Queen of Delulu Land

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[justwinginglife]

Hi- I’m your host, Hannah

ALL MASTERLISTS HERE Masterlist Code: Angst Smut Fluff Other *author's favorites

She/Her, 20+, INFJ

Full time slave to the work force, part time writer, FULL TIME SIMP. I am a whore for fictional men, but my main drugs of choice are Soshiro Hoshina, Jinshi, Rafayel, and Caleb. I currently write mainly LADS, JJK, Apothecary Diaries, and Kaiju No. 8 (but I am an avid anime watcher so I do branch out to write one shots for other anime fandoms when I feel like it). I tend to alternate between smut and fluff with the occasional angst here and there. I am currently not taking requests (see more info here) but I am still working on requests I’ve gotten in the past. For the most part, I really just write character x reader, but on occasion I have written and may write character x character. Your girl's a Yumejoshi, what can I say?

Additionally, I very much love interacting with you all, so please feel free to hop in the inbox or DMs and let’s have a chat about literally anything! I don't mind if you're anon or not. I also love seeing your comments so please feel free to spam me, I don't bite.

Barista at the @pixelcafe-network

Buy me a coffee.

(If you were here when my pinned post was such a chaotic mess, I'm sorry and I love you for being here that long lmaooo)

[dogpuppy]

[justwinginglife]

@iamastegosourus @arananii

Me when we hang out

[justwinginglife]

Thinking about Caleb who’s so impatient to marry you that he kicks open the door of the taxi that’s driving too slow for his liking and just flies you to the wedding venue himself using his evol.

[justwinginglife]

To Love, Peace, and Anchors

This is nearly 8k of fluff, some mild angst mixed in with a happy ending. All the characters in this show exist in this fic and are present, but this is x reader cuz I love Kit and I write what I want lmaoooo. Hope the two people who might read this will enjoy! @pixelcafe-network

Kit was always Catherine’s; you never even imagined there was a version of Kit that wasn’t Catherine’s until you met the Kit that was Lili’s. You’d known him since you were both children, shared more passions than he did with Catherine, shared more secrets than he did with Lili, and yet, you always knew that there was no version of Kit that existed for you and only you. You never even kid yourself into thinking there was. But…sometimes, you imagined the Kit that would go horseback riding with you when there was energy needing to be expended, the Kit that would run to you when your father was sick and there were tears needing to be shed, would one day turn into a Kit whose eyes lingered on you for a second too long, whose heart beat for you just a second too fast, who met you in his dreams for as long as he could before he opened his eyes to reality. Because you were always the version of you that loved him so deeply and desperately. 

If you were honest with yourself -something you had trained yourself never to be- you’d loved him since the moment you met. Since the moment you were introduced to Catherine and Kit at a social function. Since the moment you noticed his eyes drifting to a vase filled with exotic flowers that your mother had offered as a gift to the host. Since the moment you whispered in his ear when his fiancee wasn’t looking, “They’re pretty, aren’t they? I heard that just being around one is enough to make any sickness all better.” His eyes had widened, and though his feet stayed planted on the ground, hand still curled into his mother’s, you had known then that he was a boy filled with curiosity and awe. When the adults were busy exchanging pleasantries, you had climbed onto the table on which the vase sat as its centerpiece, and stolen the smallest of flowers, the flower that nobody would notice missing from its arrangement, and then rushed back to Kit’s side, eager to slip the stem into his open hand. “Are you sick? Your eyes got really big when I said it makes anybody feel better. I hope this helps.” Kit had taken a moment to admire each petal lovingly, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to pull out his sketchbook. But then, to your surprise, he tugged on his mother’s dress, and when she bent down, he tucked the flower behind her ear instead. That was when you knew, for you, it would always be him. The boy who sacrificed an object of wonder, of value, of rarity, for a moment’s peace, for a mother’s smile, for a heartfelt wish. And it was your wish to be by his side ever since. 

You had your first rude awakening after his mother died. The adults had whispered, as adults tend to do, about the fate of the Churches. About who would take on what role, about how the sons would live up to their mother’s example, about how their youngest son, in particular, was sure to disappoint. He had a tendency to run off on his own, to spend more time with the flowers and the animals than people. He never showed up properly dressed. He always had his shoes or his hair or his tie undone. He barely made eye contact with anyone at all let alone greet them with the dignity that someone of their status was owed. He doodled in his textbooks, doodled on walls, he even doodled on himself when he had no other surface available. How had a woman of such grace and elegance given birth to such a wild creature? He didn’t even cry at his own mother’s funeral. Didn’t utter a sound. What a strange child, they said. 

It was then that you decided to run away with him. You took his hand, not caring who was watching, and let your feet carry themselves to the edge of his estate. Only when you were properly lost in the forest did he finally cry. You had rushed to wipe his tears away, swearing to him repeatedly that you’d find the way out if it killed you, only to realize he wasn’t crying about being lost. You let him soak your dress with tears, holding him until the sun started to sink in the sky. When the two of you finally made your way back to the main house, you got an earful from your parents about knowing your place. You apologized until your voice went hoarse. It didn’t matter that you had finally managed to get him to crack a smile when you taught him how to skip rocks in the river that day, it didn’t matter that you stuffed yourselves so silly on berries and mushrooms that you laughed to each other about your protruding bellies. Nothing mattered except for the fact that it should have been Catherine at his side. 

Every day after that was a calculation. How loud could you laugh at Kit’s jokes before it became inappropriate? How long could your gaze hold his from across a room? How many dances should he have with Catherine before you were allowed to ask for one of your own? How far were you allowed to follow him? 

When he left for London, you were conflicted. Part of you was happy he’d found a way to escape from that stifling life of his, even if it was only for a few years. Part of you wished to escape with him. To plop down at a desk beside him, get lost in a completely different world together, and never look back. It was for that reason that you made your excuses to visit London as often as was socially acceptable. You’d meet him for lunch, for a walk, for whatever he had the time for, for whatever he had the energy for. You’d snoop through his sketchbook, he’d challenge you to add to a page, and then he’d laugh at your lame attempt to draw his portrait. He’d ask if you were still writing, you’d give him a look that said your parents still disapproved, and then he’d ask you to write him something, reading over your shoulder even when you attempted to shoo him away until you’d finished. And then he’d praise you, like he always did, and it never failed to make your heart soar into the sky. Sometimes you’d go to a museum together; you always tried to pretend you were more interested in the art than him, but your eyes always strayed to his, to the way he gazed in awe at every piece, no matter how many times he’d seen them. But, even then, on his best days, on his worst days, he remained Catherine’s. No amount of distance between you and the aristocracy could change the fact that he was destined to be hers, and you were destined to be married off to the next best suitor. 

You thought you had finally made your peace with it. That is, until you met Lili. 

You met her artwork first, and knew you were screwed. To you, all she’d painted was a blue sky. Something you thought anyone could do. But to Kit, it was his whole world. You’d never seen his eyes so mesmerized, in all the years you’d known him. You always thought he was Catherine’s until he was Lili’s. You knew he wasn’t particularly fond of his engagement to Catherine but he had never been all too vocal about dismantling it either, so you thought that eventually he’d succumb to his fate. Turned out fate had a brush and was painting another path for him. 

You met Lili at a bar. You’d already been to this bar a few times with Kit when he’d previously introduced you to Peter and Joffrey, but you were surprised to find that the artist of the blue sky he was so completely enamored with was in attendance this time. You wanted to question her, to find out exactly how close she was to him and what she felt for him. It didn’t take much effort on your part. She must’ve been nervous, and she was a lightweight. Within a couple drinks, she was telling you everything you would’ve wanted to know and more. But it only served to sink your spirits. She was completely ordinary. She had no thoughts of him whatsoever. And that was the most dangerous thing about her. She came with no hidden devices or motives; she came equipped with only a passion similar to his, and it was enough to unravel your entire decade of knowing him. 

For once in your life, you were glad to have been ill during the ball that had gotten Catherine so completely worked up. You might not have recovered had you been present to see the way he’d looked at Lili when she’d donned the Silver Lily. You had never felt particularly close to Catherine, seeing as how you’d both been vying for the same person your entire lives, but as she described that night’s events to you, and you watched the cracks in her usually-flawless composure began to form, you couldn’t help but see her as a reflection of all the parts that you had worked so hard to hide yourself. Who was this woman who had come brewing a storm and upending everything you thought you knew? At least, with Catherine, if he married her, you knew his heart would never belong to her. His heart had never belonged to anyone but art. But here Lili was, a literal embodiment of all things artistic and whimsical and beautiful; of course he couldn’t help but fall in love. It terrified you to no end. 

Even when his father died and you were there to console him through yet another death, you couldn’t help but wonder if it should have been Lili at his side. If Lili would’ve banished the look on his face, the sadness from his sagging shoulders. If Lili would’ve been a lifeline when all you were was an anchor. 

But there was nothing like war to make your worries feel juvenile. All it took was one news article for you to understand that you had never truly known fear until this very moment. In the past, your biggest concern was Kit’s future. Who he’d end up with. If he’d take off running, travel the world, become a painter. If he’d stay home and uphold his family’s name. If he’d always be the Kit you knew, or if he’d become someone else entirely. Now, you saw there was a chance he might not have a future at all. You might not have one. You might not live until sunrise. The fear you’d felt in the past was a pinprick; the fear you felt now was a poison, seeping into your veins, slowly corroding away at the life you once knew, at the love you held dear. The newspaper had barely fallen from your hands, before you were rushing out the door. 

Kit. Was he okay? Had he heard?

Lili. Shin. Did their country know? How would their country respond?

Kit. Where was he now? What was the fastest way to him?

Peter. Joffrey. Dorothy. Why, why, why? Why would this happen at such a pivotal point in their lives? They were so close to graduating. Would they be safe? They didn’t have the resources that you and Kit did. 

Kit. Kit. Kit. 

WHERE was he? HOW could you protect him? HOW could you be of use to him? WHY was he so far away? WHY hadn’t you simply moved to London, ignored everyone’s remarks, and stayed by his side? WHY hadn’t you told him how you felt? WHY was there suddenly so little time left?

You had never much liked being an aristocrat. Much like Kit, you found it restricting. If it wasn’t for societal rules, you would’ve had him in a church already. If it wasn’t for societal rules, your whole past and future might’ve looked different. But, now, as you desperately inquired on Kit’s whereabouts, you found that being a high ranking member of society had one significant upside. You were privy to information that other classes weren’t. And that was how you discovered that Kit had volunteered himself as a diplomatic assistant. 

Your suitcase was packed before you even recalled clicking it shut. Your pen was moving before you even remembered grabbing it. You’d always loved writing, always wanted to be a writer. You just never thought writing would be of use to you the way it was now. You wrote the entire way to Drunnheim Hall. Richard was the only one home, but that was fine. Kit might’ve protested had he heard you were here. Richard was all you needed. You presented him with the series of letters you’d written to prove your value as a diplomatic assistant. And then, before he’d even read them, you presented him with the letters to give to your parents to tell them of your plans once Richard inevitably approved. He lectured you thoroughly on your brash behavior that was unbecoming of a lady, and the dangers you might face, dangers you’d never even dreamed of, growing up as sheltered as you had. But, from the moment you met Kit, you’d already been prepared to walk through fire and water for him. Today would be no different.

“Lord Richard- no, Richard.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but you continued regardless. “I understand that with your father gone, you are needed here more than ever, so sending Kit alone is your only option, but I’m sure that even as stubborn and as strict as you are, you do not wish for your only brother to potentially find his demise at sea or in some unknown country without so much as a familiar face at his side.”

