#vessel euphoria

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

Me when I edit my ref sheet for a!mj for the millionth time: :3👍 (technically a repost of old ref sheet but I’ve edited it so severely since posting it I’m considering it new in my brain, but the last image of the eyes/hands/mouth/soul is new! But it is a redraw of an old ref image I’ll include it under the cut!)

(Close ups bc I know tumblr with screw over the quality)

Og vers of the extra ref image: (SCARY….)

[angeltism]

listening to my (aki.to's) versions of songs . mm

[krakenprince]

[tiredarts-alterhuman]

TAIL!!

[thefirstvessel]

The way I just got a wave of presentation euphoria over seeing my shadow in a hood and long coat 💀

[lunarw0rks]

that fic about simons first time with the reader is magnificent I swear 😭

can you do something similar but when the reader tries to take control a little, maybe go down on him for the first time?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ first-time with simon (pt.2) ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

// warning(s): nsfw, gn!reader ────have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗ // ♡ PART ONE ♡ PART THREE ♡

simon thought nothing of it, the foreplay leading up to intimacy.

typically, you were at the mercy of his skilled fingers for several minutes — until you wanted nothing more than him buried inside you.

tonight was different. it was your turn to do something for him, to make him feel the same semblance of euphoria he gave you every time.

after a few minutes of making out, dry humping against him, you knew you wanted to do this for him. without skipping a beat, you began sliding down his lap, fingers fumbling with his zipper.

"love, you really don't need to do that for me... are you sure?" he leaned back against the mattress, halting your movements with a hand on your arm.

you were sure, completely sure. it was only fair.

"i want to," you reply, shrugging off his hand and finishing off the rest of his zipper. you peeled back the opening of it, exposing the bulge in his ebony briefs. "let me do this for you, simon."

there was no refusing that, despite how unnecessary it seemed to simon. you wanted to service him for a change, and by now, he was already picturing the sight of your lips wrapped around his length.

after a few moments of contemplation, his eyes watching as your fingers peeled back his boxers, he caved and nodded. "just... don't want to be fussed over." he shifted awkwardly against the sheets, trying to let his gentility towards you overpower his lust.

you stared at him through your lashes, palming his finally freed erection, "it's not fussing," you licked a stripe along the base to coax him into relaxation.

his hips bucked upwards instinctively, whilst his muscles tensed. his willpower dwindled the moment you ran your tongue along, and looked at him that way.

"f-fuck, if you do that again—" simon's fingers clenched around the sheets. he hadn't had a partner use their mouth on him in ages, it was practically a whole new sensation again.

no answer from you, except you licking along his cock again, then wrapping your lips around the tip of it. his pre-cum coated your mouth, lubricating it as you swirled your tongue. all that restraint, gone in an instant.

a palm found the back of your head — but it never pushed it down or forced its movements.

he needed to touch you in order to enjoy this, even though he was only supposed to lie back and savor it. "goddammit." he gritted his teeth, letting out a guttural moan when you hollowed your cheeks around his manhood. through your hooded gaze, you savored every reaction of pleasure he supplied your ears.

he was more sensitive than you imagined him to be — all the stamina he had must have been reserved for being buried inside you because currently there wasn't any. he was putty; a complete mess, despite how nonchalant his posture was.

simon hissed when you finally found a fluid pace, his eyes half-lidded with intense infatuation.

you bobbed your head at a moderate pace, relaxing your throat muscles so your throat could take as much of him as possible. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but nothing would discourage you from easing up. his thighs were shaking, more so when you kneaded the flesh of them with your fingers.

he wasn't long for release; the sight of your mouth wrapped around his girthy cock, the spit, and pre-cum making a squelch each time you came up for air.

in a matter of seconds, he fisted your hair, forcing you to a stop. his curses were drawn out and barely audible, your throat used as a vessel for every last drop of cum drained from him. the warm, sticky spurts went down when you swallowed around him, cockwarming his length for a few seconds until his release had finished.

you drew in heavy breaths when he released the hand on the back of your head, feeling the remnants of fluids drip down your chin.

simon's chest was heaving a mile a minute. though he was blinded by lust, he still looked apologetic for the way he got forceful at the end, if it could even be called that. "bloody christ, you're too good for me, love." he breathed, motioning for you to return to his lap again.

"fussing over me now, huh?" he asked with a playful edge to his words, sitting you atop his exposed lap like you had been before the idea arose. his breath tickled your ear when he leaned in, "think you've earned some attention now, haven't you, sweetheart?"

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

can you write something w vessel praising reader like super lovey sex 🥺

❝sweet little bunny❞

➵ “you’re doing so good for me” —❤︎

pairing: vessel x gn!reader

theme: smut ❣︎

a/n: ofc i can ♡︎ the vessel stans have really flocked to my page now huh? hope you enjoy !!

cw: penetration. pet names. praise kink. no gendered language for reader’s body.

┅✦┅

oh my god, fluffy sex with vessel??? yes please holy shit??

this man is intimidating as fuck, but goddamn can he be an absolute sweetheart in the sheets

whenever he’s in the mood for something more vanilla, he’s a lot more quiet

short breaths and gasps, letting out long, deep sighs when he cums, whispering your name like a sacred prayer whenever he’s close to climaxing

goddamn this man sounds heavenly when he’s making you feel good

vessel’s voice is also a lot more soothing, with a twinge of poetic flair to his words whenever he’s praising you

always being so gentle with you <33 we love to see it

he always puts your pleasure first too. drilling his cock into you in such a sensual manner that has you seeing stars

and you can still feel the intimacy and affection from him, it’s such a surreal experience

“that’s it, baby. you’re taking me so well…”

you could only softly whine as you felt vessel’s hard shaft move deep inside of you. his movements were slow and sensual, but his rhythm had you on edge, and writhing underneath his grasp, begging for more.

“there… i got you.. fuck you look so good like this, taking my cock like the good little bunny you are.” he hissed out in pure euphoria, his hips pistoning inside of your hole in a way that had you seeing stars.

your wrists were being held tightly to the mattress by vessel, and you could only squirm in a lustrous need as he moved inside you. “vess… vess please..”

“shhh, it’s okay… i’m right here..” vessel whispered in a reassuring manner, dipping his head between the space in your neck to affectionately nip at your soft skin, leaving love marks as he trailed down.

his hands moved from your wrists to your hands, his fingers interlocking with yours, squeezing your hands with a loving grasp.

that simple action was enough to make you whimper in pure ecstasy, it was almost enough to distract you from how his dick was buried deep within your love canal.

vessel lived for this kind of pleasure.

this was the kind of love he loved to give to you.

he wouldn’t be this affectionate and attentive to anyone else but you. if it were anyone else, he couldn’t give less of a damn… but you… oh you were just a different story.

your presence was just so captivating, entrancing vessel in a dreamlike state every time he made love to you. you were his drug, so sweet and addicting.

and he was going to show that to you no matter what.

“shit, baby. you’re so tight around me… fuck.. i love it so much..” he moaned softly into your neck, his hips moving slightly faster. “i love you so much.”

his sweet words had you moaning like crazy. you couldn’t help it, the way he spoke to you like you were some kind of ancient deity was enough to get your legs shaking.

“f-fuck… vessel.. please..”

“please what, honey? tell me… tell me what you want.”

looking through the slits of vessel’s artistic mask, you could see nothing but pure love and lust clouding his eyes, and that just made the arousal in your core grow stronger.

“please.. harder..” you begged breathlessly, voice barely above a whisper.

vessel cursed silently at your words, and his hips rolled into you slowly, hitting a spot that had your legs spasming.

he smiled softly, and bent down to capture your lips in a loving kiss, before whispering. “of course, darling.”

and he moved even faster.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Plaything

Raphael x f!Tav/Reader x Haarlep

⋆˙⟡♡ 18+

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: You are their plaything, their vessel of pleasure. In this boudoir of sin, boundaries blur, and Raphael’s greatest desires become reality.

⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Fingering | Stuffed | Nipple Sucking

You found yourself lying on the luxurious bed in the boudoir. The air thick as they lower themselves to your chest. Haarlep's teeth sink into your right nipple, a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain coursing through your entire body. Meanwhile, Raphael's skilled tongue dances around your other hardened bud, adding to the waves of mixed pleasure.

Slowly, their hands descend towards your eagerly awaiting sex, their fingers gliding over your skin igniting a tingling sensation that electrifies your flesh. Haarlep is the first to find your clit, and with expert precision, the incubus begins to rub it. Raphael wasted no time, forcefully plunging his fingers into your son to be ruined cunt. You gasp as the cambion’s fingers explore your depths, stretching and probing with an almost cruel precision.

With every nip at your nipple from Haarlep and every flick of Raphael's tongue on the other, your back arches off the bed, your body craving more. The overwhelming sensations threaten to consume your mind, leaving you teetering on the edge of sanity. It's hard to tell if it's the intense overstimulation or Haarlep's dark allure suckling the life out of you, but you find yourself surrendering to the blissful chaos either way.

As you surrender to the pleasure, you feel another set of fingers joining the fray. Haarlep, unable to resist the temptation, pushes against Raphael's fingers, filling you completely and stretching your tight little pussy. The sensation is painful, and you wince from the feel of Haarlep’s nails scraping you, but it fades into euphoria, pushing you further into a state of ecstasy.

Their fingers pump into you in tandem, hitting all the right spots as you writhe and moan beneath them. Your body trembles with pleasure as you're brought closer and closer to the edge.

"M’so c-close..." you manage to cry out.

The fullness of four fingers in your pussy is almost too much to handle, and the way they alternate between stroking and curling inside you only makes it worse- or better, rather. Their nails rake against your walls, and knock against your cervix as if asking for entry to your womb.

Haarlep, driven by their cruel nature, couldn't resist pushing the boundaries further. “I wonder… how much more the little mouse can handle.” With a wicked grin, they began to force yet another finger into you, stretching you even wider. The forced stretch causing you to scream and latch onto Raphael’s horns along with Haarlep’s.

Raphael’s tongue continues to dance along your nipple, alternating between being gentle and tugging at it with his sharp teeth. He can tell you're about to burst, but the incubus is merciless.

"I wonder what the others would think, seeing their precious little hero fucked and stuffed like a common brothel whore."

It’s with those words Raphael withdraws his fingers from your battered pussy, a fleeting sensation of emptiness replacing them. But there is no respite for you, for his intentions become clear as he aligns himself with your sloppy entrance. Haarlep's fingers remain buried deep inside you, stretching and filling you to your limits, uncaring.

"What a perfect little cocksleeve you've become for him, our dear little pup," They purr.

You barely manage a response, “M’ca-can’t.” as Raphael's thick cock thrusts inside you, joining Haarlep’s fingers that were already buried inside you. You had never been this full, and the stretch is almost unbearable, but you are too far gone to care.

Your eyes rolled back, revealing the whites as your pupils dilated with raw pleasure. The corners of your lips curled into a blissful smile, your mouth hung open as your tongue lolls out slightly. Droplets of saliva escaping, glistening in the dimly lit room…

You are their plaything, their vessel of pleasure. In this boudoir of sin, boundaries blur, and Raphael’s greatest desires become reality.

[stardustgates]

Trying to write for HSR SAGAU is so much harder than I thought, especially because I’m starting with the initial cutscenes and battles before choosing either Caelus or Stelle, and trying to figure out how Kafka and Silver Wolf would react to being suddenly aware of a higher entity hanging around them and controlling their bodies is so difficult in prose(?) form.

Anyway, some rules/extra info/thoughts I had for my own personal interpretation of a self aware star rail:

✧ It’s still a universe of its own, but for those who become aware of the player, it’s like realising you’re a picture in a picture book. The people and places still go on about their own ways and change with time, but suddenly there’s a metaphorical hole in reality that something beyond their comprehension is peeking through.

✧ The more time the player would spend with certain characters in their team, the easier it becomes for those characters to hear their voice. (E.G I Play with Caelus and Himeko with almost every fight, so they’d be able to hear pretty much anything I say after a week or so of playing with them non-stop.)

✧ The trailblazer is generally seen as not just a vessel for the stellaron but also the player, so a lot of characters and NPCs will offer really good rewards to them when the player is out quest-completing with them.

✧ The compartment that is ‘practically glued shut’ on the express, is used by the characters as a shrine to the player. The trailblazer spends the most time here when the player is offline, as they don’t have a room to themselves (yet!! Hoyoverse I’m counting on you!)

✧ Most characters start off confused and alarmed when first feeling the presence of the player but eventually come to idolise and worship that presence. The playable ones in particular being extremely obsessive over them and, as a result, the player’s trailblazer.

✧ March 7th, Dan Heng, and the trailblazer form a protection squad/Fanclub of sorts and eventually are seen as the de-facto representatives of the player. The make sure any visitors to the Astral Express know their place and don’t try to steal away too much of the player’s attention.

✧ Both Kafka and Silver Wolf are initially weary of the sudden feeling of being watched and controlled, even more so when the battles start and they feel their control of their own bodies ripped away from them. Naturally they are sceptical and distrusting, but the euphoria left from the surge of power this imperceivable entity (read: the player) gives them is borderline addictive and sways them into a more positive-leaning neutral standpoint by the end of the tutorial chapter.

