, Austen didn't write servants/the lower classes as full characters in general, they are in the background and around the edges of the scenes, but over and over, we can sort characters into moral and immoral by their treatment of those less fortunate around them.

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 6)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

SotR SPOILERS

Part 5

“Y/N’s become too Capitol for the districts, she’s losing her pull there.” Anyone with eyes can see that’s been Snow’s plan all along. Sever her ties with the people.

“How do we fix that?” Haymitch wonders.

“We don’t,” Plutarch decides. “We let her play her hand and wait.”

“How long?” How many recordings? How many tributes? How many of her tears will waiting cost?

Plutarch lifts a shoulder. “Your guess is as good as mine. But when the time comes, she’s our in with the Capitol.”

This news does subsequently nothing to make Haymitch feel better. If anything he feels worse. Downing the rest of Plutarch’s prized liquor bottle before returning to the tribute center. They won’t be provided passage home until the games are over.

The penthouse is quiet now, without Maximus and Denali. Y/N can’t cry anymore about it, not now. She’s had one too many glasses of champagne. Making quick work of the buttons on Haymitch’s shirt, as the door of their suite closes behind them.

Alcohol is nice, drugs are better, but nothing brings the temporary tidal wave of euphoria like Haymitch. His mouth pressed to hers, reducing her brain to mush.

Haymitch rests his hand over hers. “You ok?”

“Not really,” Y/N admits. “Need something to take the edge off.”

“I can get you-”

“You,” she breathes, “I just want you.”

Haymitch tightens his hold on her. I want you too. More than I want to want anything.

Her dress joins his shirt and then his pants, until they’re laid bare. Not district, nor Capitol. Perhaps because they are meant to be neither; they belong to each other.

Nothing exists outside of the gentle rocking of his hips. Nothing to do but breathe him in.

Y/N’s fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him closer.

————————————————————————

They aren’t made to stay past the announcement of Cashmere’s victory. The tribute’s caskets are loaded onto the train and they’re off to twelve.

“Do they have family?” Haymitch asks.

“No.”

“Not even extended? No aunts or uncles?”

“I don’t know, Haymitch.” Y/N sighs. “They’d been going it alone all their lives, if they had someone, I’m sure they would’ve been there.”

Haymitch nods.

“I can ask Cherry and Tucker if they have room.” Tyson’s parents have a little cemetery outback, couldn’t bear to be parted from their son. A few others from the seam take up residence in the spaces beside him now.

Again he nods, before tipping his empty glass upside down and rising to his feet. “I’ll be in the bar car if you need me.”

Y/N lowers her gaze, waiting until the door slides closed behind him to stand. She is headed elsewhere, to the car where two coffins rest, side by side. Collapsing to her knees in the small space between them and resting a hand over each.

Her gut tells her that under her right palm lies Denali, the spitfire of a girl who showed up the careers. And beneath her right is the little boy who clung to her in the elevator. Maximus. But Y/N has not the want nor will to push back the lids and prove her theory.

She remains there, holding vigil until her legs ache. Shifting position enough to lie down and cry herself to sleep.

Once he’s nice and wasted Haymitch stumbles down to the train car farthest from their sleeping quarters. The sight of Y/N’s feet poking out from between the caskets is an unwelcome reminder that this is standard practice for her.

He crouches down, giving her leg a little shake.

“Haymitch?” Y/N lets out a sleepy sigh.

“Come to bed, angel.”

“I don’t wanna leave them.”

“I know,” Haymitch breathes.

“You can go, it’s ok.” She won’t be alone.

“I’ll stay,” though the notion is still foreign to him.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s first stop after departing the train station is the Carrell’s front door. Her district partner, Tyson, had taken care to list off each of his siblings favorite snacks, then his Ma and Pa. Y/N takes equal care to make sure she never comes to them empty handed.

His parents, Cherry and Tucker, embrace her with open arms. Growing together through their collective loss.