“He will have attendants-”

“He will have no one to truly lean on. He has never shouldered a burden like this before; please allow me to shoulder it with him.”

“You have never shouldered a burden like this either. And why would you? He is bound by a sense of duty, you are not. You should not even know about this war. You should be at home, with your pretty dresses, and your fancy teacups, and leave this to us. I cannot understand why you would willingly put your life at risk like this.”

“Richard, I refuse to utter the words to you before I have yet the courage to confess them to Kit, but you should know that I am willing to crawl through Hell and back for your brother, pretty dress or not. You talk about a sense of duty? I have a duty to my heart and that should be reason enough. If Amelia were going in Kit’s place, and I were you, would you not also be begging me to allow you to run to her side?”

Richard was silent for a moment, eyes traveling down the papers you’d given him. In truth, you hadn’t needed to convince him. The moment you’d barged through his doors, with that look in your eyes, he’d already known what you’d do for Kit. As prim and proper as Catherine was, you’d worked equally as hard to become a remarkable member of high society. You wouldn’t drop titles for nothing. You wouldn’t abandon a life of luxury, no matter how stifling it was, if it wasn’t for something of more value. Of the most value. In hindsight, Richard should’ve seen how you felt from the beginning. If you weren’t literally in wartime, Richard might’ve scolded you for your audacity. But Catherine was a proper lady. Even if she had a talent for diplomacy, which she did not, and even if she had the courage that you did, which she did not, her circumstances were more restrictive than yours. She was the only daughter of one of the most high ranking families in all of England. She could not simply board a boat and leave with Kit to god knows where. And as much sway as Lili had with Kit, she had nothing else. No useful skills for such a situation, no family pull to convince him to let her go. As far as he knew, she wasn’t even aware Kit was leaving. But here you were, knocking on his doorstep (more like banging down his door), and you had a knack for words, and you were well versed in politics. And you were one of many daughters from your household; you could be spared. And you were begging him -demanding him- to let you go. To let you save his brother from solitude. Of course, his duty told him he could not sacrifice the lives of any of his people just to ensure his brother had a moment’s company, but as hard as he’d tried, he knew he’d never been the big brother that Kit needed him to be. Maybe now was when he could start. 

“Get in your car.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Richard, I’m not done tal-”

“Yes, you are. Get in your car. His boat leaves in a couple hours. And when you get to the pier, you better run like you mean it.”

Tears began to pool in your eyes. “Thank you, Richard- I mean, Lord Richard.”

He scoffed lightly, but a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “It’s a little late for titles now, don’t you think?” He tossed you his family ring. “When you get aboard, show them this, tell them I sent you.”

You were already halfway to the door. “I understand. Thank you again.”

“When we meet again, I hope it will be to toast peace.”

Your thoughts and feelings were in such a jumble that you barely recalled your car parking, let alone you stumbling out of it. And then, suddenly, you were at the pier, running. You ran as if your life depended upon it, because it did. Your entire life, your entire world, was waiting aboard a boat, ready to set sail, and you’d be damned if you let the boat leave without you. As you ran, you wondered if Catherine and Lili had the same idea as you. If, at this very moment, they were also hoping they might sprout wings to carry themselves to him, instead of begging their legs to move faster. Catherine had always been more poised than you, more graceful. Lili had always been more creative than you, more free spirited. But, at this moment, you swore you loved Kit the most and that was all that mattered. Screw being the prettiest girl in the room. Screw being the most well mannered. Screw being the most artistic. None of it mattered if you weren’t the girl by his side when he needed it most. So you would get to the boat. And you would get to it before them. You would get to it before he even had the time to open his mouth in protest of your reckless behavior. You would get to it because you loved him more than you loved the comfort of your lungs, or the comfort of your bed, or the comfort of your own life. If you had two broken legs and a collapsing windpipe, you’d still make it onto the goddamn boat. 

You collapsed on the deck, gasping out your explanation to the deckhand in between panted breaths, waving the ring Richard had given you as proof. 

Kit rushed to your side in an instant. “You idiot! What the hell are you doing here??”

You didn’t answer him. Your chest heaved so much, you were worried you’d rock the boat. 

He sighed, exasperated, and asked the deckhand to help him carry you to a spare room below deck. As you were about to reach the stairs, you heard Lili scream his name from the pier. You almost wanted to laugh. So she had the same idea as you after all. You wondered if she’d fling herself aboard. Then you could both collapse below deck together. 

You waved him off to go see what she was saying. You leaned against a wall to catch your breath. The jealous part of you knew that you should’ve pulled him downstairs with you the second you heard her voice. You could have insisted you were too weak without his support. Maybe you could’ve even convinced him to stay by your side. But you loved him too much to be selfish. The woman he loved was calling for him. The least you could do was let him go to her. After all, the two of you might not return. Hell, the three of you might not return if she decided to jump aboard. 

Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you trudged forward slightly, craning your neck to hear what she was saying. You were shocked to find that she was not, in fact, demanding to board the vessel. She was calling him an idiot. Multiple times. Screaming it, actually. You couldn’t exactly blame her; if you’d had a functioning lung left, you might’ve lectured him too. But the only thought you’d had in your mind, the only thought you’d felt was logical at the time, was to get on the damn boat with him. It was only natural when you loved him so. Even when the boat began moving, you still expected her, as your rival in love, to find her way on. At the very least, you expected her to yell that she loved him. He might have been sailing to his death. There was no way she would let her last words to him be filled with fury. 

It wasn’t until the boat pulled out onto open water that you realized she hadn’t confessed a damn thing. And he was shaking. Ignoring your aching limbs, you reached out to him and grabbed his arm. He seemed to remember that you had just collapsed only moments ago and instinctively reached out to steady you, his brow creasing with worry.

“What the hell are you even doing on this boat?” He demanded.

You wanted to say, “That should be my line.” You wanted to scold him too. For not telling you. For not telling anyone. For making this decision alone. For being stubborn. For being stupid. For sheltering things alone like he always did. But Lili had already done that. And, from the sounds of it, this wasn’t the first time she’d done so. And it wouldn’t do a damn thing to change his mind, not when he was like this. There was no point in you saying it too.

So you smiled. “I’m giving you some company, of course.”

He scoffed. “Company? Are you crazy, woman? Do you even realize where we are headed?”

You tapped your chin in thought. “Tropical vacation, maybe?”

He turned to the deckhand. “Turn this boat around, we’re dropping her off.”

Before you could complain, the deckhand spoke up. “Actually, my lord, she’s here for the same reason as you.”

Looking smug, you held up Richard’s ring. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Chrissie.” 

His nose wrinkled up. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

“And you know I love when you scrunch up your face like that, just like when we were kids,” You teased.

He huffed. “I will drop you. I’m not joking.” 

“You won’t-”

The second Kit let go, your knees buckled and the world started spinning. 

“Damnit! You seriously did a number on yourself, you idiot.” His arms found their way around you again, pulling you against him before you hit the ground. “Why the hell did you run so hard??”

“You…would’ve left…without me.” You groaned out.

“Damn right. This is no place for you.” He muttered.

You flicked his forehead. “My place is wherever you are.”

He shook his head in disbelief, but his eyes softened. He hooked an arm underneath you and began carrying you to the lower level. “Hold tight, or I will drop you.”

“You already dropped me, jerk.”

“I’ll drop you again.”

Once you got below deck, the deckhand went in search of a spare room for you only to come up empty. They hadn’t planned for a last minute addition. Whatever spare rooms they’d had, they used to stock up with supplies for the long journey ahead.

Kit cursed under his breath. “This is why you have to think before you rush ahead.”

“I was thinking about you, stupid.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. I would’ve been fine.”

“No, you would not have. Do you think I don’t know you well enough by now, Kit? You don’t know the first thing about diplomacy.”

He glared at you. “I took the same damn classes as you-”

“Yeah, and who was always better at them? Me. Admit it, you’re just here because you feel bad for Richard and you wanted to lighten his load. That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t mean you’re not scared shitless. You hate public speaking. You hate crowds. You hate sweet talking people. You hate being Lord Christopher.” 

“Regardless, I am a lord and it is my duty-”

“And I’m a lady and it’s my duty.”

“No, a lady should be at home, safe and sound, right now.”

“We’re at war. Nowhere is safe.”

“Anywhere is safer than being on a ship that’s sailing right in the middle of it!”

You huff. “Will you just shut up, and say you’re really just worried because you care about me but you’re actually glad that I’m here?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d rather you not be here. I don’t understand why the hell you’d choose to be here.”

You pulled away from him, finally tired of his complaints. “Because I love you, you thick-skulled, stubborn-headed, jack-assed, idiot!” 

He froze in place.

You didn’t wait to see his reaction; you stormed off, muttering to yourself that you’d just sleep in a storage room.

“Wait…” Kit murmured quietly. Panic began seizing through his veins but he couldn’t bring his legs to move. “Please, wait…” 

But you were already gone. 

The moment you found a solid surface, regardless of the fact that it was just a supply crate, you hunkered down, and started writing. Writing was all you could do when you were in a mood like this. At first, you wrote diplomatic letters, trying to make use of your time. But then, eventually, you started writing anything and everything under the sun. Stories that would make Kit laugh. Stories that would make Kit smile. Stories that would make Kit blush. At some point, you passed out on top of your papers. You were so deep in sleep, you didn’t even hear the door open.

When you woke up, you were in a bed, and Kit was sleeping on the floor. You scrambled to wake him up. 

“What the hell are you doing on the floor??” You hissed in disbelief.

He rubbed his eyes, groaning. “What’s it look like I’m doing? Sleeping.”

“Yeah, I know that, idiot! But why on the floor??”

“You’re in my bed.”

“I can see that!! Why aren’t you in it, though??”

For the first time today, he took a moment to truly look at you. His silvery blue eyes pierced yours as he gazed at you, deep in thought. You wanted to kiss him. 

You looked away instead. “Why are you staring?”

“Do you want me to sleep beside you?”

Your cheeks burned with every shade of crimson. “I’ll just sleep on the floor!”

He turned back to curl up in his sleeping spot. “No, thanks. I’d rather you be comfortable.”

“Fine, fine! Then get in the damn bed with me!” You exclaimed, tugging at his shirt before he could get comfortable (not that you really thought he could be that comfortable on the floor). 

He settled onto one side of the bed and you felt the weight of the mattress shift beneath you. You inched towards the edge of your side. This was insanely improper, even for you. You felt like sinking so deeply into the mattress that it just swallowed you whole. Anything to avoid accidentally brushing up against him. In his sleeping attire. 

“The second the boat rocks, you’re going to fall off the bed.” He mused matter of factly.

“Will not.” You grumbled to yourself, crossing your arms.

“You will too.”

“Will not.”

He reached over and tugged you to him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Kit!” You hit him with your pillow. 

Beneath your pillow, he’d started to laugh.

You were mortified. “What? What on earth is so funny?” You demanded, flames roaring in your cheeks.

He pulled the pillow away from his face to smile at you mirthfully. “It reminds me of when we were kids and we’d break into the chocolate stash, and then pass out together when we ate too much.” He chuckled.

You bit your lip.

“Go on, you can laugh. It was funny.” He nudged you with his elbow.

You snorted and plopped down beside him. “Whatever, Kit. You remember the strangest things.”

He propped himself up on his side to get a better look at you, and your eyes suddenly found the ceiling. 