✧ If you’re wondering why the characters talk so much when idling- or doing anything really- it’s because they’re trying to communicate with the player without setting off any alarm bells. They take it slowly and steadily, easing into their own true thoughts when they’re sure the player won’t panic at the sudden change in behaviours and mannerisms (read: So they can fight for their attention far more openly)

✧ This is most definitely going to be a yandere AU (I cannot escape my demons 😔)

That’s all I’ve got for now, I’m currently working on a really big piece for this SAGAU and it’s only just reached like 3k, and I’m not even half way done :) pain pickle

[vinillain]

Great wave chapter 2 spoilers// analysis cuz ahahahaha Adamai… when I get you…

Alr, rant because I’m the biggest Yugo & Adamai fan of all time. And I overanalyzed this chapter to death.

And how the way Adamai treats Yugo is one of the main reasons he’s distant from Amalia.

This pattern of behavior isn’t new, in s4 he was quick to come to Yugo’s defense when Nora was chastising him. Using words like “we” and because both of them were still feeling the euphoria of their reconciliation came to each-others defense in a new unfamiliar environment. But after he sees how shady and “heroic” their family is he ops to leave, and does so without explaining himself (about the dofus) to Yugo or trys to convince him to come along. Something he definitely would have done in s1-2. (And this is because they have grown so far apart the bond they once had is distant, albeit still there)

This behavior is similar, and again appears here in their entire conversation.

Yugo who was brooding and trying to be alone after his vision is greeted by Adamai, who IS genuinely worried about Yugo, since Yugo now carries the dofus of their people he and Adamai’s bond is “strengthened tenfold” allowing him to “almost hear his thoughts” and definitely feel his fear and dark feelings. And he immediately calls Yugo out when he tries to hide how upset he was (which tbh he likely does because of Adamai’s next reaction in a bit, meaning this is a common cycle)

Eventually after some talk Yu breaks down and is honest that he isn’t okay. That his visions terrified him, and here Adamai isn’t dismissive right off the bat, he states that he could feel how bad it was because of their bond, and knew it must have been bad if it shook Yugo up this much

And Yugo tells him about the vision and how “I am the cause.” To which Adamai questions as he seems to think internally, and Yugo like in chapter one with Amalia doesn’t question anything, again he only says “It was real.”

(I am roughly paraphrasing their dialogue so it’s not 100% accurate)

At this point Adamai scoffs at him to which Yugo who’s still upset by his vision flips out on him starting an argument. Asking if he “bores” Adamai

And Adamai tells him he needs to think with his head. He possesses the power of a god and can’t afford to think with emotions. Which is true, TOT said that Adamai was the logic to Yugo’s actions. He is the thought and the anchor, but while he isn’t wrong for saying this, the way he went about it is making things worse, but it also it makes sense why he did act this way towards Yugo.

Adamai is not someone who bases his feelings on emotions anymore.

He’s spent his entire childhood training and getting ready to meet Yugo and find their people. After the loss of Grougal he has spent his entire life trying to fill the void with an adult parental figure who holds power and wisdom that can help him achieve his goals the way he knows mortals can’t. Hence the “we needed someone with more guidance” like in s4 to Yugo. We don’t see exactly what happened to him from the OVA’s-s3. But we know it had a drastic change on him physically and especially mentally. And a big part of that is that he essentially became a vessel to their peoples dofus. In order to cope with his own trauma and feelings and taking on that responsibility of all this power he surprised any emotions or feelings that could cause him to act rash or get in the way of his main goals.

And when he did let his emotions take over because of his blind rage, he ended up hurting people he cared about which left him even more apprehensive to show any ever again. (Hence why he left his newly found family in s4) But in doing this to such an exstent the way he does, he never actually solves any personal problems of conflicts. Especially with his loved ones. He can’t rekindle his bond with Yugo or try to fix their relationship because he refuses to show any vulnerability. Which makes sense after he was left behind, betrayed and hurt so many times, and more so when he realized that he hurt others in his own pain. He doesn’t want to get hurt or hurt others again.

And as he states, Yugo has power beyond any mortal comprehension. He now carries the weight and responsibility of their people, and their siblings dofus. Honestly just their peoples future in general. He holds power, power many people want to steal from him or rid him of. Adamai compares Yugo’s situation to how he had to handle the dofus. That he needs to swallow any emotions and think logically. Which he has always done more out of the two of them. Vulnerability is a weakness to him. And Adamai doesn’t want Yugo to get hurt or hurt others like he has in the past.

He is cruel and harsh in his words. Telling Yugo he does “bore” him. And completely downplays his twin’s feelings because he sees them as being weak. But he DOES care about Yugo, in his eyes Yu will end up suffering more if he shows this vulnerability. It’s why he is mean and tells Yugo he can’t be acting like a child when he has all this responsibility and power in his hands. This isn’t the same when they were little kids, the stakes for them and their people are much hire now.

But to Yugo, who’s tried to fix their relationship countless times, is naturally upset at this. He feels unheard, that’s he’s being over dramatic and that his feelings don’t matter. That he isn’t allowed to be upset at his own trauma. Which is something i think paralells Goddess Eliatrope. How people dismiss her feelings and say she’s overreacting. That she needs to “get over herself” because she is a great goddess with all this power. Etc. something I hope we see more with Yugo aswell.

Being a king already isolates him enough, being a demigod with all this power does so even more. To Yugo, Adamai is the only one he can turn too when he’s upset. It’s why he was so desperate to find him in s3. Over growing old and being immortal. The problems that mortals can’t comprehend. (Something that definitely upsets him because the more power and godhood he gains the more distance he has between himself and his loved ones.) But when he opens up to Adamai about his fears and issues he is shut down or ignored. And that’s why he won’t open up to Amalia. If Ad dismisses and scoffs at his feelings then why should he try to open up to her? He adores and loves Amalia and fears the rejection she might give him. It’s why the moment she was slightly dismissive with her “Calm down, it was just a dream” he immediately leaves to be alone. He already has to deal with Adamai, he doesn’t want her to do it to him too.

But by doing this he is hurting her too. Like him Amalia is STRESSED beyond belief. She has a ton of weight and responsibility on her shoulders. And she can’t manage the conflicts of her people (especially with the eliatropes) If Yugo isn’t there to help her, If Yugo won’t be vulnerable to her. If he doesn’t trust her or won’t rely on her with his problems then how can she? How can she be open with him if he runs away from her at the deepest issues when they share so much intimacy and love.

Their is already clear tension among the Sadida’s and the (VERY FEW) Eliatropes who now live among them. Many are unhappy with the changes, some openly voicing how “Armand would never have allowed this” suggesting they don’t like Yugo as their king either. And the old man talking about how he lost his son in the war, that the eliatropes haven’t faced sacrifice. (And this is despite that fact that they don’t know anything about their past or the war they went through, how they lost their own families- claiming they don’t understand Sadidan culture or tradition but never trying to learn the other sides either.)

Communication is the key to relationships. Being open and vulnerable is how we understand eachother. Something reflected in the main three so far and the Sadidans+Eliatropes. Yugo keeps shutting Amalia out because of how Adamai treats him. Creating this endless cycle of distrust among the two and it’s reflected in their own people. Both could be amazing rulers and created a better place if they were both open with each-other. But they won’t, and unless Adamai and in turn Yugo open up and show vulnerability. They don’t have to show all of it, trust is slowly gained. Little by little in a healthy manner. But if Yugo doesn’t then the discourse and tension will continue to grow among all their people. (And if you’ve seen the teaser for a certain upcoming chapter you can see how that’s going 😭😭😭)

Anyway, in conclusion: someone please get them therapy

[ya-zz]

Hii! I've been waiting for quite a while to share this thought with you. A while ago, I shared with you my thoughts and it led to "Hacked" being written with Ramattra x Reader. I'd like to... maybe request a second part of that? I've been daydreaming about the possibilities of what's next for it. So, I'd like you to choose what happens:

A. Ramattra encountering Reader again in the battlefield and this time she has no time to hack through his system, and he finds her first. Keen into making her feel exactly how he felt back then.

B. Reader once again hacks into Ramattra's system, but this time she's braver, getting him while he's recharging (simply sneaking in his base to prove a point) and making him feel exactly what humans feel when they orgasm.

-Nia

We don't talk about how I did this within hours of the request coming through...

HI AGAIN!! IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU!! ♥ Thank you so much for requesting again, I love the ideas as always ^^

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1348 !! NSFW !!

The vessel rattles in the sky, currently moving over Toronto. The attacks below were never ending as Ramattra continued to repeat the broadcast. The gunfire and screams were louder than before as he watched on; one by one, humans fell and omnic civilians were secured. It was going exactly as he planned. 

Steering away from the capitol, he heads for his new location to oversee the destruction happening there. In the meantime, however, he was due a recharge. 

Taking a seat on the floor, back resting against the wall, he plugs himself in, wires connecting to his sides and back of the neck. He goes through his systems, setting up the necessary precautions just in case his vessel gets attacked and then the lights on his forehead dim, changing orange as he goes into standby. 

Everything fell silent, though Ramattra could still pick out the workings of his ship; the humming of the engine vibrating against the floor, the soft flickers of light that passed by the window on occasion. It was as if time had slowed down.

His optics shifted to where a noise could be heard, but due to being in standby, his vision was blurred to make his charging time quicker. Something had fallen so he left it be, the turbulence must've knocked it over.

Ramattra went back to his charging meditation, his body unmoving as it lay against the wall until a familiar feeling kicked in. 

It took his systems a moment to register what was going on but it was too late. The module he had locked away was open once again, his wires heating up slowly as he attempts to wake up. 

“It’s too late.” A familiar voice rang out. “Your systems can’t beat me this time.” 

Despite his vision being overrun with omnicode and errors, he tilts his head up to view you. His voice was a low rumble as he attempts to speak. 

“You- How-” 

“It’s simple, really.” You approach him, straddling his knees as you lower yourself onto him and dropping the holopad beside your leg. “Your guard is down, a foolish idea, really.” Your fingers stroke the wires that were placed into his sides. The Null Sector leader beneath you once again, unable to do anything, unable to fight back, what a pretty sight it was.

“Get out.” 

You tut, shaking your head with a smirk. “That is no way to treat a guest, Ramattra. Besides, I want to finish what we started the other week.” 

The omnic felt his wires flare up in heat, the module lighting up within his vision. His vocaliser cuts out as he speaks. “You-... serious.” He was weak, you truly had caught him when he least expected it.

A sly laugh escapes you as you trail your fingers on that same tubing over his hips. A gentle squeeze that sent a wave of euphoria over his body. He shudders at the contact. 

“How far can we take this?” Leaning over, you tap the holopad, pulling up the module that Ramattra had kept locked deep inside of his systems. From there, you had full access to his sex drive. “Oh, Ramattra. How long have you been like this?” 

His system fights back, or attempts to, but your software was stronger this time, he can barely move his hands or arms. 

With one tap, you send a wave of ecstasy throughout the omnic and his back arches involuntarily, a garbled, static moan escaping from his vocaliser. 

“Hm?” You smirk at him, letting the holopad go as you return your hands to his body, tracing the pads of your fingers against his metal bracing. You could feel him shake with each careful, calculated stroke. 

Ramattra can only glare at you, optics looking at your blurry features as he tries to adjust the settings. 

“Ah, ah. I don’t think so.” You override his attempts before moving closer to him, hands dipping between the braces as they move towards his back. The exposed cables there were begging to be touched and with one tap, a spark of electricity surges through Ramattra’s core. 

“S-Stop that-!” He demands, though his tone suggests that he does not mind the feeling. 

He doesn’t know what to do. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get rid of you from inside of his systems. He tries an alternative route but there was no success there either. Deep inside, however, he did like the feeling of being vulnerable, having someone touch him like the way you are doing. It felt pleasurable. 

Ramattra tries one more time, searching through any and all coding to find a weak spot and when he finally stumbles upon it does he take immediate action. His systems work hard to destroy your virus but the want to keep the touching going slows down the process. 

He needs you. 

He wants you.

He gives in.

The omnic sits there, allowing himself to be lost in the moment. The feeling of your hands exploring his body heightened his senses. His servos twitch before slowly making their way to your hips, holding you in place.

“Someone is enjoying this.” You smirk, dragging your fingers over the pistons on his neck. 

“Shut up.” His vocaliser betrays him once more, another static moan escaping him as his head tilts back against the wall. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” 

It took Ramattra a while to respond, but when he did, it confirmed everything you ever wondered. 

“Yes…” His grip on your hips tighten slightly, indicating that he didn’t want you to stop for any reason. 

He feels you grinding against his pelvic plate, possibly chasing your own high but the way you squeezed and teased him said otherwise. Then it clicks in his head. This was about him reaching his orgasm after several long years of nothingness. You knew how long it had been for him and how much he craved it.

Your one hand was tangled in his cabled hair as the other trails back down towards his hips. You feel him jerk, he wants the contact to last as you pull back, a familiar heat pooling in your stomach. 

“Ramattra…” 

“Seems like you cannot hold on for much long either.” He states with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

A flush appears on your cheeks as you squeeze his tubing once more, a little harder than last time. 

The omnic jerks his hips, pressing further into you as he moans out, vocaliser stuttering as he tries to keep it together.

“Such sweet noises… To think the Null Sector leader could sound like this…” Another tug at his cables causes him to moan loudly. 