Today is different. His siblings are sent to their rooms and Y/N finds herself strapped to the dining room chair.

“What are you doing?” She laughs. Surely this is a joke of some sort.

“What are you doing?” Tyson’s father bites out.

“I brought you cinnamon rolls.” Y/N stammers, “you don’t like them anymore?”

“Don’t do that.” Cherry snaps.

“Do what?” Y/N is starting to panic now, struggling at the rope binding her hands behind her back.

“Act like you’re the same. Nothin’ about you is the same.” The woman says. “You stopped goin’ to the hob, stopped comin’ to see us. Married a man who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, started chummin’ it up with those freaks in the Capitol.”

Tucker shakes his head.

“Uh, uh, not my girl.” Cherry presses on, “I started askin’ around, tryin’ to make sense of what I was seein’. Turns out, somethin’ like this happened before. With the McCoy’s girl.”

“What are you-”

“They took that baby for the games, but she didn’t make it that far. Those animals did somethin’ to her, replaced her with somebody who had a bug in her ear. Didn’t fool her parents none.”

“Like a body double?” Y/N asks.

“The Callow boy died a while before she did and didn’t smell half as foul when he got home.” Tucker recounts.

“I don’t understand.”

“She was long gone before anybody knew and that was over a decade ago.” Cherry murmurs, “imagine how good they coulda got at passin’ people off for somebody else in fourteen years.”

“You think I’m someone else?” Y/N frowns, “a body double from the Capitol?”

“Maybe not a double, maybe they did somethin’ to you.”

“Nothing like you think.” Y/N assures them.

“I love you like my own, so I’m only gonna ask you once.” Tucker drawls, “did they put something in your head?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “If you have questions about what happened to the girl in the Capitol during the Quarter Quell, Haymitch might know.”

“I don’t trust Haymitch any further than I can throw him,” Tucker runs a hand over his grief stricken face. “And right now I’m not even sure I can trust you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Then tell us what happened. And it better make a hell of a lot more sense than what you’ve been saying, little girl.”

Y/N pauses, collecting herself. “Snow was going to sell me to the highest bidder. Haymitch made him a deal.”

“Why would President Snow give a damn if you married him or not?” It doesn’t make any sense.

Y/N tells her. “A victor has never married a victor before, the curiosity was there. Snow just took advantage of it, he recorded us together and sold that instead. Threatened my family, if I didn’t perform, I’m willing to bet that includes you too… So I performed.”

The room is silent.

“It’s up to you, believe me or don’t. I came here to make sure you were ok and to ask if I could bury my kids in your backyard.” No secret Capitol agenda.

“Tell us something only you would know.” Tyson’s father demands, wanting to believe her but needing to be sure.

“The first flower I left for Tyson was a dandelion. When it died, I replaced it with a daisy, and a bluebell after that.”

This is Y/N, as best they’ll ever be able to tell.

“Should I keep going?”

Cherry cuts the rope around Y/N’s wrists. “Why do you want to bury them here?”

“They didn’t have a family before, I thought it might be nice for them to have one now.” Y/N massages the blood back into her hands.

Tyson’s mother joins his father, in front of the younger woman. “Sorry about all that.”

“It’s fine.” Y/N sighs, “no one has ever gone to the trouble of tying me up for an intervention before. You guys must really love me.”

“You do what you gotta, from now on Ma and Pa are with you.” You’re the closest thing we’ve got to our boy.

Y/N thanks them, allowing them to hold her for as long as it suits them. The same way she always has.

Eventually she finds her way back home, back to Haymitch and the house in Victor’s Village. He’s the only one who understands her now.

“What’d they say about the kids?” Haymitch wonders.

“They said yes.”

“You were gone a while.”

“They tied me to a chair for interrogation.” Y/N tells him.

What in the hell? “You wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah, actually. They thought I was a Capitol body double or that I had a bug in my head.”

Oh.

Part 7

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