“I know you remember it too, because you remember everything.”

“I do not.” You grumbled under your breath.

He huffed, amused. “How many times are we going to argue today? I’ll have to start keeping count.”

You tensed up. “Sorry. I don’t want to argue.”

“Me either.”

You grew quiet.

“Hey. About earlier. What you said-”

“I’m tired, okay? We don’t have to talk about it now. Let’s just… talk about it later, yeah?” You knew your argument was weak, but you’d never get to sleep if you had to listen to his rejection. You were sure, as it stood now, the only person he saw was Lili. You hadn’t intended for him to return your feelings when you had confessed. You hadn’t intended to confess at all. But now that you had confessed, all you wanted was to let it sit in the air and stay in the air. At least, in the air, it didn’t have to come crashing down. 

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, you thought he might have fallen asleep. And then, quietly, he murmured, “Okay. Goodnight.”

“...Goodnight.”

The next day, you made sure to leave before he woke up and come back after he’d already fallen asleep. The day after that was the same. After the third day of being avoided, Kit decided to follow you to see what it was that you were doing that took an entire day. He was surprised to find you’d already memorized the names of most of the crew, and had been helping out where you could. Sometimes, you were cleaning, sometimes, you were cooking. Today, you’d been asked to help teach writing skills to some of the less educated staff. 

Kit watched from the doorway, eyes following the path of your pen, mesmerized. He’d always loved not just reading what you wrote, but watching how you wrote. You wrote so smoothly and elegantly that it was like its own artform. If he had to pick out your handwriting from a mound of letters, he’d know your penmanship anywhere. Listening to the crewmates remark to each other about your skill only made him feel all the more prideful on your behalf. 

“If you think her writing is pretty, you should hear her stories,” He declared to the class suddenly, pulling out papers from his pocket, which you recognized as the stories you’d begun penning aboard the ship. “This one’s funny-”

“Kit!” You snatched the papers from his hands in a hurry.

“What? I wasn’t joking. I really do like them.”

You sighed, “I know you do.”

“So, what’s the issue? They need good learning material, you have good learning material.” He held out his hand to recover the papers you’d stolen from him.

The expectant, hopeful eyes of your students made your shoulders sag in defeat and you surrendered your stories to Kit. To your surprise, he began reading them aloud and even encouraged people to chime in. It was like a dream of yours come true, to have the love of your life showering your works with love, and to have your works read aloud and admired. Even if they were just silly, short stories, it brought you joy to bring them joy.

Once they had filed out the door, and it was just you and Kit, you made sure to thank him.

“What’s there to thank? It was your work that deserved the praise. I told you I wasn’t just flattering you.”

“I know. I’m still shocked you read it out loud though. You don’t like public speaking.”

“You said that before.” He shrugged. “I guess I figured I should get practice in before we arrive.”

Before your nerve could leave you, you blurted out, “I like having you read my stories. It sounds better coming from you.”

He cracked a smile. “It’s only because I know the emotions you intended to convey.”

“A good writer should ensure everyone understands the emotions they wish to convey.”

“A writer is like an artist. You can make a masterpiece, and some will understand it, and some won’t. It’s okay. The people who can appreciate it will cherish it long after they’ve finished reading.”

You blinked. You hadn’t expected him to say something so profound. “You think writing is like art? That must be high praise, coming from a genius artist like yourself.”

“I think if writing is an art, you’re my favorite artist.”

Your heart tripped on its own beat. You knew he meant every word that he said. That was one of the things you loved about Kit. He was always genuine, always honest, always true to himself. If he said you wrote well, then you wrote well. If he said you were his favorite, then you were his favorite. He didn’t feel the need to coat his words in sugar to make them easier to swallow. He didn’t feel the need to break himself down to fit in a box. He simply said what he said, liked what he liked.

That must be so freeing, you thought to yourself. To be able to say what you feel and mean what you say. If you were like him, you’d have told him you loved him a decade ago. You’d have told him how every time he encouraged you to write, you felt like escape from the life of a house wife might be just around the corner. You’d have told him how every moment you’d spent with him, you’d bottled up, like a firefly in a jar, to bring you light when you felt the darkness closing in. You’d have told him how you’d danced with dukes and princes, men from near and far, and not a single soul came even close to reviving you the way he did. But you weren’t him. You were just some girl who’d stowed away on a boat, knowing her love would never be returned, content to merely die by his side if death was what lay in the cards.

“How’s your drawing?” You inquired, eager to change the subject.

He shifted his weight. “I quit. Art was simply a way for me to waste time, anyway.”

You laughed, but the sound was cold, like frost from your lips. “No, it wasn’t. Draw me something.”

He straightened defensively. “I told you, I don’t draw any-”

“That’s a lie; you and I both know it. You love art.”

“I don’t have the time to waste-”

“Christopher Church, you have got nothing but time. We are stuck on a boat, lord knows when we will arrive, so you will draw me something and you will draw it now. It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece; it could be a loaf of bread, for all I care. But don’t you dare tell me that you haven’t got time when you’ve still got breath in your lungs and vitality in your hands, and don’t you dare tell me that art was a waste of time when it was the first thing you ever put your heart into. You can lie to Lili and you can lie to Catherine and you can lie to Peter and Joffrey and Shin and Sakura, but don’t you dare ever lie to me.”

“Bread it is,” He mumbled under his breath, sinking into a nearby chair to pull out the sketchbook you knew was in his pocket all along. 

And then, it was just like old times all over again. You’d peer over his shoulder, entranced with his lines and shapes and shading. He drew as if he had the power to command the art to rise from the pages. You could almost smell the loaf he was sketching. And then, when you thought he was finished, he tilted his head in thought and began to draw something beside the bread.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s that? What’re you drawing?”

“It’s your big mouth, gobbling down the bread.”

You tugged on his hair with a huff.

He let out a whine of protest, but he smiled in the end.

Everyday going forward was like this. You’d find yourself immersed in differing activities- you’d write more diplomatic letters, he’d trace the ship’s map as he discussed the route with the captain, you’d clap your hands as the ship’s crew took a break to dance, and he’d stand out on the deck and watch the sun rise and fall. But at some point during every day, you’d make it a point to seek him out and have him draw something for you. And it may have annoyed him at first, but eventually, it became his saving grace. Eventually, he’d search for you to show you what he’d already drawn. He knew it didn’t matter if he’d drawn a seagull or a window; you’d encourage him the way you always did, with that smile you always had, with that tone of voice you saved for him. And he’d do the same for you. He’d tell you to write him a story. A sad one, a happy one. Anything at all. Even if the ship sank and your stories fell to the bottom of the sea, his ghost would dive into its depths and finish reading every last word. He was grateful to you. For filling his days and filling his nights. For filling him with purpose, with joy. For reminding him what wonder and awe were. For keeping him company when he needed it or giving him space when he wanted it. And he’d repay you even to his last breath. 

Even once you reached the shore of a new land, though you were just as wary and anxious as he was, in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people during unfamiliar times, you stood your ground. You supported his proposals, and encouraged him when his spirits were low. You took over the conversation when he felt his confidence waning, and you brought him back to life when he felt his energy drained. You were his anchor. You always had been. 

“You do realize that this country is even more opposed than England is to two unmarried members of the opposite gender being alone in the same room together,” He teased when he saw you slipping into his room.

“Then you’ll be a good boy and not say anything,” You laughed as you approached him. “I just had to bring you these. Can you believe they have them here? I thought I’d die before I ever tasted one again. They’re heavenly.”

He raised an eyebrow at your exaggeration, but promptly agreed with your assessment once you’d shoved the pastry in his mouth. “You should’ve brought another.”

“You’re so greedy! It was bad enough I had to sneak into your room after hours; now you wish I would’ve brought an armful with me?”

He shrugged playfully. “Something to keep in mind for a later date.”

You snorted at him, wiping the sugar from his chin, before waving goodnight. “Sweet dreams, Kit.”

You were his anchor. You always had been. You always would be.

He was never more grateful for that when the ship sank. And he was never more grateful to the gods when you somehow washed up on the same island as him. He had exhausted his limbs nearly to extinction trying to fight the current to get to you when he saw you sink beneath the waves. Despite the pain ripping through his muscles, searing into his every cell, burning itself into blood and bone, it was nothing compared to the agony of possibly never seeing you again. Of never feeling you fall asleep on his shoulder after another night of running through plans. Of never hearing you imitate his brother when you attempted to make him laugh. Of never smelling the scent of your perfume seeping into his clothes when your hugs lingered a little too long. 

A mouthful of water or two later and he was waking up on a beach without you by his side. 

He almost dove back in. Without a second thought of where you might be, of where he might look, he almost ran right back into the unforgiving waters. And then he heard you cough up a lung a few meters away. He’d never run so fast in his life. He was entirely unaware he even had the capability to move his feet as fast as they’d taken him to you. But he was grateful he had the strength to move at all. If he couldn’t run, he would’ve crawled to you. 

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re okay. You’re okay.” He pulled you into his arms, patting your back until you’d expelled all the water that you could. He rocked you as you shuddered your way back to sanity, blinking back salt and shock. “Thank god, you’re okay.” He whispered as he rested his head against your temple.

“C-cold…I’m cold.” You murmured at last.

“Take my jack-”

“It’s wet.” You gave a weak laugh. “Come on. Let’s go find shelter together.”

How two nobles ended up making a fire, you were not sure. Maybe some god somewhere took pity on you both. Or maybe they wanted a good laugh. Either way, you’d found a cave and you’d conjured up some warmth. It was good enough for now. It was good enough to simply have him tightly pressed to you, exchanging heat and comfort and promises to get through this. 

Finally, Kit spoke. “I thought you might’ve died.”

You nodded. “I thought I was going to.”

He remained silent for a moment as he rested his head on your shoulder. “I never gave you a response.”

Your brows furrowed. “Response? To what? What you wanted for dinner?”

A hint of a smile poked at his cheeks. “Not that. On the boat. That very first day. When you told me…I never gave you a response.”

Suddenly you didn’t need the fire for warmth any longer. The heat seeping into your cheeks and spilling across your neck and ears was warmth enough. “You, um, you don’t, ah… you don’t have-”

“I should’ve responded sooner.”

“It’s fine, really-”

“Do you still think I’ll reject you?”

You stilled. “We almost died. It’s natural to cling to the first person that you-”

“Then I’ll wait longer. As long as it takes for you to believe it’s not just a near death experience talking.” He declared resoundingly. 

You bit your lip.

“But I should’ve told you sooner. In the past, it always felt like enough to simply have you beside me. We didn’t need words. But then I saw you disappear and I couldn’t reach you.”

“I saw you reach for me.”

“I’d always reach for you.”

Your fingers tightened around his shirt. 

His thumbs traced circles along your back as he held you close. Then his nose brushed against your ear. “You’re the only thing grounding me. Reminding me who I am, reminding me where home is. You’re my anchor.”

You buried your face against his neck. “Don’t anchors just hold you back?”

He shook his head. “You can take an anchor with you wherever you go, you know. But anchors let you know where to stop and rest, where to enjoy the scenery. Anchors weather the storm.”

“Maybe you should be the writer-”

“I love you.”

Your heart clanged against your chest, like bells in a church. “I thought you were going to wait longer to tell me.”

“I’ve waited enough.”