You glance at the holopad whilst the omnics head was tilted backwards; his systems were lit up, errors appearing as you manhandle his wires, pinching and twisting them. It brought you joy, a satisfaction coursing through your veins as you realise how much power you truly hold over him in this moment. 

Another squeeze had the holopad flash black which causes you to look back at him. His vocaliser cuts mid moan, the lights on his forehead were off, fans were slowing down, yet his hold on your hips stayed. You had caused him to crash. 

Part of you panicked, but the moment the lights flickered on again, a soft orange before red, the panic was overridden with a sense of accomplishment.

His vocaliser clicks before he speaks. “No human should mess around with machinery too advanced than their mind and body can handle.” 

Your eyes widen as you realise that him rebooting meant that your virus was no longer in affect. His grip on your things gets tight, bruises already beginning to form under the skin. He pulls himself free from the wires connected to him, grabbing both of your wrists with one hand before pinning you down on the floor, one metal thigh pressed up against your sex. His other hand toys with the waistband of your pants as he speaks out in an intimidating tone.

“Perhaps it is time for me to teach you a lesson.”

[avocadotoasting]

Temperance

Chubby!Fem!Reader | 1.5k | NSFW

Synopsis: Someone has had his eye on Reader for quite some time. Perhaps he seeks a reward for his patience.

(Characters inserted in a list below!)

CW: Use of Aphrodisiacs, Suggestive Dubcon, Suggested Yandere Themes

TEMPERANCE: Restraint or moderation.

Confined to your peripherals, he always waited. He wasn’t typically one to take a first strike. Haste wasn’t in his nature, no–he was a gentle beast hiding in plain sight, administering his own guerilla warfare on your unknowing resistance.

He was a saint, blessed and utterly overflowing with patience.

Often, far too often, you would conglomerate with your friends after a long day, enjoying social drinks and jovially laughing any cares away. You shined. You rivaled all bodies that shone in the sky–so radiant, ebullient, and full–how could he have not watched for all this time? All of nature encircles their existences around the luminaries bound around the earth, and you–who shone brightest–were at its center.

He too would enjoy a relaxing drink after his own long day, a ritual of sorts to begin his communion in basking in you from afar. To drink his drink was a promise; he held a promise that one day the taste of you would be dancing on his tongue, so saccharine-sweet and satisfying, hazily teetering him closer to a euphoria unknown. Once in a while, you’d make eye contact. And so generous you were, so generous you always were when you’d offer a smile every time.

Another drink. Another promise.

At times he would bring his own bric-a-brac to mind at his table so as to not alarm you. After all, with patience came subtlety, a vestibule inseparable to his primary house of virtues. And in this house he worshiped you for well over a year. He committed himself to his routine since he first laid eyes on you–gravity and destiny inescapable from a beauty that rivaled even the stars.

Today, he drank his final glass of promises. His back left pocket burned, seared, singed through the very fabric of his pants in urgency of his self-ordained inhibition to come to its end. In it was the crumbling of his house of patience. In it was a scorched earth tactic to raze all he was and begin anew with you emerging from its ashes. As a sign to swallow his final oath to himself and you, you made eye contact with him–and more of the same. A familiar smile, a familiar wave–and inside him, a familiar rush overwhelming every nerve in his being.

Your friends waved you off in the next moment, leaving you alone after some charming and laugh-filled goodbyes. How lucky they were to have you. How lucky he would be soon.

He raised himself from his table to return to the counter, ordering two drinks for the first time, and turned back to you to ensure his waiting had merited its value. You looked down to your phone, he could tell, mindlessly enjoying some time to decompress from the daily gossip. He smiled.

The bartender placed the two drinks on the counter, and he thanked them politely, as he always did–manners must coexist with patience, after all. Briefly, he stopped at his table, and he observed the drink that would be yours. One swift motion of gentle tampering ensured the fate of your drink. Of you.

Surely you’d never know. Surely you’d forgive him. A penitent man like him would repent under you for every day for the rest of your life, as he’d never do anything to wring you misery. He worshiped you, after all–this was just a vessel to finally show you.

Finally.

Finally.

The word echoed in his mind with each step forward.

And finally, there was you.

“Still here, huh?”

His greeting was gentle, comfortable, he hoped to rival the gravity of the warmth you reflected. You looked up, blinking a few times before a wince of familiarity rang in your features. You smiled.

An invitation.

“Guess we both are.”

“Still have energy for a little more company? I always see you and–”

“Yeah, I do. And I see you too.”

Before the both of you could speak again, you both shyly laughed, and he sat in front of you, placing the drinks on the table. He clicked his tongue, mindfully placing your fate before you–a prayer on his tongue.

“Let me keep you company then,” he insisted, eyes glassy with his silent plea. You curled your lips playfully as you took your first sip of your drink.

“I suppose I’ll let you.”

His eyes followed the glass to your lips, and he finally felt himself smile with satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair.

That you will.

–

His fervor was relentless. With each snap of his hips he made new promises, new oaths to you, his beloved, so perfectly folded under him with generous and gorgeous flesh soft against his own–he promised to repent for his primal selfishness in the handling of your perfect body. But fuck–the way your lips so drunkenly slobbered around his thumb in your mouth, glassy, heated eyes rolled back into your head with mascara long since ruined since he began his debauchery, it was now that worship truly began, and he was a penitent man.

Your entire body was searing hot against his own with forced zeal he wrought to you from a bottle, but the results were undeniable. You had soaked his eager length again and again as he laid explosive love to you like he would die if he didn’t, and your body begged for more, just as he planned. He placed yet another soft bite on your ample breast swaying under him before pulling away to observe his work. You were covered. A living shrine, a temple breathing and writhing under him–covered by his devotion. And for the fourth time, you would be filled.

Another promise, he hoped, would take fruit.

“So fucking perfect,” he cooed sweetly, a poisonously sweet love possessing his body to burrowing his length into you to the hilt as he finished again, “So perfect around me, so fucking hot and wet–”

You, at the mercy of inorganic, potent lust, cooed back–incoherent and insatiable. He only nodded, removing his thumb to kiss you into his bed for yet another time. He pulled out and observed you. So painfully cockdrunk, so woefully lost to sin, exactly how he wanted you. Undone. Wet. Desperate. As he pulled out again, he hear you whine and buck and he gently shushed you with his finger, placing his greedy, erect cock on your hungry clit to rub it gently. He cooed again to soothe you. A gesture of his selfish love.

“I love you,” he sang, “Love you so, so so much–love of my life.”

He kept rubbing, his own pupils blown wide with his madness, leaning close to you. You didn’t care. You had long forsaken sight to chasing high after high since the first release, and your body was still on fire. He felt it. He felt your soft body arch against him as his stimulation wrought the beginning of another gorgeous, wet crescendo from between thighs so thick and delicious, and he grinned wide.

“Do you want to cum, my love?” he asked, slowing down his tormentous rubbing. You whined under him.

The answer was clear. But who was a man to deny the sweet sound of his own god begging for him?

“It hurts waiting, doesn’t it, Beauty?”

You nodded, whining louder.

He smiled, his temperance bearing fruit at last at its end after hours, months, and a year of waiting–his grin wicked, he leaned in to place a hypocritically chaste kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll let you finish if you can make me a promise,” he cooed into your ear, placing a kiss just on the shell. 

He felt you nod, pleading for any release of this heat.

“Do you promise to marry me? Marry me and be a good mommy to my babies?”

An unexpected pause under him–even in your altered state, it was a big ask, but he could still feel his leverage, and he rubbed hard again to take advantage. He waited long enough, and he was going to get was he waited for. No matter how hard he’d have to tempt you. Bait you.

You were right here.

“You’re already so full, baby–taking so much of me like you were meant to–”

You let out a pained gasp, edged so close to another high as he stopped again, and he rolled his hips to further torment you. You whimpered, low and pathetic, and all he could gauge after wave and wave of the edging was how hot your body seared in its heat. He knew eventually you had to give. And he knew in a game of waiting, he would win.

He will win.

“I know you need to,” he teased, his voice lowering, “you can feel how much it burns–”

“Please–”

Finally, a word from you, a white flag to beg for your reprieve.

“Yes–Yes–Please, just let me cum–please, it hurts, it burns, I need it, I need you–”

Happy to oblige, he finally inserted himself back inside of you, giving himself his own sense of relief and using his fingers to rub you to another delicious climax, all for him to savor. To savor again, and again, and again.

Surely you would forgive him. Sometime down the line.

He could wait.

----

Characters: Koushi Sugawara (Haikyuu!!), Thoma (Genshin Impact), Kento Nanami (Jujutsu Kaisen), Larry (Pokemon), Jumin Han (Mystic Messenger), Or imagine your own!

----

[chickenparm]

Amidst Daydreams(Scaramouche/Reader) - Part Three/End

It takes a village to care for a child, but how many to teach a puppet how to be a human? Just one is all he needs, it seems.

AO3 LINK Previous Part

Kabukimono!Scaramouche/AFAB!Reader 6,359 Words - NSFW m!Masturbation, non-consensual voyeurism, that last tag sounds worse than it is i swear, P in V, fingering, the softest smut this side of the mississippi

The puppet remembers the moment of his birth in startling clarity. The light searing his eyes, the heat burning his skin, every fiber of his being singing with the static euphoria of the lightning’s will. A will strong enough to forge him into being, piece by piece with a single-minded purpose. 

The puppet also remembers the moment that purpose is taken from him. When the impossibly heavy burden that weighs his entire body down is stripped away with fingers that delve into his chest. All at once, the sensation of divinity that could only be understood by someone crafted as its vessel leaves him in a choked sob. 

Or perhaps he’d been crying since the very beginning, since his first breath was taken through shuddering, redundant lungs. 

He remembers something akin to a second birth. His impossibly tiny world shaking and heaving with unknown force before once more his eyes burn. But there is no heat, there is no divinity, there is no gnosis tucked in the empty space at his breast where something should have been beating. There is only the amber light of the only home he’s ever known, wood groaning above and below. 

And footsteps - heavy, unbothered by the racket made as their heels hit the wooden floorboards. 

The puppet’s first birth is something harrowing, a constant stain at the back of his eyelids that he can’t seem to shake. But the second… Only happy memories reside there. Stacked high, one upon the other until the very top of the tower teeters with each new addition. With every ounce of his being, he clings to the hope that it does not fall. 

It doesn’t feel like a home at first. Even as he relishes the scent of tea leaves and something he’d later come to learn was human food. You’d been so patient, so kind when it was well within your right at the time to have denied any responsibility for him. And even as his mind worked sluggishly to piece together everything around him, only one thing felt stable in such a maelstrom. 

You. 

Knowing what he knows now, after an enlightening conversation with Niwa, the Kabukimono isn’t surprised he had latched onto you so quickly. With a little thought, he can pinpoint the exact moment that the emptiness in the cavity of his chest began to fill itself in with something just as powerful as the object that once resided there. 

The evening when he’d fallen apart for the very first time. When the memories of abandonment rang so strongly in his mind that he’s certain you could have felt them yourself - and you must have, because just as swiftly as it descended, so too did you sweep it away like the tears on his cheeks. Your hands were so warm. So unlike his own that hold a frigidness even when pulling blades from the forge. 

The very moment he collapsed against you, leaning into the easy embrace you offered in return, the echoes of his birthright were silenced in his chest. All that’s left is a feeling of fullness, of impossibly tangled thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t been able to decipher nor describe. As it settles between his ribs and among his nerves, he can only cling tightly to its mass and hope that it stays with him. 

It stays nameless and coveted until the frightening morning of your illness. Only then is he allowed the knowledge of what might be fusing with his very being. Love, explained in your own words, the best way he can understand it. Certainly, he has a vague idea of what love might be - he’s seen it in the way Katsuragi cherishes his wife. He’s witnessed it at the end of the day in the village when families come together and share their happiness with one another. 

Niwa’s explanation comes as an uncomfortable shock, but the light it sheds on everything makes the weight on his shoulders a little lighter. With the guidance of his teacher and friend, the Kabukimono is able to finally understand what’s going on.

A yearning to be in your presence, to share the uncertainties with life. The elation he feels at your side, the odd loneliness when he’s at a distance. Even with Niwa and Katsuragi, even with the tentative friends he’d made in the village, no one could ever bring him the solace that fell on his shoulders like the wisps of morning mist. 

And when he comes to a conclusion, murmuring the words in wonder, Niwa can only smile with his hands on his hips and an expression of pride on his face. 

As sudden as it feels from the outside, the Kabukimono knows that without a doubt, he’s been trying to love you this entire time. Now, he simply needs to figure out how.

Therein lies the problem that plagues him when he returns that afternoon to check on you. Unaware of his presence, you lay where he’d left you, buried beneath your blankets and looking so, so comfortable. Would you let him join you, he wonders while kneeling at your side, his palm flush against your forehead. 

Never before have you denied any of his attempts to be close to you. While before it had been an unknown, addictive sensation that he wanted to endlessly chase, now he understands its root cause. The thought of sliding between the sheets of your futon and conforming his body to yours is something he can’t quite shake, even as he’s forced to return to the furnace after the midday break. 