You clenched his shirt tighter. “You idiot, Kit Church. I… I love you-”

His lips found yours like a key in a lock. With every press deeper, he unraveled all the parts of you that you thought you had to hide. All the stolen glances, all the lingering touches, all the memorized words. His warmth seeped into your very being until time itself was lost to the feeling of his lips against yours, to the feeling of his hands cradling your face, to the feeling of his heart beating to the rhythm of yours. He kissed you like you’d been the flower to save him from his ailment, all those years ago. He kissed you like he’d turn one flower into gardens. He kissed you like he was always and would always be the version of himself that belonged to you and only you.

You pulled away and his eyes searched yours curiously. You caressed his cheek encouragingly. “I know it’s not much, but I felt it might be the right time to give you this. Maybe it can be a good luck charm of ours. A promise to fulfill once we make it back home.” You took the ring off your pointer finger that had been given to you from his brother (that you were honestly surprised had endured the typhoon with you), and slid it onto his ring finger. 

His eyes widened before softening into stardust. He brought your bare ring finger up to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “It’s a promise then.”

From that moment on, it didn’t matter what he had to face. He had you with him to weather the storm.

When he nearly got attacked by a poisonous snake, you panicked and caught the snake’s tail by the bare hand, whipping it back and forth until he was sure you’d given it whiplash. He’d swallowed down his laughter, shoulders shaking, as he tried to comfort you while you wailed about how disgusting it was and how you’d forever be traumatized. When he caught an infectious disease and commanded you to stay away from him, you nursed him through it all, enduring his sickness and yours. When he stumbled upon a group of villagers who didn’t speak his language, you quickly picked up on the patterns in their writing and used it to communicate in broken sentences, encouraging him to draw out whatever else you needed to explain. 

By the time you made it to the shores of England, you’d both been to the gates of death and back, hand in hand. By the time you made the trip to Drunnheim Hall, you both had the rings to match. And by the time you sat down for dinner, Richard was toasting you both to love and peace.

[trashcatsnark]

Girlies complaining about zayne being too horny and impulsive in the new card- like he literally has not been saying for two years that he doesn't want to always be the composed one, he doesn't want to have to exercise restraint every second of his life but fears what might happen if he doesn't due to his evol

But hes starting to feel safer just existing and being playful and not having to be completely buttoned up every second of his life, hes growing and feeling more comfortable in his own skin...

also just lET DR ZAYNE FUCK

[justwinginglife]

I’m team “let doctor Zayne fuck”

[justwinginglife]

Thinking about how Rafayel would take the “would you love me if I was a worm” question way too seriously.

“Well, what kind of worm are you? And what would I be? Also a worm? You’re asking if my current self would love you as a worm? Cutie, I don’t know where you got the idea that I regularly talk to worms, but if you were a worm and I was me, we never would’ve met in the first place. Since when have you ever seen me talking to fish bait? Seagulls are different; it’s normal to talk to seagulls. How else would I convince them to perform in my choir? Okay, fine, so if we were both worms then. Hmm. I don’t feel like I’d ever be a worm though. I feel like, at the very least, I’d be a caterpillar you thought was a worm until I surprise you by transforming into a beautiful butterfly. Fine, fine, I’ll go back to the worm thing. So if we were both worms, would I love you? Well how long have we known each other? Yes, this is important! I’ll have you know, I’m not the type of worm to wiggle their tail at just any bug on a leaf. I mean, yes, I am highly desired, but it doesn’t mean I give just anybody the time of day. Okay, so hypothetically, we’ve been friends for awhile. Were we like college friends or high school friends or childhood friends or what? HEY- YOU NEVER KNOW! Maybe worms do have schools, okay?? Just for that, we met in college, and I majored in soil anatomy. Got a PHD in it. You’d have to call me Dr. Worm. Okay, wait, what were we talking about again?”

[justwinginglife]

Thinking about messy sex with Kit Church. His next masterpiece is just the hours the two of you spent covered in paint, fucking on top of his canvas. He’s mid make out, murmuring, “Lapis Lazuli,” before he trails the blue paint down your neck, then he’s whispering, “Vermillion,” before slathering the red against your side. Later, after entangled limbs and entwined lips, after enamored sighs and euphoric highs, you finally tell him -teasingly- to name the shade of white that’s spilling out of your entrance and slicking across your thighs. He’s breathless and buried in your cunt, unable to even put together coherent sentences (or to even think coherent thoughts for that matter), let alone look down at the cum he knows is flooding out of you, because if he lays eyes on the salacious sight for even a second more, his cock will come roaring back to life, pumping out enough ivory that he could paint another canvas or two or three.

[justwinginglife]

I would sell my soul for Kit Church.

[justwinginglife]

Thinking about Caleb who begs you to sit on his face when he’s in the mood but you’re not. He’s giving you puppy dog eyes so you sigh and oblige him. It’s really just for him anyway, so you’ll sit on him and play on your phone while he goes about his business. He can do whatever he wants down there, it’s none of your concern. You just want to relax and scroll-

Yeah, no.

Caleb knows you said you weren’t in the mood and he was just happy you let him taste you at all. It would’ve been enough. It should’ve been enough. But then he glimpsed the look of indifference on your face as he dragged his tongue in slow stripes up and down your entrance, your eyes locked on your screen, and he couldn’t help but make you want to drop your phone. To look only at him.

He locks his lips around your clit, sucking the bud like he’s trying to swallow it whole.

He hears a sharp intake of breath and he knows he’s on the right path, but you still haven’t looked away from your phone.

His hands come up to pin your thighs in place, his nose burying itself against your clit as he jams his tongue as deep into your cunt as it can go, flicking and swirling, consuming and careening. He won’t stop until you’re shuddering on his tongue, your every drop of arousal spilling itself down his throat.

And then you drop your phone.

And he hears it.

A whimper.

And he feels it.

A jolt against his tongue. Your hips beginning to move.

He smirks against your pussy, lips smeared with slick.

Who’s in the mood now?

[justwinginglife]

Thinking of ravenous Caleb. Thinking of insatiable Caleb. Thinking of so-pent-up-he’s-about-to-Pompeii-that-pussy Caleb. And thinking of this Caleb who becomes a dad and now has little ones, running around, cock blocking him on the daily. Thinking about how hot it would be for him trying to find any two seconds that he can to put his hands (and dick) all over you.

You’re not used to him waking up early. He used to sleep in -or pretend he was sleeping in- for hours just so he could hold you in his arms, bury his head against the crook of your neck, bask in your warmth, your scent. Now you wake up, bright and early, to him humping your leg, murmuring, “Just one quick round before the gremlins wake up, please baby, one round.”

You usually keep the door to the laundry room open so you can hear what the kids are up to while you go about your housework, but suddenly Caleb is clicking the door shut. The kids are banging on the door for him to let them in, they wanna see mommy. “Mommy’s busy doing laundry, daddy’s helping.” Why does it sound so noisy, they ask? Oh it’s just the washing machine clanking around. It’s nothing to do with Caleb’s cock burrowing right through your panties and into your cunt -he knows he hasn’t got the time to properly remove them- as he fucks you up against the dryer.

Your kids tend to knock out for their nap around the same time everyday. Caleb knows this. But he also knows that how long they’ll stay asleep is anyone’s guess. He’s barely got the bedroom door closed and he can hear the troublemakers waking up already. You’re sighing that it was a good try, but he’s determined not to let his efforts go to waste. He’s bending you over the bed, fingers digging themselves into your skin, hips pistoning back and forth, trying to bully his way into a quick orgasm. The kids are whining outside, rattling the doorknob. He’s growling out between grunts, “Not now, kiddos, it’s daddy’s turn to play with mommy; wait your turn.”

He’s losing sleep, he’s losing sanity, he’s losing everything except his cum inside you and his two overworked brain cells are desperately trying to think of any other creative way he can get his hands on you. Could he fuck you at the dinner table? Tell the kids mommy wanted to sit in his lap just like they do all the time? Should he dump the kids on Gideon’s doorstep with no warning? Fuck you on the car ride to your long overdue date?

Even on days when the kids have completely wrung the energy out of him, running him ragged to the ends of the earth and back, and he’s knocked out before his head even hits the pillow, his cock somehow always finds its way to you, grinding against you even in his sleep, desperate for some measly sense of release. “My… pretty girl… such a good little wife… please baby…. Won’t you let me-“ He whimpers in his sleep and now you’re the one trying to rub out a quickie.

Damn bastard.

Turns out the horny is contagious.

[justwinginglife]

Aaaaand now I’ve gone and lost it cuz tell me why I’m simping over an invisible man.

[irandial]

Infold should make all the boys alter egos available as battle companions...

I’d love to fight alongside Tamino and the Sanctarch 😍

Imagine the Sanctarch binding them with his chains in battle, manipulating their minds to pull them together in a spot...

Tamino jumping at them and ripping them apart with bare hands... Or using his evol to cage them in...

😮‍💨 a girl can dream...

[justwinginglife]

I SECOND THIS!! Or just give me more of Tamino in general, I desperately need him.

[justwinginglife]

Thinking about fucking both of Tamon’s personalities at the same time. Imagine Tamon A on top of you, gripping your chin, demanding you not to look away from him as he pounds in and out of you, promising that he can go all night, and at the same time, Tamon B is below you, whimpering and crying that it’s too much and he’s about to come. And then there’s the reverse which is equally sexy. Imagine wiping the smirk off of Tamon A’s face when you ride him until he’s bone dry and stuttering beneath you. Imagine Tamon B becoming physically unable to stop himself from fucking deeper and deeper because it just feels so damn warm and welcoming and wet, his pace unrelenting as he rides the high. He can feel you squirming, can see the tears building in your eyes, and he murmurs out drunken apologies as he kisses your jaw, your neck, your earlobe, because he’s never felt so literally incapable of not drilling his cock deeper inside you than he has at this very moment, like he might die if he doesn’t come inside you.

[justwinginglife]

Tamon Fukuhara.

Ummm.

Please hold while I proceed to make this man my obsession, my entire personality, my literal everything for the next few months.

[veebeeboo109]

"Broken Omega"

{Kinktober 2025. Day Three: Heat or Rut. 11k words.}

Tags: Zayne x Reader x Caleb. Omegaverse. Alpha!Zayne. Omega!Reader. Omega!Caleb. Heat. Nesting. Knotting. Mentions of Ever. Mentions of contraception. Scenting. Mating. Biting. Slight blood reference.

Based off this idea I had a while back.

“Oranges?” Caleb asks, plucking one of the rotund fruits from the display. He examines it for a moment before offering it to you, the bags hanging from the crook of his elbow jostling.

“No, nothing that needs to be peeled.” You say with a small shake of your head. “Zayne might be sane enough to peel it, but the juice is sticky and the less messy we can make everything, the better.”

Caleb hums, nodding along and deferring to your judgment. This is uncharted territory, for him at the very least.

Preparing for a heat is a stressful time, your hormones are already higher than normal— making you antsy and anxious. Looking over your shoulder more than usual as you and Caleb shop for supplies.

“Then….what about grapes?” Caleb offers, keeping his smile open and light. Even if he didn’t know you like the back of his own hand, he’d be able to smell your uncertainty. Even with his malfunctioning nose.

You manage a small smile, feeling more at ease as you take a step closer to him, “Yeah, that should be okay. But make sure to get seedless.”

“Way ahead of you.” Caleb snickers as he places two large bags of seedless grapes into the cart. “Now, all that’s left is some water bottles and some electrolytes. Don’t we already have a ton of those in the pantry?”

Caleb unloads the bags on his arms into the cart and pushes it forward. You’re sticking closer to his side than normal, barely a half-step away and resting your hand in the crook of his elbow. He’s not complaining. Even with his broken hormones, having you close is more than soothing. 

Despite his gentle smile, there’s a seed of shame and doubt festering in Caleb’s stomach. He listens to you remark about needing unflavored electrolytes instead of the fruity kind they already have. It’s registering– because Caleb has been hanging off your every word since you were kids– but his mind drifts elsewhere. 

When the two of you were little, grown ups would go on and on about what a lovely pair you made. It was almost certain that Caleb would present as an alpha and you as an omega. It was the only thing that made sense, right? Caleb was far too doting and protective to be anything else, and you were far too sweet and compassionate. 

Caleb leans on the handle of the shopping cart while you crouch in front of the extensive drink mix section. Mumbling under your breath as you read through brightly colored packaging of some new brand marketed for this exact scenario. Double the Electrolytes! It reads in flowery, pink script. Caffeine and Vitamins to get you through heat!

They had been right about you. You presented right on time, to absolutely no one’s surprise as a perfect, ideal omega. Anyone who thought your predilection towards violence and your mild possessive streak made you less than ideal would find themselves at the other end of Caleb’s ire.

You were perfect. Caleb had always thought so. It was him that was wrong. 

“The packaging is so cute…” You hum, lifting the little bottle of omega targeted mix. “Look, it looks like a little pill. But the ingredients aren’t any different…”

Caleb bends down to take the bottle from you and tosses it into the cart, “If you want to try it, then get it. Get a few others too. We’ll see which one is best so we know for next time, yeah?”

You smile and pluck a few more choices from the shelves. Caleb likes feeling like he’s helping you. The way your scent softens into something a little more floral when you’re happy, and sweeter when you feel safe. 

He leads you to your last aisle, ticking off the last item from your list. Checking out is smooth, even though you not-so-sneakily place some candy into the cart. One for each of you, because even when you’re being mischievous, you’re still being sweet. Lemon drops for Caleb, Butter mints for Zayne, and your favorite hidden beneath them.

You make it to the car before Zayne calls for the third time that day. Caleb starts the car and can’t help but reach over to help you buckle your seat, just as the melodic chime of the phone ringing sounds through the car. 

You tap the car’s center console screen to answer it, and hear Zayne’s voice before you can greet him. 

“Room 302 is prone to infections, so check on them regularly.” Zayne is obviously mid-conversation with someone else, and  he sounds sharply irritated. You and Caleb exchange a look. Did he butt dial you? “No, I won’t be available next week or the week after. Hm, that’s why I’m telling you this, Dr. Orson, so you can handle it when I’m not here.”

“Um, hello?” You call with a small giggle, “Zayne?”

“Hello love,” Zayne answers, sounding leagues more relaxed than he had mere moments before, “Did you and Caleb finish shopping yet?”

“We just left the store,” Caleb replies, double-checking his mirrors, “Why did you need something?”

Zayne hums softly, “No, no. I just– forgive me, I’m a little distracted today. Are you heading home now?”

You look over to Caleb, a knowing smile decorating your lips. Zayne is so casual. So cool, calm, and collected but he’s still a victim of his own designation. Like how everyone knew you would present as an omega, everyone knew Zayne would be an alpha.

And what a perfect alpha he is. Commanding a space without demanding it. His presence is steady, protective, and doting. Stereotypically, alphas can be prone to aggression, but Zayne’s never been one to fight unless necessary. He squashes the stereotypes and exemplifies all those romantic notions of alphas in the novels you like to read. 

So, Zayne is calling for the third time today because he’s just the same as any other alpha. He’s anxious for your upcoming heat. The feeling of vulnerability of not having you in close physical proximity is starting to weigh on him, and these check-ins will only get worse until he’s off work and able to hide away in your nest for the next two weeks undisturbed.

“We were gonna grab a treat on the way there.” Caleb answers as he puts the car in drive. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you light up, as this is news to you too. 

“No.” Zayne barks out, harsher than he intends because he immediately clears his throat, and tries again, gentler this time. “Just…order something. Have it delivered. I’m leaving soon, and I’d like for all of us to be home.”

  So, Zayne is a little more affected than Caleb or you originally thought. Another silent look is shared between you, and you’re the one to answer this time, “We’ll head straight home then. There’s still some cookie dough left in the fridge, I’ll just make that.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from the phone, muffled slightly by the increasing noise of traffic and the road as Caleb turns onto a highway. 

“Good. Good. Thank you.” Zayne takes another breath, “How are you feeling? Anything yet?”

You make a small negatory noise as you shake your head, “Nothing yet. I’m a little antsy but nothing too crazy. We’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, Zaynie.” Caleb teases, “I’ve got your omega all buckled in and secure. I’ll lock the door behind us and everything.”

Zayne clicks his tongue, clearly displeased, “You are both my omega. So take care of each other. I have to wait until the charge nurse gets back from her break and then I’ll be on my way.”

That sinking feeling in Caleb’s gut deepens. Shame, guilt and bitter self-loathing mix into something that feels like battery acid in the back of his throat. He’s not able to regain his bearings to reply before you’re reassuring Zayne for the umpteenth time that everything is fine. Zayne reluctantly ends the call, and the car falls into silence. 

You don’t bother with the radio or any music. The trip to your shared home is only a few minutes away, and you’re perceptive enough to know when Caleb is brooding over something. 

“Hey,” You whisper softly, reaching over to place your gentle hand on his arm. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb quickly swallows his festering anguish. He pats your hand a few times and gives you his very best reassuring grin, “I’m fine, pipsqueak. I should be asking you that. It’s my job to take care of you isn’t it?”

Your expression dips down, filled with confusion and concern. It’s the opposite of what Caleb wanted and so he tries again. He grabs your fingers and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“I’m not sad, pips.” Caleb insists as he lets go of you. Already missing the proximity. He can only smell you properly when you’re close. Spun sugar and warmth. Like walking through a summer festival filled with warmth and light. “My lack of cycle just means I can make sure you’re taken care of. I can’t miss what I’ve never had.”

It’s the same lines he’s been saying for years. Spoken over and over again he almost fully believes them. The sentiment is true, because Caleb is grateful to be able to get you through heats and Zayne through ruts while having his wits about him. 

It’s easy to pass as a beta because from every angle that’s all he is. He’s the stable factor in your bond. The B in A/B/O. The middle man between Zayne dominant alpha and your submissive omega. Chemically and hormonally, Caleb is a simple beta. No cycle. No heat. No rut. Lack of honed senses. He’s just normal. 

Except that’s not the truth, and only you, Zayne and Caleb know that. 

Caleb presented as an omega younger than most. In that horrid time he’d rather forget with EVER. Poked, prodded, and dissected. They tried to mold you into an energy source, and Caleb into your never-ceasing weapon of mass destruction. 

Except, an omega doesn’t have the qualities EVER wanted in a weapon. If you were an omega, then they wanted– needed – Caleb to be an alpha. To goad him into hormone-fueled animalistic rage for the sake of protecting you and your potential pups. Which was humorous now considering Caleb had, would and will kill if it meant keeping you safe.

The other issue was that if Caleb was an omega, then that meant no pups– at least not with you. No progeny for Ever to continue their continued horrors on. 

So, they did what any maniacal morally-bankrupt organization does. They tried to force him to not be an omega anymore. Caleb doesn’t remember much of the ‘treatments’ they gave him, and he’s better for that– he thinks. It’s better he doesn’t remember all that was done to him. It’s bad enough living with the aftermath. 

Their efforts failed, of course. But Caleb would never function as a normal omega again. He didn’t cycle. He didn’t have heats. Hell, he could barely smell anything! Instincts that came as naturally to you as breathing were completely lost to him. 

His only saving grace was that you were spared, and that the life he lives now is more than enough. Zayne tried for a while after courting to try and help Caleb’s predicament, to no avail. 

It was better this way. Caleb told himself as he gathered up the multiple bags from your shopping trip. You follow him inside, carrying the bags of new blankets and pillows that you saw and had to have. 

Last time you had a heat, around three months ago, you were caught unawares. It wasn’t completely by surprise, but it did show up a week early. You had barely any extra blankets in your nest and the three of you were severely dehydrated by the end of it. But not this time. 

The new linens were thrown in the wash and the food packed up. From the hall closet Caleb retrieved the stored mini fridge and small set of plastic drawers. He brought them into the master bedroom and set them up in the corner, plugging in the appliance and then wiping everything down. The large pack of water bottles would be set next to them, kept at room temperature.

Getting ready for your heat was equal parts nerve wracking and satisfying. Caleb’s instincts might be broken, but he can still enjoy the satisfaction of being prepared. Like handing you the pieces of a puzzle and watching you put it together. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the reasoning behind building a nest, but the practice was fun anyway. 

Zayne arrives home in a rush. Throwing his white coat over the back of the couch as he hunted the two of you down. The only sense that Caleb has that was stronger than yours was hearing, and so he hears the hurried footsteps of the alpha before he sees him.

“There you are.” Zayne breathes, sounding relieved. You’re kneeling at the edge of the large king bed, inspecting the lacy hem of one of your new pillows scrutinizingly. At his voice, you look up, smiling brightly and tossing the pillow aside. 

Caleb doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Zayne’s attention like this. Because Zayne doesn’t hesitate to reach out to both of you. His scarred hands find Caleb’s hair first, and then yours, and pull you close to his chest— tucked close like being nestled under his ruffled wing.

You giggle softly, nuzzling your head into the soft fabric of Zayne’s dress shirt, and Caleb mimics the action. It draws the lowest, most satisfied purr from Zayne’s chest, and the alpha sighs deeply.

“Dang, you’re really worked up, huh?” Caleb teases, reaching up to poke Zayne in the side. The brunet tries to pull away, but finds himself immediately drawn back. 

“A little longer.” Zayne says softly, much softer than Caleb anticipated. “My mind is overwhelmed at the moment.”

You lift your head, looking confused, “You’re never this nervous. Did something happen?”

The alpha solemnly shakes his head, “Nothing. But I can’t seem to calm down. It's the worst today— I could barely focus.”

While you focus on comforting the alpha, Caleb’s mind whirls with possibilities. Zayne’s heightened anxiety could mean any number of things. Illness is one option– his or yours. His body would be able to detect things his conscious mind couldn’t. Another option is someone encroaching on Zayne’s territory. If Zayne picked up on another alpha, or even a beta, making moves on what his mind perceives as his, well he’d react accordingly. 

“Caleb?” Your voice calls out to him, through the fog of his increasingly nervous thoughts. It’s the second time you’ve called, but it’s the one he finally hears.

“Huh?” He deadpans, realizing his face is pressed fully against Zayne’s side. Cheek squished mid-nuzzle.

A cheeky little smile appears on your face, “You were purring.” 

Caleb frowns and reaches out to pinch you– a tickle more than anything. He’s never purred before because he can’t. That noise is saved for omegas after they’ve presented. A soothing noise saved for alphas and pups. 

Zayne’s hand ruffles Caleb’s hair and he pulls the brunet’s attention to him. “It’s true. It was quiet, but you were doing it.”

Caleb is stunned for a moment, mouth ajar, “I…I didn’t think I could do that.”

“Maybe this is a sign!” You say cheerily, detaching from Zayne to cling to Caleb instead. Soothed for now, Zayne lets you go and takes a step back to get undressed from his work clothes. 

“A sign?” Caleb chuckles, opening his arms and sitting on the bed to let you sit in his lap and wrap your limbs around him.