For the first time, he finds himself hopelessly distracted. Niwa seems almost expectant, but when he catches sight of the pinched look on the Kabukimono’s face, he doesn’t broach the topic. At least, not until they’re cleaning up for the evening and are preparing the forge for the work to come in the morning. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Is that what this is?” The puppet pauses in his mindless sweeping, pushing the dust around aimlessly in a way that does nothing to further their progress. Niwa’s hand wraps around the broom, easily tugging it from the Kabukimono’s lax grip. 

This frees the puppet’s hands up to cross his arms, fingertips flexing as he works through the twisting sensation in his gut. As he does, he murmurs his thoughts to Niwa. “My stomach hurts, my skin feels hot. It almost feels like I want to cry, but I know I won’t. Is it normal for my hands to shake like this?”

Holding one aloft, just to prove his point to Niwa, the tremors are easily visible to both males. Leaning on the broom, a fond sort of smile crosses the taller man’s face. “Of course it is. It’s not often that you love someone so deeply. I’d say it’s almost a one-in-a-lifetime sort of thing.”

Neither mention that his lifetime is so very long. It doesn’t feel prudent, considering the lightness of the atmosphere contrasting to the twisting of the Kabukimono’s stomach. Tucking his hand away again, he asks, “What should I do? Should I do what Katsuragi does with his wife-”

“Ah… Kissing them like that might be a little surprising.” The broom nearly hits the floor with how that question startles Niwa, but the man is able to catch it before wood clatters against stone. “The simplest option would be to just tell them. You talked about it, and got sent to me, so it wouldn’t be out of the blue for you to talk about your feelings.”

Even on a primal level, at his freshest in the world, the puppet was acutely aware of the apprehension that comes with facing rejection. After all, his first experience with this world was the bite of abandonment, of being unwanted. To hear something like that from you would likely spell out a death sentence - one that he wouldn’t bother to fight against.

Almost as if he’d read the Kabukimono’s mind, Niwa drops the broom he’d been trying to keep upright and instead claps both hands on the puppet’s shoulders. They don’t even flinch under the added weight, bearing Niwa’s sudden expectations quite easily. “If there’s one thing I know best in this world, it’s that not going after the things you want will only lead to regret. At least you could say you tried - and even if it’s not reciprocated, you know they won’t abandon you over it.”

“I thought you knew bladesmithing the best-”

“Not the point, Kabukimono. You can keep all your feelings for them inside if that’s what you want, but you’ll always be thinking about the possibilities. That’s just going to eat you up inside, turn you bitter and resentful. That’s not fair to either of you.”

Fair. The Kabukimono understood that rather well, one of the first things he’d learned. Not everything was fair, but it was up to the people involved to do their best to make it so. While the time to make his initial experiences right has long since passed, maybe it isn’t too late to try and do things right by you. 

Perhaps if you pushed, he would have. 

On his return home, you’re awake and moving around with the sluggishness of someone that still isn’t quite feeling up to par. At the sight of him leaning a hand against the doorway to remove his shoes one at a time, a smile spreads on your face - slow at first, then all at once when he returns the gesture. If you notice how shaky he is, you don’t make a mention of it. 

In fact, you make no mention of what you’d instructed him to ask Niwa about. It’s almost as if it’s been forgotten, pushed away now that it isn’t at the forefront and he isn’t pestering you about the intricacies of human relationships with one another. Any earlier than this afternoon, he might’ve been hurt at the dismissal, but Niwa’s careful explanation shed a little light on things. 

He’d embarrassed you. It’s a feeling he’s only vaguely familiar with, only recently coming to real terms with it now that he no longer depends solely on you for companionship. There’s no room for that sort of trepidation between the two of you, not while you understand him so completely. 

But it goes both ways, and he’s acutely aware of how you couldn’t even look him in the eye after he’d wheedled at you over rapidly-cooling Chazuke. 

With this knowledge, the Kabukimono carefully compartmentalizes thoughts of running at you full-tilt with the intention of kissing you until you melt in his arms like you do when he’s hugged you in the past. Instead, he focuses on the little joys of his day - success in forging, the new weapon that Katsuragi has been working on, the premise of a real sword dance on the horizon with its completion. 

And after his long-winded recount of the day, he finally notices the way you lean your cheek heavily into your palm, elbow propped on the table. Half-lidded eyes watch him with as much interest as you can muster, quietly asking little questions to keep him going. Even barely-awake, you still humor him and his excitement at simply being alive; yet another reason the cavity of his chest no longer rings hollow. 

When your eyelashes brush the tops of your cheeks for a little too long, he makes the decision to hurry you off to bed. Touching you for the first time since he arrived home is the sweetest joy, better than any candy or tea he could ever hope for. The weight of you leaning into his side as he ushers you back to your futon makes his throat tighten, anticipation for something he can’t place. 

“You know,” you start, letting him help you sit down in the softness of your bedding, “it’s strange. You haven’t hugged me yet - you always do when you come home.”

He supposes he hasn’t. While he wants to rectify that immediately, thoughts of wrapping you so tightly in his arms that the two of you sink together into one being are nearly impossible to fight, so too are there quiet reminders of why it might not be right. Because he just doesn’t know what it means to you, while he is painfully aware of exactly what it means to him.

Then your arms raise, reaching for him with an insistence for such a grave wrong to be corrected, and the Kabukimono falls into them like he was always meant to be there. 

Palms pressing into his back, you sigh pleasantly against his ear as his weight settles against you. All the greed in the world pales in comparison to the way he turns his face to press his nose beneath your ear to breathe in your scent. 

Breathing is unnecessary, initially only done with the purpose of interrupting his unnatural stillness. In this moment it holds a single purpose - the only way he can claim more and more of you in a way that won’t leave you reeling and wary of him. The shoulder his cheek is against shifts with the subtle movement of your head tilting to the side, almost as if you were offering for him to take and take and take and-

Too quickly, he pulls himself from your arms and struggles to find the correct words to explain himself. But you don’t ask for that, nor do you even seem upset. Perhaps it’s your illness, or maybe you don’t understand what he’d been doing, but you look at him with a vague dreaminess full of trust and familiar tenderness. 

Settling for the easiest course, he withdraws enough to have room to stand and murmurs just above his breath, “You should get more sleep. Humans need rest to get healthy again.”

“Thank you for worrying about me.” The slow drawl of your voice as you settle in is like the smoothness of his own blankets that cradle him soon after, wrapping around his body and trapping him with warmth and comfort. 

As he buries his face in his pillows to blot out the world, he has half a mind to burst back into your bedroom and exclaim that he’s quickly becoming convinced that caring about you is his sole purpose in this world. 

Perhaps his birthright was ripped from him because there was a greater task for him out in the world, one that involved him building a life that venerates you at the very center. 

—

The puppet dreams. 

At first it’d been only wisps of color, scents, sensations of warmth and comfort. It’s only after he spends time acclimating to the wide world that the images in his mind come into focus. 

The forge beneath a lavender sky, songs and stories that meld together into a single steady thrum that becomes indistinguishable. The sky radiating out from him in all directions, above and below, listening to his call as if he were meant to be among the clouds. The first sight of the blazing red of a perpetual maple in Autumn, leaves falling and regrowing in one hundred and sixty-eight cycles. 

A weight on his chest that’s painfully familiar in its scent and pressure. The softness of skin beneath his fingertips as he mindlessly drags them down a body that shouldn’t be so known to him. Darkness takes his vision as he relishes in the sensations of touch, scent, sound. It’s your voice, sighing names that he knows belong to him but he doesn’t understand why you refer to him in that way. 

And amidst it all, a pressure builds in him that he tries to grasp at, yet his hands are more occupied with tracing over dips and curves, squeezing at flesh that gives so sweetly between his fingers. Finally, finally he can open his eyes, and there you are. Perched above him, palms pressed to his chest to steady yourself, you look like the deity he might have been in the first moments of his life. 

That unfamiliar pressure shudders with a roll of your hips, searing heat gripping at him as your rhythm stutters. Your nails dig into his chest, unable to break his skin despite your urgency and his sick yearning for you to leave some sort of mark on him. There is already the sign of ownership on him, but perhaps with enough force you could overwrite it and claim him as your own.

The lungs in his chest rattle as he sits up, darkness engulfing once more but with a quiet familiarity. A dream, one that leaves him adrift and yearning for something he’d never experienced. Subconsciously, he gasps for breath to cool his nerves. The room feels stifling, but not nearly as much as the layers of fabric and blankets in his lap. 

Niwa had spared no detail, even as the man’s face grew red, so it’s not as much of a surprise as it might have been. The thought of loving someone physically is that that implanted itself into his brain, burrowing with the intention to wait until this very moment of weakness. The puppet can’t control his dreams, but even as he tentatively reaches for himself with a shaking hand, he doesn’t regret that they’re beyond him. 

The pillows beneath his head protest as he falls back into them, suddenly feeling boneless the moment the skin of his palm touches against the throb of his arousal. Instinctual but hesitant, his fingers wrap around it and squeeze, and a strangled sound tears from his throat against his bidding. 

Even the tentative drag of his hand from base to tip feels as if he’s grown intoxicated, the alcohol that’s never had an effect on him is unable to come close to the muddiness of his thoughts. Swallowing thickly, he spreads the beading moisture of his arousal and wonders if he’s doing something terribly, terribly wrong. 

Because only one thought whirls in his mind, one vision that’s been burned into the back of his eyelids. You, tangled in his lap, rocking your hips and branding him with unfamiliar sensations he just can’t recreate with five fingers and his palm, no matter how hard he squeezes. 

The blankets scatter as he rolls from them, stumbling to his feet with a sick sense of purpose. Your visage in his mind is blurry, the memory of your scent feels so far away. Just a peek, just a glance so he can finish this and find relief amidst the guilt growing in his chest. Niwa’s hesitance speaks volumes of how unwelcome this might be to you; it will be a secret he conceals for the remainder of his life. 

Padding across the hall, he silently pulls the door open just enough for his vision to be filled with your prone form. The blankets have been kicked away in your sleep, leaving you clad in your nightclothes that show a little more skin than he ever expected to see from you. Peace is settled on your features, and as his hand tugs at the strings of his pants to pull himself free, he wonders if you’d hold that same expression if you knew what he’s done. What he’s doing.

Just like before, the first pass of his hand is almost too much. Pain blooms from his lip as he bites down into it, the flesh giving beneath his panic. Waking you would be the worst thing imaginable, but that prospect isn’t enough to stop himself from jerking his hips forward into his curled hand. 

Your head is craned enough to show the line of your shoulder and neck, just where he’d not-so-subtly buried his nose only a few nights prior. The phantom memory of how your skin had smelled, how it had tasted on his lips when he pulled away and swept his tongue across them in the privacy of his bedroom. Both bring a sense of urgency and recklessness, barely stemmed with how his palm slaps over his mouth to stem the uncontrollable sound of his self-pleasure.

Perhaps he could get closer. The tatami would muffle his footsteps, allowing him to approach your form and bask in your presence. The proximity would be too much for his addled brain to handle, nerves already frayed at the mere prospect of gazing at you while touching himself like this. Holding himself back is paramount, and he forces himself to stay in place, even as he leans closer to the space in the door.

The wooden frame digs into his shoulder as he leans into it heavily, depending on the structure to hold him upright as his knees grow weak. The hand on himself is no longer his own, at least in his darkest thoughts. Instead it’s yours, stroking with far more confidence than he does, touching him openly rather than in a dark hallway that reeks of his shame. 

Each fluttering blink of his eyes brings a different image. Your face before his, close enough to share in his breath, your palm dragging along his skin. Your knees on the floor as you use your mouth in ways he can only imagine in this one heated moment. The arch of your back beneath him as he grinds against you, eyes growing hazy and unfocused at the prospect.

Would you make the same sounds he does? Choked-off and strangled in an attempt to hide himself, that is. He desperately wishes it’s the opposite, that you’d be loud and unfettered so he knew that he was making you feel the exact same sort of unknown ecstasy that he suffers from at his own hands now.

The mere thought of bringing you the sort of sensations he struggles through now makes his stomach clench, anticipation building toward the notion of simply making you feel good. He would do whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, so long as you let him chase it alongside you. Knowing your mind could be frayed alongside his own is a prospect that feels sweet on his tongue despite being a far-off notion.

One particularly angled thrust against his palm makes his eyes flutter, vision growing hazy as he loses track of himself for a moment. Desperately, he moans your name against his palm, breath humid against his own lips, and doesn’t register the mistake. All he knows is something is coming quickly upon him, fast enough that it tears through rational thought and reason. 

The scratch in his throat speaks of his wanton abandon, how careless he was in a single instance on top of a mountain of poor choices leading up to this very moment. 

This very moment that your eyes slide open, vision locking on to him in the crack of the door. You look further down and see how tightly he’s holding his mouth shut, how he hunches against the doorframe, how his hand has ceased the furious movements that had brought him so close to being free of this if not but for a single night. 

The Kabukimono doesn’t even shut your door as he stumbles back, tripping over his own feet in his haste to fade back into the darkness. It’s too little, too late - you’ve seen him and what he’s done, and there’s no coming back from something like this. Not with how wide your eyes had grown, how your lips had parted in surprise. 

Tears well in his eyes because of course they do. Once, you told him that they’re the physical manifestation of feelings too strong to be contained. As he makes it into his room and all but drags himself to the furthest corner from the door, they run down his cheeks and one finds its way to the tip of his tongue. These tears could be nothing other than the starkest regret, fear, terror for what’s to come. 

Making himself smaller in that corner is easy. He’s slight of build, capable of bringing his knees to his chest and burying his face into the blissful darkness in an attempt to keep the world at bay. Something so miniscule couldn’t possibly be of scrutiny by the world, yet he feels your eyes on him nonetheless through the door he’d forgotten to close in his haste. 

Sighing quietly beneath your breath, it sounds impossibly loud and akin to the sharpness of a sword cutting the air cleanly in two. It feels like a physical blow, slicing him to the bone as he buries his fingers in his hair to tug painfully. The wetness in his right palm smears across the skin of his forehead with the motion and he isn’t sure he could ever feel as dirty as he does beneath your gaze.

The tatami shifts beneath him, the sign of your approach and subsequent kneel down to his level. If you were to strike him, it would be well within your right, but the only sensation of touch comes in the form of your fingers wrapping around his wrists. With firm pressure, you pull his hands away from where he grips his hair harder and harder, nearly pulling it from the root in his spiraling panic. 

“Look at me.”

Hasn’t he done that enough? This goes unspoken, his unwillingness to acknowledge you seeping into his very being. No, he’s done far too much looking. More than he ever should have dared to do. 

Yet, you still don’t admonish him. Instead, one of your hands releases him temporarily, only to worm its way to his chin and pull him to look up at you. Even now, when he’s convinced that everything has been ruined, the most selfish parts of him take hold for one last lingering gaze at you. Just enough to take with him when he’s forced to leave.

But there’s no malice in your eyes, no anger. Not even annoyance as you blow a sigh from your nose and take in the sight of his tear stained cheeks and mussed hair, cheeks ruddy still in a combination of what he’s done and how he feels about it now. “Listen to me.”

The Kabukimono is always listening. At least, listening to you, that is. 

“What were you doing?”

Of course, you already know. But speaking it aloud must be the penance you’re demanding from him, and it’s with an impossibly shaky voice as he breathes out, “Touching myself.”

“Why?” And when he can’t answer, embarrassment taking hold of him so tightly that he can’t even expand his chest to speak, a visible pang of disappointment crosses your features. Once again, he’s let you down. Undeterred, you try again, “Were you thinking of me?”

So subtly that he’s certain it would’ve gone unnoticed if you still weren’t cupping his chin, he nods. What use is there in denying the obvious? The disappointment fades, and left in its place is a smile. It’s small, almost tentative in nature, but undeniably existing where it shouldn’t. 

“You’re terrified… Do you think I’m upset?”

“Aren’t you? You should be. Upset, angry, disgusted-”

“I’m none of those things.” And with a sideways tilt of your head, the smile on your face grows wider, a balm to his vision that’s still blurred with tears. “I’m actually… relieved.”

What? Relief barely registers in his mind as something you could possibly be feeling at this moment. Nothing that he’s done this evening would warrant you to feel any sort of relaxation, no matter the root source of your tension. His confusion must be palpable in the air, your tongue darting out to wet your lips and surely tasting it there. 

With great mercy, you let him find peace. “Do you feel something for me? Is this a physical reaction, or something more?” 

The Kabukimono has never hidden anything from you up until this moment. The only secret he’s held has been the damning existence of his impossibly heavy feelings. And with your blessing, your plea, he recognizes the only opportunity that will ever be afforded to him. Some might describe him as eccentric, perhaps even a fool if seen in the wrong light, but he’s far from an idiot. 

So with the last chance to fix things laying before him, he snatches it without hesitation. 

“It’s love. It has to be, I have never… will never feel like this toward another person.” When your smile doesn’t fade, neither does his confidence. It grows with each syllable he forces through his trepidation. “I can’t describe it. Without you I feel like I might die. Please don’t send me away, I don’t think I’d make it if you’re not with me.”

“Oh, Kabukimono,” You sigh almost longingly, leaning close enough that the scent he’s been craving overrides all his senses. From this close, your face near enough that he can feel the exhale of your breath across his lips, he’s certain that the only thing that exists now is you. He can feel your words against his mouth as you draw ever closer, “You don’t have to describe it. I understand it more than you could ever know.”

Kissing you feels like that dream of the skies. Weightless, abundantly free, opportunity to explore in every direction. The one he chooses is forward, leaning into you more and more until he’s on his knees and you’re on your backside, until he is the one slotted between your thighs rather than his dreams of you in his lap. 

He’s always been a swift learner, and taking note of how to kiss you is something that comes to him quickly. Mimicking your movements, he finds a steady stride against you that feels eerily natural. More credence to the theory for his existence, his conviction that truly he was made not for the divinity of a gnosis, but the quiet contentment of becoming one with you. 

Emboldened to impossible heights, his hands find purchase wherever he can manage - one at your hip, one curled around your breast and marveling at how he can feel even through your clothing how receptive you are to his fumbling advances. With that hand tugging at fabric, he chases that phantom sensation he remembers of skin-on-skin. 

Arching into his palm, pressing yourself into his hold in an effort to be malleable to his needs, you sigh into the kiss. The puppet feels the first hint of madness, the all-consuming nature of what he’s become in the short span of time he’s been allowed to partake in what he’s yearned for. 

And you let him. With the urging of your tongue pushing past his teeth, tasting something only you can understand, the desire you reflect back at him feels impossibly tangled. 

Unraveling you starts with your clothing falling open, the fastenings flimsy enough that the natural movement of his hand down your body is enough to slide everything free. At your navel he pauses, wetly pulling away from your lips to seek guidance. In theory, he knows what to do, but more than any pleasure he could find for himself, he desperately wants to give it to you. Perhaps if he does, if he can prove that something in him is worth keeping, you’ll be further convinced to keep him close. 

With one arm behind you to prop yourself up, your free hand finds his wrist and encourages him to reach lower. Further and further until your lips part in a gasp and undeniable wetness meets his fingertips. Like a siren song he follows it, pressing into the heat you’re offering and memorizing the way your head rolls back and away from him. 

“Tell me.” he urges you, even as his fingers stroke insistently, searching for something he isn’t sure of. “Show me what to do, how to make you feel good.”

And in response, your hips shift enough for his touch to bump against something that grinds against his fingertips. It’s a wordless instruction, one he understands well enough to latch onto in every way. With swirling fingers, he chases after every little sound he’s able to rub from you. Always generous, you hold nothing back, and vaguely he wonders what your voice would taste like if he were to swallow it whole. 

“Use… use your thumb there and y-your other fingers- ngh- lower. You’ll know, you’ll-”

Unwilling to be skeptical of any direction you give him, he maneuvers just like you demand and his fingers sink into the heat he’d been dreaming of. Your muscles clench around him as he goes further and further, knuckles pressing tight to your entrance. Like you want more, need more, it feels as if you could take him indefinitely. 

He expects you to tell him to stop at some point, to have gotten your fill of what he can offer and grow tired of the sensation. But a sort of frenzy seems to take over you, your hips grinding down on his fingers in tandem with his movements, almost as if you were looking for something. Chasing something - and then you seem to find it with your back hitting the floor and your spine arching almost painfully. 

You don’t tell him to stop, you don’t demand relief from whatever is causing you to buck against him so viciously, so he does the only thing he can. He doesn’t let up, repeating the same motions that reduced you to this. The soft give of you inside grows impossibly tight, clamping down until he can barely move his fingertips against something inside that nearly matches where his thumb is on the outside. 

The only way to describe you is having been reduced to your base components, barely functioning as you writhe against his hold. He can’t help but note that when you’ve fallen apart like this, chest heaving and finally grabbing his wrist to stop his steady movements, that you’re impossibly beautiful. He could easily find himself addicted to this, to you. 

But just as much as he wants to try and break you down further, his own needs are crawling up his spine, boiling a heat in his stomach that is so akin to how he felt in his dream. The Kabukimono wants - recklessly, viciously, so desperately that it leaves him feeling panicked and adrift. 

Even ruined as you are, there’s enough coherency for you to take note of how close he is to falling apart. With infinite mercy, you reach to pull him closer. The right process clicks in his brain, breaking through the haze toward what he needs to do to you, to take from you. With your legs spread to slot his hips so nicely against your own, you offer yourself freely. 

Is it selfish if he wants everything, and that happens to be exactly what you’re willing to give? 

“Be… be gentle. I’m sensitive.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be as proud as he is when hearing that, but the only thing he comprehends is that he’s done well. That’s all that matters, but to keep doing well he wants to follow your instructions to the letter. So, with a gentle hand, he pulls himself out once more to line up against the entrance that once squeezed his fingers so tightly. Surely it would feel better on his cock, better for you, too.

With your wetness, he slides home so easily that he nearly sobs with relief. With taking him in so easily, he’s convinced of exactly how right this is. Lost in the sensation, he doesn’t realize you’re crying until the dim light of the moon outside shines across your cheek. Then, with further inspection, he realizes you’re not crying at all. 

He is, and they fall freely from him to land on you. You don’t seem to care, instead focusing on wiping them from his own face rather than your own. Once more you treat him with unending tenderness, giving and giving until he feels content and complete. The only thing he can do is give in return, taking first by sliding himself free before thrusting back in. 

The sharpness makes you gasp, and an apology bubbles on his lips before he realizes you liked it. So, with an impossible amount of giddiness, he does it again and again. Over and over, savoring the feeling of your body accepting him and refusing to let go until he has to force himself out for a split-second. 

“You’re doing so well.” You pull him close, so much that your forehead bumps against his own and your labored exhales match his greedily inhales. In and out, as if the two of you are sharing a single breath at the pace of his reckless pleasure-seeking. Though, with how close he’d been before, the search doesn’t take too long when it’s found inside you. 

The praise heightens everything, the validation that he’s doing everything you want bringing him to an unfathomable height before you push him over with a sharp tug on his hair. The strands beneath your fingers hold strong as you provide a sensation to keep him grounded, a tether as he pushes impossibly close and sobs brokenly over the all-consuming sensation of release. 

Shaking against you, he can’t be bothered to mind his weight with how he slumps in your hold. So very familiar to how you’ve held him before, when intentions were far more innocent than the things you’ve done tonight, he’s certain something in his chest is beating. It throbs in time with your pulse next to his ear on your chest, forehead pressing into your collarbone. 

Certainly, the two of you can’t reside on the bare tatami for the remainder of the night, but neither of you make any attempt to change this. In fact, one of your arms blindly reaches up to his nearby futon, swiping the pillow to tuck under your head with a pleased sigh. 

In the silence that falls, comfortable and warm like the Summer evening outside, the puppet wonders if perhaps there is some merit to the claim that he’s becoming more human. With something like a heartbeat in his chest, the warmth of your body embracing him, his hand laced with yours against the floor, he can’t help but feel more like a human than he ever has before.

[atinycafe]

LIME SORBET — ch 03 [studio.log]*

PROMPT; reader finally comes back to s. korea as she finished her training in los angeles, ready to debut as a solo artist under kq ent! exciting right? well her sunbaes seem to like that idea too.

FEAT; alpha!ateez x omega!idol!reader

IN THIS CHAPTER; reader spends her night in the studio, only to wake up 2 a room filled w alphas who r intrigued by her.

WARNINGS; suggestive!! the gang is horny, visualization of what they want to do to reader, but it's not really explicit

WRD COUNT; 8.4k

NOTES; reader is so cute when she's sleepi + mingi princess fans arise + we see her in a bra like okay girl.. + san is so delulu he got me cryin + woo is an ass man in case u don't get it; the boys get HORNY, like embarrassingly so + absolutely no second proofreading cuz im lazy

TAGLIST; @marievllr-abg @cookiechristie @sugarrush-blush; lmk if you want 2 b added 2!

In the depths of Maddox's abode, nestled within his personal studio, the girl found herself immersed in the world of musical creation. The clock struck 3am, yet time seemed to lose its grasp as she surrendered to her insatiable passion. Six hours had effortlessly slipped by, as if fueled by an unstoppable force of excitement that refused to be tamed.

Within the dimly lit space, her senses were heightened, every fiber of her being attuned to the melody that flowed from her lips and echoed through the soundproof walls. The room hummed with energy, a symphony of musical notes and the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee and vibrant cans of Red Bull. The fusion of caffeine and adrenaline created a swirling concoction, at times threatening to overwhelm her, yet she reveled in the exhilarating rush it provided. It was as if the very essence of her anticipation had taken flight, dancing on the precipice of euphoria.

With each take, her voice soared, effortlessly embracing the emotions etched within the lyrics. Fatigue attempted to wrap its heavy arms around her, but she stubbornly resisted, fueled by an unwavering determination and an unwavering belief in the music she was creating. Sleep became an inconsequential concept, a distant memory overshadowed by the sheer thrill of her craft.

The studio walls bore witness to her transformation, adorned with discarded drafts and crumpled sheets of paper, testaments to the countless iterations and refining of her art. She was a vessel of creativity, pouring her heart and soul into every syllable, weaving a tapestry of sound and emotion that would soon captivate the world.

As the hours slipped away, her mind swirled with a variety of emotions. Excitement coursed through her veins like a surging electric current, occasionally flirting with the edges of nausea. The very thought of her forthcoming album ascending to new heights sent a rush of adrenaline to her head, causing her heart to beat in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the music. It was a heady mixture, a blend of exhaustion and exhilaration that mingled in the depths of her being.