You nod your head and press your nose to his neck. There’s a mark there, one on each side– one from you, and one from Zayne. Ceremonial more than anything with his lack of heats. “You don’t smell any different. A little stinky from the store. I can smell that guy that asked you about cheeses…”

You sound downright peeved at the end of your statement, recalling a friendly older gentleman that saw the two of you browsing cheese and asked for recommendation. Friendly neighborhood Caleb was more than happy to chat, while you held onto his arm and glowered at the intruder. 

Zayne calls your name, a touch of correction in his voice, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Now, what’s left of preparations?”

Caleb tries not to let Zayne’s dismissal hurt, because he knows it's for his benefit. But it stings anyway. 

For the rest of the week, Zayne pulls half-days at the hospital and remains on-call for the rest of the day at home. You catch up on paperwork and mission reports at home, tapping away on your laptop in a makeshift nest of blankets on the living room floor. Caleb, in-between, missions at the moment checks in with his crew and subordinates, making sure they’re keeping up with their own duties while he’s away.

It’s a strange limbo– this waiting game. Caleb feels like there’s a stone sitting in his stomach, anticipation building with every passing moment. He’s never felt such a foreboding feeling before, and it’s making him feel crazy. 

You and Zayne are conserving energy, napping and snacking the day away while Caleb can’t stand to sit still. He’s cleaning the entire house top to bottom. Snagging pesky dust bunnies from long forgotten corners behind furniture and rewashing the bed linens again. 

Maybe he is getting sick. Maybe that’s what Zayne’s instincts were picking up on, because Caleb feels out of control of himself. The blankets smell good but they don’t smell right. He pulls one from the dryer and presses it to his nose, cringing when nothing but the soft scent of detergent meets nose. His face buzzes, prickling with disgust because the blanket doesn’t smell right. Throwing it back into the dryer and tossing in a few more dryer sheets for good measure. 

It gets worse when he reaches the den– bedroom he quickly corrects his clearly malfunctioning mind. Everything disturbs him for some reason.  The angle of the curtains is off. There’s a thin layer of dust on top of the dresser, and Zayne’s lamp is askew from when he turns it on half-asleep in the morning. 

Caleb is moving before he realizes it, fixing these tiny, minuscule things that feel like monstrous problems. He’s huffing in frustration when he reaches the bed. The layers of blankets are soft as he adjusts them, and a cloud of scent rises to his nose– he stills. 

It’s strong. Like a sudden rush of mist straight from a bottle of perfume. It hits him like a truck, and he’s dipping his head down to get more of it without thinking. 

Warm. Sweet. Soft. It’s heady and a little musky– it reminds him of the little whiffs he can get of Zayne when he’s close enough. And then there’s you. It has to be you. Decadent like powdered sugar on his tongue. What is this? 

Digging his face into the sheets, Caleb forgets what he was doing before. His mind melting slightly into a puddle of syrupy goo that smells like you and Zayne. Mindlessly, he shifts the blankets and pillows. Moving them around until it feels right. 

Vaguely, Caleb hears the door to the bedroom slowly open, and he quickly forces himself to sit up. Whatever virus he’s caught has clearly cooked his mind, and he lamely tries to make it look like he’s just making the bed. 

You slowly enter, looking from Caleb to his flushed face and then down to the bed. An unreadable expression passes over your face, which is perplexing because Caleb learned to read you before he learned to read words. God his brain really is melting.

“Can I help?” You ask in a tone that’s as gentle as it is sweet. Caleb feels an inexplicable spark of arousal in his gut. Clearing his throat, Caleb nods.

“S-sure; I was just making the bed. Maybe we should change the sheets…” Even just saying it out loud makes Caleb’s chest hurt. Another puzzling symptom he can’t explain. 

You climb onto the large bed beside him and pick up one of the pillows. “No. I want it like this. Let’s just…fix these pillows first.”

Caleb nods again, and follows your lead. You’re nesting; he’s familiar with that. Most of the time he just hands you whatever you need and watches fondly, but for some reason he’s got opinions today. 

“That one should go here.” Caleb says, pulling one of the larger body sized pillows and putting it where it feels right. “And then these little ones on top of it.”

You’re smiling, looking a little flush in the face and then agreeing. “I like that! Oh! And we should grab that cashmere blanket from Zayne’s office– the one he tries to hide.”

Caleb could moan at the idea. The thought of that expensive fabric drenched in alpha’s scent is making his stomach clench again. Tighter than before. It almost hurts that time, the desire that threatens to braid his spine with his nerves. 

With an affirmative from him, you’re scurrying away. Running through the house like a child while Caleb stumbles to the closet where the new linens are stored. You bought some new fruit themed plushies– gushing about how soft the filling was and their cute little faces. 

The little apple stares at him and Caleb has to resist the urge to snarl. They smell bad. Like astringent soap, dust and other people. Disgusting. He all but slams the closet closed and returns to the nest– bed. 

You return and climb close to him, offering the soft grey cashmere and lifting it to his nose. Instinctively, Caleb inhales and immediately groans. Like warm cider in the winter. Spiced, rich, and it hits his senses like a shot of whiskey. “That’s so good. We should put it up here.”

You enthusiastically agree and place it where your instincts say it’s best. The sight of your hands laying out the blanket so lovingly is doing terrible things to Caleb’s brain. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so out of control of himself.

There’s no thought behind his movements, only actions. In his mindless daze, he grabs you by the waist, laying you down in the perfect nest you’ve made together and presses his lips to yours. Later, he hopes he was gentle when he did this, but realizes he probably threw you down more than anything. 

Caleb is overwhelmed by a desire to be close, and he covers your body with. From shoulders to toes. Kissing you doesn’t satisfy the ache inside him, only inflames it. The soft sound you make is a catalyst to the storm inside him, coaxing him to try and kiss you harder. Swallow every little mewl and exhale. He needs more. 

“Caleb…” You sigh, and the taste of his name is so very sweet coming from your lips. He rolls his hips against yours, feeling like he’s starved for attention that you readily give. 

Too engrossed in each other to notice the newcomer, Zayne stands perfectly still in the doorway. Bombarded by the silky sounds of your make out and the cloying scent of heat. 

It’s a new scent. Deeper than what Zayne is used to before. It’s sharp like the oil from an orange rind– sweet, tantalizing, and tart. It draws one in with the promise of nectar and sugar, and it most certainly is not yours. 

This is very bad. Zayne realizes that the moment he stepped in the threshold. Caleb has been showing signs of some omega instincts this past week, but a full heat, out of the blue? Quickly, Zayne covers his nose and mouth with his hand– holding his breath for good measure– otherwise he’ll never be able to step away.

Strained, Zayne calls your name, and he has to do it twice before you respond. Turning your head to look Zayne’s way, Caleb busies himself with laving attention on your neck and throat. Tonguing at your mark he left years ago. 

“Is he–?” Zayne cuts himself off when Caleb’s attention turns to him, and the alpha is caught under his hazy violet gaze. The question he was about to ask is answered by the dreamy look on Caleb’s face.

Zayne has to say your name a few more times to get you to focus enough to listen, and even then Zayne’s not sure you do. “I have to go get some things. I have to– dammit. I have to leave, but I’ll be back. Okay? Look at me, love. Take care of each other, I’ll be right back.”

A soft whine leaves your throat because all your omega hears is leave. Your heat has yet to hit you the Caleb’s has and so you’re aware enough to nod, even though it hurts. Those last shreds of rationality know that you weren’t prepared for Caleb to be in heat too, and so Zayne is just being a good alpha.

Zayne rushes out, and the front door slams closed behind him.

Caleb doesn’t even register it, too lost in new and frankly frightening sensations. 

“God you…” Caleb desperately tries to swallow more air, like it’s all become too thick with scent. “You smell so good, pips. What the hell…”

You run your hands soothingly across his back, letting your scent cover him. You’ve had enough heats to know what helps and you can only hope those things work for Caleb too. “It’s okay, Caleb. I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

Caleb groans, rolling his hips harder against you. He achingly hard, but no amount of friction seems to help. “I… I think I’m sick. Oh geeze, a fever or something. I feel horrible.”

A small, sympathetic chirp leaves your lips and you gently coax Caleb to lay down on the bed beside you. “Zayne– Alpha will be right back. Caleb. Caleb, look at me. You’re not sick. I promise, it’s gonna’ be okay.”

Caleb can’t seem to let his hand relax enough to let go of you. Fistfuls of your shirt caught in his sweaty palm. The machinery in his prosthetic hand even creaks slightly, he has to focus to get them to release, which is made easier when you rub the heels of your palms into his neck.

You softly hush him, coaxing him to relax with more movement of your hands. Omegas usually run warmer than betas or alphas. Like little heat sources that like to bundle up and cuddle– providing comfort and sanctuary for their partners. 

Caleb’s never felt your hands be cold before. The only thing that seems to cool the raging inferno inside him is the cool temperature of your fingertips and palms. Running soothing circles across his shoulders, neck, and back.

A growing coil in his gut is becoming harder to ignore, pushing him to try and get closer to you. It’s a sensation he’s never experienced before– this feeling that if he doesn’t have something soon he’ll die. 

“You’re not going to die.” You whisper, sounding slightly amused. Caleb whimpers, realizing that not even his mouth is listening to him anymore and ever thought he has is spilling out. 

“Feels like it.” Caleb pants, “What the hell is this? This sucks.”

You hum softly, sounding sympathetic, “You seriously don’t know? You helped me through enough I thought you’d be able to tell…Caleb, you’re in heat.”

The words hit his ears but they don’t register for a while, because suddenly Caleb is too busy fighting against another wave of dizziness. His mouth feels dry and his body suddenly…empty. 

“H-heat…” Caleb’s voice trembles, and when he looks at you, he looks lost. His eyes are wide, the tinge of gold brighter than normal surrounded by violet. There’s a dewiness to his skin and a rosy dusting across his cheeks and nose. 

You nod, keeping calm and slow because there’s nothing to be afraid of. Even if Caleb is spiraling, you’re calm. You never doubted that Caleb would cycle one day, some part of you always knew it. Tenderly you finger the neckline of his shirt and trace down the front. You pinch the hem and wait, not pulling upwards until he’s caught up with what’s happening. 

“You trust us, right?” You whisper, holding onto the edge of his t-shirt and waiting patiently. “Me and Zayne will help you through it. We’ll take care of you…”

Your words find him through the fog. Reaching his capsizing mind and steadying him. His breath becomes a bit heavier and his brows knit together as a torrent of emotion washes over him. Tears collect in the corners of his eyes and you’d be concerned if it wasn’t immediately followed with a wide, brilliant smile. 

“I’m in heat.” Caleb breathes, equal parts thrilled and terrified. 

“It’s just the beginning,” You warn in a whisper, “It’s gonna’ get worse and harder to think; so we should get ready now. You remember how my heats work, right?”

“Yes. Yes.” Caleb says, panting again as he helps you remove his shirt and then yours. PEeling away layers of clothing helps soothe the growing itch beneath his skin. 

It’s hard, but Caleb tries to focus. Your heats start pretty fast, with you becoming painfully uncomfortable within a few hours of the first symptoms. Caleb can’t satisfy you the way Zayne’s knot can, but any stimulation is helpful.

The thought of a knot makes his body tighten into another wave of ming-numbing arousal. He’s seen you be hit by heat like this, but to actually experience it is another thing entirely. Caleb lays on his back while you kneel in front of him to take off his pants and underwear, and a small noise of confusion leaves him when he feels the sticky slip of slick against him.