In the stillness of the night, surrounded by the symphony of her own creation, she became a conduit of artistic expression. The merging of sleep-deprived delirium and boundless passion resulted in a raw, untamed energy that propelled her forward. With each passing moment, she grew more resolute, refusing to surrender to fatigue or doubt. This was her moment, her chance to etch her mark upon the annals of music history.

As the night wore on, and the world outside slumbered, the intimacy of Maddox's modest abode revealed itself. The walls, though not grandiose, seemed to hold secrets within their confines. The space was small, cozy even, and the proximity to Maddox's sleeping quarters made every sound he produced perceptible. Amidst the melodies she crafted, she found solace in the faint symphony of his snores. His rhythmic breaths became a comforting backdrop, grounding her in the reality of their shared creative sanctuary.

'Cause if the water dries up and the moon stops shining

As she poured her heart into the lyrics, a cascade of thoughts and emotions tumbled through her mind. The words she penned held a deep longing, an unspoken desire for a connection that had eluded her. In the depths of her creative sanctuary, she allowed her imagination to roam freely, conjuring up visions of what it might feel like to be truly loved.

Stars fall, and the world goes blind

Memories of past relationships flickered briefly in her mind, wisps of summer love that had faded like distant echoes. They were fleeting encounters, mere glimpses of what could have been. But now, with the pen in her hand and the music in her soul, she yearned for something more profound, something that would transcend the boundaries of time.

Boy, you know I'll be savin' my love for you, for you

Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the ethereal realm of her imagination, letting her thoughts drift towards the three alphas she had met just a week ago. Her mind painted vivid portraits of their potential, each one possessing unique qualities that stirred her curiosity. In this realm of boundless possibilities, she allowed herself to explore the untrodden paths of affection and romance.

'Cause you're the best mistake I've ever made

But as the melodies swirled around her, her shyness began to creep in, shattering the enchantment she had conjured. Her mind swiftly delving into vivid and provocative imagery. In a sudden rush of self-awareness, she tossed her pen aside and removed her headphones, as if needing a physical break from the whirlwind of emotions. Her face, now cupped in her hands, she rubbed away the traces of her daydreams, attempting to chase away the lingering images that had captivated her.

But we hold on, mm, hold on

She knew that these reveries were a temporary escape, a fleeting moment of vulnerability and exploration. Yet, they fueled her artistic expression, infusing her lyrics with a yearning that seemed almost tangible. The lyrics became a mirror of her deepest desires, a plea for honesty and authenticity in love. With each word she crafted, she hoped to find someone who could treat her with tenderness, touch her with intention, and unlock the door to her heart.

There's no pot of gold in the rainbows we chase

In that very moment, as she sat there, her mind whirled with a blend of anticipation, hesitation, and a hint of excitement. She couldn't help but wonder if her words held the power to beckon the love she craved. Her song became an invitation, an open door to a future that existed solely in her dreams.

But we hold on, mm, hold on

With a sigh, she took a deep breath and let the thoughts dissipate, like morning mist evaporating beneath the sun's warm rays. She knew that her journey toward love was just beginning, and these words were her declaration, her manifesto of hope and vulnerability. The pen may have been discarded for now, but the fire within her burned brighter than ever, ready to ignite the flame of love when the time was right.

In the hushed confines of their dorm, bathed in the soft glow of dawn's gentle light, the boys stirred, their sleep interrupted at an unusually early hour. It was all thanks to San, the charismatic force among them, who had roused them from their slumber with unwavering determination.

The previous day, as they lounged together in the comforts of their shared abode, their big-eyed alpha, adorned with a magnetic charm, had caught sight of a story posted by his cherished omega (he claimed her as his omega, unyielding in his conviction, regardless of their limited interaction. Though their connection remained one-sided, he refused to falter in acknowledging her as his own!!). In her endearing shyness, she had requested their social media accounts, an invitation for simple communication that sent a wave of adoration rippling through the alphas. Overwhelmed by her captivating allure, they had almost instinctively wished to whisk her away, to shield her from prying eyes within the sanctuary of their dorm, for fear that others might glimpse the untamed beauty that resided within her.

With their own private accounts, meticulously curated to shield their true identities from all but their trusted inner circle, the three boys ventured into her digital realm. Concealing his true identity, Wooyoung ingeniously employed one of his selcas as his profile picture. Under the pretense of running a Wooyoung fan account, he skillfully masked his own involvement, ensuring that only a select few would recognize his true affiliation. San, donning the visage of Kai from EXO, his own idol, and Hongjoong, his profile pic a simple yet enigmatic all-black image. Each detail meticulously planned to ensure that their presence remained concealed from the wider world.

As San chanced upon her story—a selfie snapped within the familiar confines of Maddox's studio, she accompanied it with a concise caption: "pullin' an all nighter, fighting, 1st album coming soon bb!!!", a cluster of petite emoticons adorned her visage, adding a touch of whimsy to the frame— he sprang to his feet in a whirlwind of excitement, his head narrowly missing a collision with Mingi's chin as he propelled himself forward. The image of her pretty face filled the screen, delicate locks cascading around her visage, while her glasses, whether a fashion statement or an aid to her vision, delicately perched upon her nose, lending her an air of innocence that stirred something profound within San. Unable to resist, he discreetly captured a screenshot, already having crafted a dedicated folder solely for her in his photo app.

Summoning Wooyoung from his place in the living room, San began to passionately recount their newfound opportunity to meet her in person. The trio of alphas, who had previously crossed paths with this captivating omega, yearned for the chance to be in her presence once more. The distance separating them felt like an unbearable chasm, their hearts aching with longing, yet they understood the necessity of patience. Having learned of her recent settlement in South Korea and her contract with KQent, they recognized that she needed time to unwind and find solace after a demanding week.

The remaining members found themselves irresistibly drawn to their uncharacteristically high-pitched squeals, converging in the living room. Some opted to nestle on the floor, forsaking the available seating options. In the midst of the excited pair's animated discussion, Yeosang's dulcet voice, with its unmistakable baritone undertones, gently broke the fervor.

"What's all the excitement about?" he interjected, his words carrying a blend of curiosity and soothing melody.

"Our omega," San exclaimed, unable to contain his glee. His smile widened to such an extent that his eyes involuntarily closed, plunging him momentarily into darkness. Within the fleeting blackout, a vivid image materialized—a radiant smile from her—only to dissipate as he opened his eyes, leaving San flushed with a warm blush. He was obsessed. He blinked, he saw her.

Jongho, ever the skeptic, rolled his eyes at San's exuberance. "Oh my God, not again. Spare me for just a minute, my head is already throbbing," he lamented. The youngest alpha had already glimpsed at her pictures from San's instagram account, having surreptitiously explored the depths of his brother's phone. He sought to put a face to the enigmatic individual captivating San's attention. Even though the pictures were candid, their unpolished charm revealed glimpses of her unadorned life. Jongho couldn't deny her beauty, but his weariness was palpable. San's infatuation was understandable, and Wooyoung's as well, but Hongjoong? It felt like an overwhelming influx of emotions for him. It was just too much. And they never shut up about her!

"Guys, I truly couldn't care less right now. We're waking up at 5am, and we must be at Maddox's place in less than ten minutes. It's an urgency, I feel like I'm gonna die," Wooyoung declared, his arms crossing defiantly over his well-defined chest. The gravity of his words was evident, as he foresaw the reaction of the other alphas who hadn't yet encountered his beloved.

"NAHHHHHH, YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND IF YOU THIN—" Yunho's outburst was abruptly quelled by the eldest alpha's measured intervention.

"Okay."

"Yeah, exactly. Seonghwa, tell him—" Yunho turned to him, an air of bewilderment etched across his face, "What?"

Seonghwa, the composed and sage-like oldest of their pack, emitted a weary sigh as his fingers delicately threaded through his tousled locks. "Okay first, let's all acknowledge that a mate bond is quite intricate when it happens to an already formed pact," he began, his words carrying a profound weight that resonated within each individual present. Hongjoong's all sat them down, as soon as they got home that day, talking about how she could be their destined mate, having spurred the need for this crucial conversation, a topic that demanded their collective attention. San and Wooyoung, their faces alight with uncontainable joy, illuminated the room as they reveled in the tantalizing prospect of the ethereal girl potentially becoming their soulmate.

"Are you not even slightly curious about what she's like? After all, she could be our soulmate—that's a connection far from trivial," Seonghwa concluded, his voice carrying the wisdom of countless ages.

A deep and contemplative silence blanketed the room, as each alpha weighed the implications of his words, even those who had already crossed paths with her. It was clear that surface-level attraction alone would not suffice; a deeper understanding was essential. And so, with resolute determination, they reached a unanimous decision—on the morrow, they would convene to embark on an unforgettable rendezvous with this captivating omega, unmasking the layers that shrouded her essence.

"Hurry up, bro! If you don't open that door, I swear I'll kick it down myself," Woo exclaimed, frustrated by the tremor in his leader's hands preventing the key from entering Kyungmoon's door. Joong was stressed okay?? It had been a week since he met his lovely girl, he needed to take some time to breathe and Wooyoung's high pitched voice wasn't making it easier for him.

Jongho swiftly delivered a sharp slap to the back of Woo's head, reprimanding him for his lack of proper and polite language.

At last, the door swung open. Surprisingly, Yeosang was the first to step inside, forcefully making his way through. He paused in the hallway, taking a deep inhale.

"H-holy shit," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The alluring scent of the omega permeated the apartment. His eyes rolled back momentarily as he dropped to one knee. Being exceptionally sensitive to smell, the euphoric sensation coursing through him was beyond imagination.

"It seems she's asleep," Hongjoong murmured, savoring the tranquil but sharp pheromones that floated gracefully above him. It was a scent he could easily grow accustomed to.

Omega scents differed from those of other biological "genera" such as alphas and betas. Their fragrances were more potent, designed to attract as many potential partners as possible. In the past, it had been one alpha per omega, a long-established tradition. However, the mistreatment and endangerment of the omega species had altered the dynamics. Now, it was an omega for an entire pack, comprising alphas and betas. As time passed, scientists discovered that omega scents grew more concentrated, and their pheromones had a stronger effect on individuals than their predecessors.

Upon presenting, omegas began wearing specialized collars to mitigate the strength of their scent. However, the collars merely served as a display, indicating whether an omega was unmated or not. Mated omegas proudly discarded their collars, showcasing the mark left by their partners.

To address the issue of scent control, omegas learned to subdue and manipulate their pheromones as if it were second nature. Alphas possessed a similar ability, using their own pheromones to demonstrate dominance or provide comfort to a distressed omega. This control was entirely conscious and deliberate, except in moments of extreme emotions or, as one might guess, during sleep.

Yeosang's delicate nose began to bleed, a trickle of crimson staining his upper lip. His eyes dilated to such an extent that the coffee brown hues vanished, replaced by a captivating abyss. Sensing his distress, Seonghwa swiftly positioned himself in front of Yeosang, retrieving a tissue from his pocket. Placing it firmly into Yeosang's trembling hand, he offered a comforting pat on the back before moving past him.

Leaving Yeosang to catch his breath at the entrance, the others knew he would eventually regain composure. They recalled moments when he would become overwhelmed at fan meetings and concerts, the amalgamation of scents triggering debilitating headaches that rendered him unable to function once the events concluded. However, with time, he had grown in both self-control and the utilization of a specialized gel that he carried with him—a tube always at the ready.

After carefully wiping his nose with the tissue provided by his hyung, Yeosang uncapped the tube. Squeezing a generous amount onto his index finger, he proceeded to apply the gel beneath his nose. Settling amidst the abundance of sneakers, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, allowing the lingering essence of her scent to envelop his senses. Though not as potent as before, it still lingered, a tantalizing presence that left a trace on his tongue, reminiscent of a refreshing concoction of freshly squeezed lime and sweet condensed milk on a scorching summer day. And he hadn't even laid eyes on her yet, but the yearning to feel her beneath his fingertips, to taste her lips, was already fervently alive within him.

Leaning his head against the adjacent wall, Yeosang attempted to suppress the torrent of thoughts cascading through his mind. How was this even possible? Was this the sensation of having a mate? His cheeks flushed a rosy hue, a thin layer of perspiration forming upon his brow as he fought the overpowering urge to rise, rush to her side, and whisk her away to a world of eternal seclusion.

The vulnerable alpha dreaded the impending moment when his eyes would finally gaze upon her, aware that his self-control would crumble in an instant. He needed to regain his composure swiftly. Clasping his head in his hands, he tightened his grip on his hair, silently growling at himself for the inevitable embarrassment he believed awaited him in her presence. Awkwardness plagued him when meeting new people, an innate characteristic he couldn't help but succumb to. Now, envisioning the sweet, enchanting omega who had captivated his senses with her unbeknownst allure, he found himself on his knees for her even before her awakening.

Unable to bear the weight of her presence, he rose to his feet and deliberately veered left, contrary to the path his pack brothers took. He made his way towards Kyungmoon's location, deciding that focusing on the task of rousing his slumbering friend was a far more productive pursuit than wallowing in overthinking within the confines of the bathroom. The mere thought of clawing at the door for even a second of her attention seemed inconsequential in comparison.

"Wait Joong-ah don't wake her up yet, I wanna take a pic," Wooyoung whispered sharply, his words resonating within the intimate connection of their pack's shared mind.

"What the fuck Woo that's so weird," San grumbled, feeling an undeniable urge to retrieve his phone and do the exact same thing as his brother. Sure, he had taken a screenshot of her story, but she had posted it willingly, and she even requested his Instagram account! It was as if she knew he would come across her story and find her utterly adorable. Perhaps she had intended to send him the picture privately but hesitated out of shyness. In the grand scheme of things, taking a screenshot of her story didn't seem like such a significant transgression.

"San in his delulu era," Yunho chuckled, his laughter reverberating through the backchannels of their shared connection. San blushed, realizing that he hadn't closed the pack link before indulging in his overthinking. He whined and pouted at his older brother, grumbling about how he knew nothing and that he shared a profound connection with the slumbering omega in the room that none of them could possibly comprehend.

Approaching her with utmost gentleness, San took in the sight of her petite figure draped in an oversized black ESSENTIALS hoodie. The soft fabric of the hood cradled her bangs delicately, accentuating her endearing presence.

San's eyes lingered on the ethereal beauty that graced his sight. Her delicate features, bathed in the soft glow of morning light, seemed to possess an otherworldly radiance. Her flawless complexion was akin to the finest piece of glass, adorned with a natural flush of warmth that accentuated her captivating charm.

A cascade of silken tresses framed her face, tumbling in gentle waves that danced with each breath she took. The strands, so dark, like a moonless night, glimmered softly. They caressed her cheeks in a tender embrace, further enhancing the angelic grace that she embodied.

But it was her smile, that tender curve of her lips, that bewitched San the most. It was a smile that spoke of innocence, of genuine happiness found in the simplest of moments, such as the dream she must have been in at the moment. A smile so small yet so impactful.

As San's gaze intensified, he became acutely aware of her scent, a delicate and intoxicating fragrance that filled the air around her. It was a scent that captivated the senses, a symphony of citrus notes intertwined with a hint of warmth and sweetness. The gentle waft of her pheromones mingled with the morning breeze, leaving a trail of enchantment that lingered in the room.

The other alphas present in the room found themselves in a state of awe and disbelief. They were stunned by the sheer beauty before them, unable to comprehend how someone could possess such breathtaking allure. The collective breaths in the room seemed to catch, as if the air itself was held captive by her presence.

They couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort as they observed her slumbering form, tightly wedged in front of the studio equipment. A wave of concern washed over their hearts, causing a sense of unease to settle within them. How had she ended up sleeping in such an uncomfortable position? It was evident that she had been working tirelessly, pushing herself beyond her limits. Their poor little omega, not even a day in, and she was already overworking herself.

The sight of her cramped posture tugged at their heartstrings, fueling a deep sense of protectiveness within the alphas. They exchanged worried glances, their brows furrowed with genuine care. This was not how they had envisioned her first day, and they couldn't bear the thought of her sacrificing her well-being for the sake of her goals.

Gently, they tiptoed closer, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Soft whispers filled the air as they debated on the best course of action. Should they wake her and offer her a more comfortable place to rest? Or should they let her sleep, knowing that she needed the rest?

San gently shook her shoulder, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through his body. The sensation coursed from the point where their skin made contact, making his knees weaken momentarily. "Bunny, wake up," he whispered, his voice filled with affection and longing. Crouching down before her, he softly nudged her crossed arms on her chest with his nose, yearning to rouse her from her slumber but careful not to be rough with her delicate form.

As his nose brushed against the black fabric of her hoodie, a low growl rumbled deep within San's chest. The others turned to him, their confusion evident in their faces, their bodies poised to react if they sensed any danger or harm befalling their omega. The only fear that gripped their hearts was the possibility of her being injured.

"What is it?" the leader asked impatiently, his gaze fixed on San, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in the usually gentle alpha's demeanor.

"Her scent is so overwhelming, I didn't notice the other man's scent on her," San snarled, his voice laced with possessiveness and anger. The room grew heavy with tension, and a nauseating feeling settled upon the others. Their little omega, in the embrace of another? It was unfathomable, a concept they refused to entertain, for it threatened to shatter the fragile equilibrium within their pack. The surge of jealousy and anger fueled their pheromones, causing the air to be saturated with an intense energy, growls echoing throughout the room.

"Oh calm down, I gave her my hoodie, after all those years, I'd think you'd recognize my scent," a familiar voice chimed in lazily. Maddox entered the studio, his presence diffusing the mounting tension. He yawned and stretched, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

The room breathed a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated, making way for a blush to color the alphas' cheeks. Their omega remained blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep. "You guys imprint on her already or what" Maddox yawned again, this time covering his mouth with his hand, his gaze drifting to the MacBook resting next to San on the table.

San, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by his earlier outburst, turned his attention back to his omega, determined to wake her gently without further disturbing the delicate balance within the pack. However, Maddox interjected, his focus still fixed on the files the omega had been working on the night before. "That won't work," he muttered, his eyes scanning the digital pages. "She sleeps like she's in a damn coma. You need to use that big alpha voice to wake her up. I remember only her father's voice could actually rouse her for school." A nostalgic smile played upon Maddox's lips as he recalled the image of the formidable alpha attempting to wake his soft daughter with the utmost care, eventually resigning himself to growls and stern commands.

The rest of the pack chose to overlook Maddox's uncanny knowledge about her, realizing they had already embarrassed themselves enough. Yunho spoke up, his voice gentle yet firm. "We can't do that. It's disrespectful to her if we use that voice without her consent." He understood the power alphas possessed, the ability to command any omega with a certain tone of their voice. Some alphas saw it as natural and didn't hesitate to employ it for various purposes, but the younger generation recognized the discomfort it could cause an omega and refrained from using it without their agreement.

Maddox grumbled in frustration, closing the multitude of pages she had opened. "Cute, but I really need her to wake the fuck up. I have so many questions about what she did," he grumbled, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. "How many songs did she record yesterday? What the fuck..."

Realizing that none of the alphas had budged from their positions, Maddox turned to them, his expression deadpan. "It's either that, or I throw her off the damn chair," he stated flatly. A low snarl inadvertently escaped the youngest alphas' mouth, resulting in a swift slap from the elder pack members. Kyungmoon, being older than them all, demanded their respect, and they were quick to comply.

Rolling his eyes, Kyungmoon approached her chair. As soon as San caught sight of his movement, he instinctively tightened his embrace around his beloved omega, enveloping her baggy jeans-clad thighs with his massive arms, as if shielding her from any harm. With a frustrated huff, Mingi stepped forward, gently nudging Maddox aside.

Bending down to be at eye level with her, Mingi hesitated for a moment before parting his lips, a firm yet tender command slipping from his mouth. "'Mega, wake up."

At the sound of his voice, tinged with a hint of authority, the adorable omega finally blinked her eyes open, still groggy from her meager three hours of sleep. Mingi's face was so close to hers that she could feel his minty breath against her skin. She locked eyes with him, her own still halfway closed, and with a radiant smile, she murmured, "Princess," before drifting back into slumber, soft snores escaping her lips.

Mingi found himself overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions, his heart pounding so fiercely that it felt as if it might burst from his chest. Every fiber of his being trembled, and his cheeks burned with an intense blush that seemed to consume him entirely. He stumbled out of the room, his mind in a haze, unable to form coherent words. In the pack link, his thoughts raced, replaying the precious moment when she had gazed at him with such tenderness, her doe-like eyes filled with affection, as she whispered his nickname. The intensity of his feelings was so potent that it felt as if he could spontaneously combust from the sheer weight of his emotions. Mingi now understood the profound infatuation his pack brothers harbored for her. She had an undeniable power over them, and he realized with both joy and trepidation that she would undoubtedly be the cause of his eventual downfall.

As Mingi stumbled out of the room, his face flushed with embarrassment and his heart in disarray, Maddox turned to the other alphas, only to notice that they were all equally affected by the endearing moment they had just witnessed. Yunho and Seonghwa had their hands pressed against their faces, their fingers trembling with the sheer adorableness that had unfolded before them. San buried his face in the omega's thighs, his ears and the back of his neck turning a vibrant shade of pink, betraying his own overwhelmed emotions. Wooyoung and Jongho averted their gazes to the ceiling, trying to distract themselves from replaying the scene repeatedly in their minds, though a small, subtle smile played on the youngest alphas' lips. Hongjoong sat on the couch, seemingly unfazed as he lazily scratched the nail polish on his pinky, but Kyungmoon, ever perceptive, couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in the leader's pants. Maddox, taken aback by the sight, accidentally spit out the water he had been drinking, managing to turn away just in time to avoid drenching the electronic devices, but unfortunately showering the poor omega in the process.

The room erupted with the omega's whines, her voice piercing through the previously silent atmosphere as the cold water splashed against her skin, instantly capturing the attention of every alpha present. Their hearts ached at the sound of her distress, their protective instincts urging them to offer comfort and reassurance. Their alpha instincts compelling them to provide solace and make things right.

"What the fuck, Maddox?" she wailed, her frustration evident. "Can't even sleep properly in this damn house."

Standing up and shaking off San, she didn't his lingering grip on her sleeping form, her focus solely fixed on Kyungmoon, her expression a mix of annoyance and desperation. She swiftly removed her hoodie, leaving her clad only in her bra and jeans, oblivious to the way every pair of eyes followed her every move, their gazes locked on her with a mix of surprise and raw need.

The emotional rollercoaster they just went through had been like no other. First the jealousy, then how she was adorable, and lastly pure horniness.

The curve of her stomach, gliding effortlessly from under the confines of her bra, ensnared the attention of Hongjoong, the esteemed leading alpha of the room. His experienced eyes, like a connoisseur of beauty, were drawn to the elegant contour that beckoned his gaze. The delicate lace of her undergarment, while intended to provide a sense of allure and sophistication, unintentionally exacerbated his already heightened state of arousal.

A twinge of discomfort gnawed at Hongjoong as he struggled to find a more suitable position, seeking respite from the undeniable physical reaction that her captivating form had stirred within him. With meticulous care, he shifted his weight, his eyes never straying from her mesmerizing figure. Yet, try as he might, the discreet adjustments failed to provide the relief he so desperately sought.

In a valiant effort to compose himself, Hongjoong focused on the intricate details of the room, mentally recounting the soothing hues of the decor and the subtle patterns etched into the furniture. However, the tantalizing presence of the omega before him proved too formidable a distraction, commanding his attention with an unwavering grip. He found himself caught in a precarious balancing act, yearning to sate his desires while mindful of the propriety demanded by the situation.

The enchanting sight of small moles adorning her soft skin captivated Seonghwa's discerning gaze, weaving a spell that rendered him momentarily breathless. Each tiny mark seemed to possess its own unique story, an intimate secret shared only by her and the heavens above. His yearning to explore those delicate spots with tender kisses overwhelmed him, imagining the intoxicating sensation of his lips brushing against the canvas of her skin.

In his mind's eye, Seonghwa envisioned a gentle dance of affection, as he traced the path of those enticing moles, leaving a trail of feather-light pecks in their wake. He could almost taste the sweetness that lingered on her flesh, relishing the imagined flavor that would be unveiled with each loving touch. Imagining the soft strokes of his omega's fingers gently caressing his hair, he reveled in the anticipation of the tingling sensations that would ripple through his scalp, a testament to the depth of their connection.

Yunho's attention was drawn to the striking contrast between his own veiny and robust hands and the delicate frame of the omega standing before him. In that moment, he couldn't help but imagine the possibilities of their union, envisioning the way his substantial hands would envelope her waist with a possessive grip, his fingers seamlessly finding their place in the contours of her perfect love handles.

His mind became a canvas of fantasies as he pictured himself leaving trails of electrifying sensations in his wake, exploring the territory of her body with a blend of strength and tenderness. Yunho recognized the power he held, knowing that his size and stature were capable of delivering overwhelming pleasure, yet he remained acutely aware of the need for care and respect in his actions.

In his musings, Yunho marveled at the way her petite form seemed to fit flawlessly against his own, as if their bodies were destined to intertwine in a passionate embrace. The thought of their connection, of his hands guiding her and igniting a symphony of pleasure, stirred a fire within him that burned with both intensity and reverence.

In a moment that transcended the boundaries of mere perception, San was struck by an electrifying realization that sent shivers cascading right through his very dick. The delicate tapestry of her soft and innocent aura, an ethereal essence that had captivated him since their first encounter, now bore a captivating mark of temptation—a seductive black lace bra that adorned her form with a beguiling allure. It was a revelation that set his heart ablaze, igniting a torrent of desire that coursed through his veins with an irresistible intensity.

As his gaze lingered upon the intricate details of her lingerie, a mix of sensations and emotions unraveled within San's psyche. The contrast between her angelic visage and the provocative undergarment created a mesmerizing dichotomy, a collision of purity and seduction that stirred a primal yearning within him. The soft caress of lace against her supple skin seemed to beckon him closer, inviting him to uncover the secrets concealed beneath those delicate layers.

With each passing second, San's fascination deepened, propelling him into a realm of uncharted desires. He yearned not only to explore the physical contours of her body, but to embark upon an intimate odyssey, delving into the recesses of her mind to unearth the forbidden thoughts that lay dormant. Like a moth drawn inexorably to the flame, he longed to unravel the enigma she embodied, to partake in a journey of discovery that would leave no hidden desire unexplored.