Your eyes sparkle, and in your slightly more lucid state you can admire him. You nudge his legs apart, and gently press the cold pads of your fingers to his ass– pussy? Caleb’s mind spins as dizziness threatens to send him into unconsciousness. He hides his face behind his hands, feeling mortified and so, so needy. 

Caleb’s never been touched when it felt like this. And he’d pull away if it didn’t feel like he’d cry if you stop. Your fingers search him– exploring the ring of his entrance and feeling the sweltering heat coming off of him. 

“It’s okay Caleb,” You coo, leaning over him to press a too-chaste kiss against his lips. He whines, needing more but unable to get control over his tongue enough to speak. You nip softly at his lower lip and that spark of pain soothes him somehow, “You’ve always taken such good care of me…now let me take care of you….”

You’re true to your word, cradling him and playing with him until he’s making high-pitch, whining moans he’s never made before. Caleb clings to you, needing more, needing everything. 

Without fear paralyzing him, Caleb sinks into the sensations. It’s sweltering and all-consuming, but your guiding hand is steady, and your fingers perfectly crooked to make his head fall back limp and cock begin to leak. Little drips of clear precome that drops onto his belly, searingly hot against his sweat dampened skin. 

One finger becomes two, pressing inside him and it’s so bizarrely good. It’s not like he’s never done anything like this before, hell he’s been in this exact position less than a month ago. With you fingering him open for Zayne while the alpha bit marks into his shoulder. It’s not new  but the way Caleb’s body is reacting is. Pulling you in and slicking up your fingers until the obscene noises fill the room. 

You coo more words of encouragement to him, but Caleb doesn’t hear them. Not really. He’s too busy biting into his lip, trying not to come after less than a minute of stimulation. Feeling pathetic and weak, Caleb grips tightly at the sheets near his hips and doesn’t notice the silk beginning to rip under his mechanical hand. 

You pause your movements to place a hand over his naval, forcing his attention to you. “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen, that’s it. It’ll feel better once you come. C’mon Caleb, you can do it for me, right?”

Your hand slides down and you barely touch the pulsing skin of his cock before he’s coming. Back arching tight as his first orgasm of this heat flows through him. Weak spurts of come coat your hand– pearly strings that you quickly bring to your lips. 

In the back of your mind, you pray Zayne returns quickly because Caleb’s pheromones are starting to get to you. Feeling the first warm sparkles of a warmth building in your gut, it’s like you’ve taken a hit of something dreamy and hot. It’s not nearly as bad as Caleb, but it’s only a matter of time before the both of you can’t think.

There’s towlets around here somewhere, Zayne makes sure to stock them before a heat to lessen the mess and sticky friction. However, you’re too preoccupied with how pretty Caleb looks all fucked-out like this. His body relaxed and pliant as his heat abates for now. 

You climb over him, straddling his waist and leaning in to press kisses to his face and jaw. Showering him with well-deserved praise that has him purring without even realizing it. 

You’ve been with Caleb all your life– meant to be with him. You knew Zayne was your alpha from the moment you met him, and Caleb’s too. Because where you go, Caleb goes. It’s a law of the universe, pure as starlight. 

So, you’ve never helped anyone through a heat before, only experienced them. It’s kind of a power trip…is this what Caleb feels when you’re in heat? Swallowed up with the instinct to cradle and care for him, he could ask for anything in the world and you’d give it to him. 

So when he tilts his head, capturing your lips before whispering a quiet plea for, “More.” You’re happy to oblige. 

***

Zayne can hardly breathe. Every inhale brings with it unfamiliar scents that make his stomach roll. He can’t believe he managed to leave, not with how intoxicating you and Caleb smelled. It’s imprinted into his mind, and every cell inside him begs to return to you. 

What would have taken more than half an hour is done in under twenty minutes. Record time and with only a half-dozen traffic laws violated and one poor pharmacist traumatized for life. The flimsy grocery bag hangs from his wrist as he scrambles out of his car, feeling a dire sense of necessity to return to your side.

Caleb is in heat. Heat. Years of tests and observation and Zayne can’t believe it. Everything said that Caleb would just never cycle. It wasn’t the end of the world, it was just the way it was. Despite Caleb’s insecurity about it, Zayne’s instincts never faltered. He recognized Caleb as an omega, as his omega. 

Zayne enters the house and his hands are shaking. A low curse escapes through his teeth. He’s a surgeon; his hands never shake. But this? This is uncharted territory and Zayne will admit later he’s terrified. One omega in heat is a struggle enough, but two? Is he up to the challenge? Can he keep you both safe, fed and satisfied?

So preoccupied with his thoughts, Zayne isn’t really paying attention to his surroundings. His feet carry him to the bedroom, and he stands– once again– in the doorway. 

In the nest the two of you built, you and Caleb lie side by side. He’s cupped around your back, clinging to you and mouthing at the back of your neck. Your free arm reaches back resting your open hand on his hips that drive into you. Your arm underneath you reaches forward to grip tightly onto the fabric Zayne suddenly recognizes as the blanket he hid in his office. 

Sneaky. Zayne’s mind purrs. All previous uncertainty disappears under the sudden onslaught of affection he feels. Love and adoration burning in his chest like a wildfire where nothing as weak as self-doubt can survive. 

He told you two to take care of one another and you did– amply so. The scent of sex and slick is heavy in the air. Rich like the sugary aroma of a bakery that pulls him in involuntarily with the promise of sweet treats. 

Zayne struggles to keep his wits about him as he digs into the plastic bag. The thin paper bag within crinkles loudly as Zayne tears it open, catching the two omega’s attention. Your plaintive whine is matched by Calebs– a chorus of pleas drawing him ever closer to the bed. 

It’s a struggle to line up the disposable syringe to the glass bottle and draw the right amount because he’s still slowly walking closer. The empty solution bottle is thrown haphazardly across the room, luck granting him a moment of mercy by helping him land it in the trash. 

Zayne assesses how to approach, syringe readied. He rounds the bed, coming up behind Caleb– who can’t stop fucking into you long enough to really turn his head and look back at him. The alpha softly calls his name, surprised to the rasp in his own voice. 

When that doesn’t work, Zayne presses a knee onto the mattress– careful not to disturb the carefully constructed nest, “Omega.”

There’s enough heat in the doctor’s voice to scald someone, and it draws both yours and Caleb’s attention. The flex of Caleb’s hips becomes sharper as his senses finally pick up on the scent and presence of his alpha. 

“I need to give you this,” Zayne tries sounding gentle, but ends up sounding rushed. He shows Caleb the syringe and his violet eyes widen. Placatingly, Zayne runs a soothing hand down Caleb’s side, resting on his hip and covering your hand. 

You make a noise of concern, and your lack of words tells Zayne that your heat is here too. The alpha shivers, blooming and strutting inside like a peacock because of the prize currently laying in his bed.

Zayne has to shake his head before he can speak again, “It’s emergency contraception. We didn’t– We didn’t prepare well enough, and you haven’t decided…”

Caleb’s eyes flicker between Zayne’s face and his hand. Omega’s aren’t completely mindless during heat; their minds just become….hyperfocused. They’re at their most lucid when being pleased or directly following orgasm– and almost sane when fully locked on their mate’s knot. 

There’s a small flicker of understanding in Caleb’s eyes, and he rolls away from Zayne. Wrapping his arms fully around your body and hugging you close to his chest like a teddy bear. Nuzzled against your neck, Caleb nods a few times and shifts his hips– still careful to stay inside you. 

It takes Zayne less than five seconds to administer the contraceptive, and he does a little guiltily. Caleb having a heat was such a sore subject that it was very rarely discussed and so the repercussions of said heat had never been considered. 

Next time. Zayne thinks, more from his alpha than his rational mind. He disposes of the syringe and all its components properly, and by the time he returns to your side Caleb is back at it. Hungrily fucking you like the panacea to his discomfort lies between your thighs. 

Zayne treads carefully, removing his shirt and itching to breach the cushiony barrier of the nest. But he has to be invited in, he has to get permission from his omegas before he can take a bite of the feast you’ve made for him. 

The invitation comes in the form of you racing out your arms to him, like petals opening on a flower, your honeyed scent reaches Zayne and he relinquishes to the intoxication of it. 

“So good…” Zayne purrs. Deeply, richly, darkly. His voice coats you in decadent dark chocolate, which he readily laps at. “You did such a good job taking care of Caleb, didn’t you? I knew you would. I knew I was worried for nothing.”

The praise muddles your already cottony mind, and Zayne’s larger form comes to nearly cover the two of you. He presses wet kisses to the side of your face he can reach and then over to Caleb. The brunet is a mess, whining and keening high in his throat– begging for release from the fever.

“I’m here, Caleb.” Zayne whispers, nuzzling his nose against the side of Caleb’s face. A ragged sound of relief leaves the other’s man’s lips and the alpha quickly captures it. With steadier hands, Zayne presses against Caleb’s lower back, “Keep going. That’s it….”

The heady voice of the alpha is too much for Caleb’s sensitive body, and he comes again– for the umpteenth time it feels like. He’s lost count and so have you, because you follow right behind him. Wrapped up in Caleb’s scent, the feeling of his cock spilling inside– despite lacking a knot– is more than enough to finish you. 

Panting still, you whirl around. You’re neither nervous nor shy to claw at Zayne, “Alpha,” Your breathy voice calls, “I need– ah– please alpha, please…”

Zayne obeys your needy request, too hard to think about anything besides pleasing you. Fate is curious to him, because what luck it is that his other omega enjoys penetrating you so much that you’ll require no prep at all. 

“Sweet omega,” Zayne groans, letting you kiss him with more teeth and bite than necessary. He knew from the very beginning you were not a docile creature, but one that commands her desires as greedily as any alpha. It’s endearing to him, thrilling to be so enjoyed that every taste is stolen like he might take it away. 

Zayne lays you down beside Caleb and covers you. He struggles to unbutton his pants and get them off with you wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to lock your legs around his hips. Zayne can’t help but chuckle softly into your mouth and nip at your lower lip to get you to behave long enough to undress. 

“You need it that badly, love?” Zayne’s voice is nearly unrecognizable. “Then you have to wait. I have half a mind to make you watch Caleb go first– oh?”

At mention of Caleb, you’re relinquishing Zayne’s shoulders and turning more towards the brunet. “Caleb,” You whimper, “Caleb, need you…”

Caleb’s lips move like he’s trying to say that silly nickname, but nothing comes out. Only wet little pants escape the omega’s kiss-bitten lips. Your hand finds Caleb’s hair, petting him dotingly and drawing him in. 

Zayne leans back, watching the exchange with intrigue and dizzying arousal. Two omegas clinging to one another is an erotic cliche, but damn is it an effective one.

“Top, Caleb.” You whisper, and with nails biting into Caleb’s flesh you grab at his thigh, guiding him to straddle you too, just in front of Zayne. Your hands hold the sides of Caleb’s face, cradling the overwhelmed man tenderly, “Alpha will help.”

Zayne will imprint the image of you looking at him over Caleb’s shoulder into his mind forever. The way your hazy irises meet him, expectant and pleading. You pull Caleb down by his shoulders, moving him like a doll into position– hips up, head down.

While you cup the back of Caleb’s neck in one hand, you reach around his waist with the other. A delicate finger tracing the rim of Caleb’s fluttering, drippy entrance. Like sticky glaze on a decadent pastry, Zayne’s following the line your finger makes with his tongue without even thinking. 