Wooyoung was spellbound, unable to tear his eyes away as the oversized hoodie slipped off her slender frame, unveiling a breathtaking sight. The subtle arch of her back, accentuated by the fabric that clung to her every curve, left him in a state of awe. It was as though her very presence commanded attention, demanding admiration for the sheer elegance she exuded.

The allure of her figure, embraced by the snug embrace of her jeans, stirred a deep desire within Wooyoung. The contours of her backside, a tantalizing glimpse of sensuality, held an irresistible appeal that he couldn't resist. With each movement, she seemed to glide effortlessly, casting a hypnotic spell on anyone who had the privilege of witnessing her graceful presence. Wooyoung found himself rendered speechless, his eyes fixated on her, as he yearned to explore the depths of her enigmatic allure.

In that suspended moment, the world faded into insignificance for Wooyoung. He was completely consumed by her magnetic charm, unable to resist the pull she exerted over him. The urge to reach out, to trace his fingers along the contours that beckoned him, surged through him with an undeniable intensity. It was a silent plea, a longing to unravel the mysteries hidden within her captivating form.

Jongho stood in the corner, his eyes transfixed on her collarbones, captivated by their delicate prominence. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as he imagined marking her skin with tender love bites, leaving an indelible imprint of their passionate connection. Her collarbones, a testament to vulnerability and strength, held an irresistible allure for Jongho, who yearned to leave his mark on her like an artist etching his masterpiece.

As he observed her, his mind painted vivid images of their intertwined bodies, fueled by a primal desire to possess and protect. Jongho's fingers twitched with an unconscious longing to explore every inch of her, to trace the contours of her skin and map the pathways that would lead them both to untold heights of ecstasy. He imagined the intoxicating scent of their mingled sweat, the rhythm of their breaths syncing in a symphony of desire.

Jongho's gaze, intense and unwavering, revealed his unspoken intentions. The fire within him burned bright, threatening to consume everything in its path. He yearned to be her sanctuary, the one who could unlock the depths of her desires, and together they would traverse a journey of untamed passion. In his mind, he had already claimed her, and with each beat of his heart, the intensity of his longing grew stronger, leaving him unable to resist the primal call that reverberated through his veins.

Their momentary thoughts were abruptly interrupted as she turned towards Maddox, her expression filled with annoyance, and flung his damp hoodie at him. "You're such a cunt!" she pouted, her dissatisfaction with her own attire apparent. "Give me one of your t-shirts. I don't want to wear my corset. It's uncomfortable, and I still want to sleep," she declared, her eyes fluttering open and closed, evidence that she hadn't completely shaken off her sleepiness. The boys, momentarily distracted from their wandering thoughts, found themselves savoring the sweetness of the moment, allowing themselves to imagine a scenario where she would come to them, begging for a shirt.

Just as Maddox was about to suggest that she take one of his own, his gaze met Hongjoong's, positioned just behind her. Maddox, being older than Hongjoong, knew it and held him in high regard, respecting him as a perfect colleague. Yet, he couldn't deny the effect of the rapper's lingering stare, which left him feeling somewhat uneasy. Recognizing the biological underpinnings of such a reaction, given his alpha nature, Maddox tried to brush it off with a sigh. "Stop taking my clothes, they reek of your scent. Go ask someone else," he lied, offering an exaggerated eye-roll, assuring the omega standing before him that he wasn't entirely serious but allowing her to believe there was a kernel of truth to his words.

She tilted her head and stared at him, her confusion evident. "Who else?" she inquired. Just as she finished her question, Yunho gently touched her shoulder, stepping forward to retrieve his hoodie from the lower front of his chest, revealing a black t-shirt that made his milky collarbones shimmer against the silver chain adorning them. If the omega had been well-rested, she would have blushed uncontrollably, her heart racing within her chest. However, exhaustion had claimed her, and she simply accepted the hoodie from his outstretched hands, her fingertips grazing his longer ones, causing a faint shiver to run through him. She offered a soft bow before turning towards the door. Just as she was about to depart, she glanced back at the room and inquired about the time. "It's 7:36 am," San cheerfully chimed in. She nodded and directed her gaze to Maddox. "Wake me up in 30 minutes. I'll be in your bed."

With the tall alpha's hoodie in her grasp, she made her way down the hallway, heading towards his room. Along the way, a thought crossed her mind to stop by the kitchen, which was conveniently adjacent to the room. As she ventured forward, the soft glow of daylight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm radiance throughout the space. Eager to don the borrowed garment, she began pulling it over her head, only to find it stubbornly clinging to her neck, momentarily obscuring her vision. Undeterred, she continued to tug at the fabric, inadvertently veering off course.

In her haste to envelop herself in the hoodie's comforting embrace, she struggled momentarily, the fabric refusing to yield, momentarily obscuring her vision. Undeterred by this minor setback, she persisted, unaware of the subtle shift in her surroundings. Lost in a drowsy haze, she collided unexpectedly with an unfamiliar obstacle—a solid wall that seemed out of place in her mental map of the house. Confusion clouded her fatigued mind as she fumbled for an exit, desperate to find her bearings.

But before she could make further progress, her hands were gently seized by another, guiding her with practiced ease. Startled, she raised her gaze and found herself locked in the enigmatic eyes of Mingi, his expression unreadable. Intimidated by his presence, she hurriedly offered her apologies, expressing gratitude with a respectful bow, and swiftly made her way to Maddox's inviting bed. As she glanced down at her petite frame swallowed by the oversized hoodie, she realized it cascaded down to her knees, enveloping her like a protective cocoon. Anticipating the comforting solace that awaited her beneath the covers, she resolved to shed her confining jeans, unaware of the two sharp intakes of breath behind her. With a haphazard pull of the zipper and a deft maneuver of her legs, she discarded the denim, allowing it to fall away as she gracefully slipped into the plush sanctuary of the bed. And there, in the soft embrace of warmth and dreams, she succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber.

She stirred from her peaceful slumber, roused by the melodious strains of music that filled the air. Blinking her eyes open, she found herself in a state of half-consciousness, still tethered to the realm of dreams. The melodic notes wafted through the room, their gentle vibrations resonating within her soul, beckoning her to awaken fully.

As she gradually shook off the remnants of sleep, her senses heightened, and she recognized the familiar tunes that now danced around her. It was the unmistakable sound of the last song she recorded the day before. Each note and lyric seemed to caress her being, whispering promises of inspiration.

Eager to immerse herself in the enchantment of the music, she cast off the drowsiness that clung to her like a fleeting memory. With a sense of renewed vitality coursing through her veins, she reached for her phone, hoping to catch a glimpse of the time that had conspired against her precious sleep. The digits illuminated the screen with a damning truth—9:04 am—an unwelcome reminder of the hour she had been robbed of.

Oh this fucker.

Indignant at the intrusion of her slumber, she snatched the pillow she had rested upon and sat up, her gaze scanning the room for her unwitting accomplice in this temporal crime. To her right, amidst the symphony of sizzling pans and culinary artistry, she spied Wooyoung and Seonghwa, their culinary passions interwoven with a graceful dance. Further down, Jongho and Yeosang engaged in a hushed exchange, their words cloaked in mystery. Oblivious to her presence, they sat at a regal marble table, absorbed in their discourse. San and Yunho, on the other hand, found solace in the digital realm, their camaraderie evident as they maneuvered through virtual landscapes, softly nudging each other, wishing the other to lose. Meanwhile, Hongjoong and Mingi, tethered by the ethereal notes streaming through their AirPods, bobbed their heads in perfect synchrony, their attention fixated on the music that enveloped their senses, coming out of the familiar MacBook Pro.

Behind the rappers, Maddox remained captivated by the luminous glow emanating from the computer screen. With both hands planted firmly on the armrests of the couch, his gaze traced an enigmatic pattern, his thoughts ensnared by the digital world unfolding before him. The flickering images danced across his vision, weaving a tapestry of intrigue and inspiration.

A feral growl rumbled deep within her chest, a primal instinct urging her to unleash her frustration. Gripping the pillow tightly in her hand, she channeled her pent-up energy into a swift and powerful motion, hurling it with all her might toward Kyungmoon. The cushioned projectile soared through the air, guided by a vengeful determination, until it found its mark with unerring precision.

The impact was swift and resounding—a perfect headshot. Kyungmoon's eyes widened in surprise as the pillow collided with his unsuspecting form. Feathered wisps danced in the air, suspended for a brief moment, before gracefully floating downward like ethereal confetti. The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the strike reverberating in the space.

A chorus of laughter erupted, a melodic symphony of amusement and camaraderie. The men turned their attention to the impulsive assailant, their eyes gleaming with mischief and mirth. The omega, a glint in her eyes, relished in the spontaneous act of rebellion, savoring the taste of victory. Her lips curled into a playful smile, her spirit emboldened by the cathartic release.

A melodious chirp of delight escaped the young singer's lips, an innocent and joyous sound that pierced through the air, captivating the attention of all the men in the room. Their eyes turned towards her, their senses heightened, as if drawn to the magnetic pull of her presence. Unbeknownst to her, a heady cocktail of pheromones began to waft from her, subtly stirring the primal instincts of the alphas in the room.

In response to her joyful exclamation, a deep rumble resonated in the space, a contented sound that slipped from the alpha's throats. It went unnoticed by the omega, its significance lost in the flurry of activity. Yet, it held a primal meaning, an unspoken declaration of satisfaction and possessiveness.

Within that moment, a delicate dance of instinct and desire unfolded, unseen and unspoken. The room became an arena of subtle exchanges, a microcosm where primal connections and magnetic forces intertwined. Their gazes lingered a moment longer, their hearts quickening ever so slightly, attuned to the unspoken language that pulsed beneath the surface.

Maddox rose from the floor, his hand gingerly massaging the spot on his head where the pillow had made contact. His disheveled hair stood as a testament to the force of the blow, yet a mischievous glimmer danced in his eyes, undeterred by the playful aggression. "What the fuck was that for, you bitch?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with mock indignation.

Unfazed by his theatrical response, she met his challenge head-on, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. "That's for not waking me up, you dick," she retorted, her voice laced with a playful edge. Her tongue darted out in a teasing gesture, a playful taunt that showcased her feisty spirit. "I need to finish what I was working on," she added, her determination shining through her words.

Maddox, still rubbing the sore spot on his head, protested in defense of his failed wake-up attempt. "I tried waking you up, he—" he pointed accusingly at the leader with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Hongjoong, his smile soft and eyes brimming with adoration, watched the playful exchange unfold. His intervention had allowed her precious sleep to continue undisturbed, a decision that Maddox now found himself at odds with. "He forced me to let you sleep more," Maddox explained, his voice tinged with alarm.

The omega's gaze shifted toward Hongjoong, her eyes narrowing playfully at the leader who had orchestrated her extended slumber. His expression betrayed the depth of his affection, the love that radiated from his being. The mischievous spark in her eyes intensified, and she playfully tilted her head. "If you need to throw a fucking pillow, don't hit me," Maddox urged, his voice filled with a mix of jest and mock seriousness. "Aim the weapon at him!" he added, gesturing towards Hongjoong.

As the playful banter continued to unfold, Hongjoong found himself captivated by the sight before him. His gaze lingered on his beloved omega, devoid of makeup, with faint traces of fatigue evident in her puffy eyes and disheveled lips. Strands of hair cascaded around her, reaching toward the ceiling as if attempting to touch the heavens themselves. In that moment, the world around him faded into a blur, and he became lost in the depths of her soulful gaze.

His heart quickened its pace, the rhythm echoing in his ears as if keeping time with his racing thoughts. The intensity of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Her radiant smile, a beacon of warmth and affection, sent a jolt through his being. It was a single moment, a fleeting exchange of unspoken devotion, yet it held the power to still his very breath.

The words of the moody beta went unheard, his attention solely fixated on the enchanting presence of his precious girl.

Her laughter filled the room, a melodic symphony that danced through the air. "Well, if it's the leader, I can't complain, can I?" she playfully remarked, her voice laced with affection and mirth. With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she let herself fall back onto the soft bed, the impact causing a satisfying thud.

Hongjoong, caught in the rapture of her infectious laughter, felt his heart swell with adoration. The intensity of his emotions threatened to consume him, and he needed an outlet to release the overwhelming surge of feelings that coursed through his veins. Excusing himself with a faint smile, he retreated to the sanctuary of the soundproof studio.

Inside the secluded confines of the studio, Hongjoong closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

[thefirstvessel]

autistic coded robot.exe

[doccywhomst]

god.... remember the euphoria of river song being introduced (and "killed") in ten's era, only to then be re-introduced in eleven's era as a fresh new character whose personality is fully developed and explored by the story? and how that deep character exploration made her death retroactively more tragic - but complete, like a snake biting its own tail - which we, the Doctor, have been consumed by, dragged helplessly from one end to the other like a rat in its digestive tract??

from the day they met, he knew how, when, and where she was going to die - but he didn't know her, and she knew everything about him. it reminds me of this quote from Reinette Poisson, "The Girl in the Fireplace":

"There is a vessel in your world where the days of my life are pressed together like the chapters of a book, so that he may step from one to the other without increase of age, while I, weary traveller, must always take the slower path." does that sound familiar?