Caleb releases a sharp cry, jolting with the sudden sensation of Zayne’s wet mouth tonguing him. You hold him through the sensations, soothing him with softly spoken praise that has him trembling. 

Zayne groans in ecstasy. The taste is more than divine, it’s addicting. It’s different than yours– sharper somehow. It dances across his tongue like a sweet wine, complex and deep. Hungry for more, Zayne grabs hold of Caleb’s hips– keeping the omega securely against his tongue. 

It’s a blur of sensations. No one is thinking straight, running on instinct alone. Zayne tears his mouth away and snarls slightly, an animalistic sound vibrating his chest as he moves to position himself hip to hip with his needy omega. He lines the fat head of his cock up gives Caleb only a soft grunt in warning before pushing inside. 

 “So good for alpha,” You croon as Caleb lets out a low, satisfied sigh. Zayne is thick, hard and pulsing– everything the sweltering heat inside Caleb needs. You know this– you’re omega knows this– and so you moan as well, satisfied to see your bondmate finally experience relief. 

Zayne he’s this half-lidded, ruddy look on his face when fucking during a heat. The only time of the year that he allows his mind to turn off and his body take control. It’s intoxicating, seeing such a precise, controlled man like Zayne succumb to his baser instincts. 

“So wet omega,” Zayne growls, gripping the crux of Caleb’s hips and pulling him back. He lets the first slide down to the base be gentle and slow, and that’s it. Drawing back to slam back in, just to hear the smack of flesh against flesh, “You feel better now? Yeah? Mmmh, that’s it– push back into me.”

You feel Caleb following Zayne’s manhandling at first and then the brunet is giving as much as he gets. Pushing back onto Zayne’s cock to milk him. Hitting that gummy spot inside him that’s never been touched before. 

You let your canines graze the salty skin of Caleb’s throat. He’s on all fours above you but digging his face into your neck and scenting you like you’re an inhalant drug. Eagerly, you reach between you, taking Caleb’s cock in hand and letting him fuck into it.

“Ah!” Caleb cries, tears building in the corner of his eyes and he’s coming almost instantly across your belly. It’s less than before, only a few measly drops as you’ve been milking him for what feels like hours. A male omega doesn’t make nearly as much come as an alpha does, so it's not surprising that Caleb is nearly shooting dry. 

“I need– I need– I–” Caleb can hardly catch his breath enough to finish his statement, but you and Zayne both know what he’s begging for. Zayne’s eyes meet yours over Caleb’s shoulder again, biting at your lip.

The hand that was pumping Caleb goes between your own legs, attempting to stave off the painful throb there. You need your alpha, but Caleb needs him more. A knot will make Caleb feel better and then it can be your time. You’ve never been one to be so generous, usually getting yourself into trouble in the bedroom just to get pushed around by the two men who are now above you. But this is all instinct, your omega knows what to do even if the rest of you doesn’t.

“Hnh. Hnh. Hnh.” Zayne’s breath cuts through his gritted teeth. He’s getting close, curling over the prone omega and reaching out to grab his shoulder for more leverage. His knot is swelling, catching on the tight rim of Caleb’s hole with every heavy thrust. Every retreat is getting shorter and shorter as the alpha craves to lodge himself inside and stay there. 

“D-Don’t move, okay?” You croak, barely able to get your tongue to form the words. Caleb’s glazed eyes fall onto you and he moves in to kiss you but you stop him, keeping in an inch apart so you can finish your thought. “You want alpha’s knot, right?”

“Nnngh.” Caleb moans, and his body must clench because Zayne gasps and reflexively thrusts harder. The brunet nods and begins to beg you like you’re in charge of giving him what he wants, “I…I wan’ it. I want it, please. Please, I need it.”

You keep your eyes on Caleb’s face, getting so close to orgasm yourself. “You want me to bite you, Caleb? Can…can I?”

Caleb is hard again, desperately fucking back on Zayne’s cock, “Yes! Yes! Please, bite me pips. I wanna…fuck!”

Zayne snarls hotly as shoves his swollen knot inside, using the hand on Caleb’s shoulder to force him back down and giving you ample access to dig your teeth into the tendons on Caleb’s neck. 

Caleb wails in ecstasy, finally satisfied hanging from his alpha’s knot. A hot stream of come being pumped inside him that he’s never felt so keenly before. The moans of your orgasm are muffled into his flesh, tongue lapping at the opiatic taste of his sweat and blood. 

Zayne rolls his hips, pushing his knot and come deeper and deeper and deeper. His alpha isn’t satisfied until Caleb is a boneless heap on top of you, completely wrenched of every ounce of pleasure his body has to offer. 

“So good.” Caleb pants weakly, nuzzling into you, “So good…so good…”

A breathless laugh leaves Zayne’s lips in between heaving breaths, “You feel better, omega? You get what you needed?”

Caleb licks at his dry lips, “I didn’t know it felt like that. That was…mmngh!” A moan escapes as he feels more come pump into him. “Fuck, you’re still going?”

 Zayne quirks a brow at him, surprised to be hearing such sass after wrecking Caleb so thoroughly, “Are you complaining?”

Caleb, with his sanity slowly returning for now, shakes his head. “No, not complaining. Just…surprised.”

Normally, in a pairing between alpha and omega, once the knot goes down there’s a lull. An hour or so of rest where the alpha takes care of the omega– feeding them and loving on them. Kisses and massages and gentle words of praise. 

Zayne has always had a shorter refractory period than most alphas. During previous heats, it’s led to him being raring to go again, but you’re still floating. But now…

Now it all makes sense. 

Not long after, Zayne’s knot goes down and he slips out of Caleb. Drips of pearly come falling onto the beloved cashmere and staining it forever. Later, Zayne will lament this loss, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. 

“Your turn, pips.” Caleb says, barely containing his excitement. “You’re so wound up– oh, I love when you’re like this. It’s like you’re a little doll. My little pipsqueak.” 

Caleb is in that floaty headspace post knotting, and so his head-to-mouth filter is a little loose. He’s divulging all those sappy, slightly-unhinged thoughts he usually keeps to himself. Moving around you to nuzzle into you as much as possible, running his hands over the strings of come he left behind on your belly and humming contently, “I can smell you now, like properly smell you. God, did you always smell this good and I just couldn’t tell?”

Zayne catches his breath and runs a hand through Caleb’s hair, “Easy, Caleb. You’re going to overwhelm her.”

Caleb doesn’t realize what his wandering hands are doing to you. Sending you further into the fog of heat with each muttered word and brush of his hand. “You’re just gonna’ hog her, Zayne.” Caleb whines, laying beside you on his side and wrapping his arms around your head to pull you close, he throws a leg over your body for good measure. 

Zayne is neither impressed nor disturbed by the display. If anything, it’s comforting to see one of his omega’s so obsessed with the other. “I’m going to help her. Will you let me do that? Do I have your permission?”

There’s a teasing note in Zayne’s tone that neither you nor Caleb really appreciate. You squirm in Caleb’s arm, trying to gain any amount of friction. Your previous orgasm did nothing but send you further into the throes of heat, the lack of a knot becoming a stronger and stronger need. 

Caleb purrs softly, trying to soothe you, and Zayne pats his arm a few times. It takes some maneuvering but the alpha finds a position that satisfies everyone, especially with Calen being unwilling to let go of you for more than a moment. 

Your nails dig into Zayne’s biceps as he leans you back into Caleb’s chest. The other omega sits with his back on the headboard and one of the spare blankets draped across his shoulders. You settle in between Caleb’s legs, and Zayne slots himself in between yours. 

Too worked up to do anything but whine, your hips move to try and grind against Zayne as much as possible. Zayne leans in and presses his teeth against the mark on your neck. It’s a faded scar at this point, but settled right over your mating gland. HE doesn’t press hard enough to break skin, just enough to send a rush of hormones to your mind that lets you know you’re in safe hands. 

Your supple body goes lax, and Caleb nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, which you dreamily mimic.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” There are more words that Zayne wants to say, but all the cames out is the repeated mantra of praise, mumbled out like a half-thought whisper as he comes up to practically encompass both you and Caleb. Sandwiched between the two men you’ve chosen forever, your smile is giddy.

The feeling of Zayne’s cock pressing against your entrance is nothing but a relief. Even the swollen tip of his reddened member is cool in comparison to your heated folds, and when he presses inside, a shuddering sigh of relief escapes your lips. 

Caleb rests his head on your shoulder, biting his lip he stares unabashed at where Zayne penetrates you. “Zaynie is so thick isn’t he? Shh, don’t whine at me…whine at him. He’s the one taking too long.”

You try to grapple for purchase against Zayne’s body but Caleb captures both your hands, intertwining your fingers together and bringing them closer to your head. You’re spread out in every way, all Zayne has to do is take it. 

“Even in heat,” Zayne bites out, retreating from your silky heat to push roughly back in. He holds back a moan to level the brunet with a scolding look, “You’re so pushy.”

“A-alpha…” You mewl, trying to coax him into giving you what you need. This piddly slow grind is not enough. Your omega scrambles in your head, trying to figure out what the large man wants in exchange. Tilting your head to the side, you give him full access to your tender throat– showing off the mark once more. 

Like a moth to flame, Zayne’s teeth find that mark again. Drawn in and digging in. His thrusts pick up pace and ferocity, fucking deep into you. The spongy tip of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you, and with every heavy press you melt further. 

“Fuck pips,” Caleb whimpers in your ear, “You look so good like this. You feel so good like this…”

A low rumbling growl sounds from Zayne’s chest, and he licks a deep line across your neck. “That’s it omega– you can take all of me, can’t you? I know what you want– what you…need.”

You move your head, needing something but not quite sure what. Caleb’s lips find your and you realize that’s what it is. You kiss him sloppily, jolted every time Zayne’s hips slap against yours.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Caleb whispers against your lips, sounding a little dazed. He looks at you with such adoration it’s hard to keep your eyes open, blinded by him. This prompts Caleb to squeeze your hands, click his tongue and say, “Oh no, no, no. Don’t look away from me now. Look at me. Yeah– there you are. C’mon honey don’t be shy, come all over our alpha’s cock. I wanna’ see.”

Zayne groans hotly as he feels you tighten around him. More slick gushing from you as you rapidly ascend, his body isn’t far behind as the swollen knot begins to catch. His thrusts become slower because they have to, pushing the knot in and out just to hear the way your voice becomes an overstimulated squeal. 

“Open up for me, love.” Zayne rasps, the only warning he can give you. 

Caleb’s eyes turn away from your pleasure drenched face to where his mates are joined. The heavy red knot sitting just outside your pussy, tantalizing close and the brunet has half a mind to try and grab Zayne’s hips and push him inside himself. 

Instead, Caleb lets go of one of your hands to wind around your body. Sliding between you and Zayne, his fingers find your neglected clit and you cry out when the pad of his middle finger barely grazes it. His gut clenches, cock painfully hard resting against your back and he’s certain he’s going to come untouched as soon as you do. 

He starts soft but rapidly increases the pressure. You’re a moaning, crying mess. Saliva and tears like diamonds dripping down your face.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Your voice sings, drawn out of this chorus of pleasure from Zayne’s knot pushing inside and Caleb’s fingers circling your clit faster.

“God…” Zayne gasps, head thrown back with hair sticking to his forehead. 

In the miniscule room he has with you on his lap, Caleb moves his hip. Rutting his cock against your back— desperate for friction. Your wound so tightly, hanging right there on the precipice and bound to topple over any second. The anticipation burns in Caleb’s blood, and he can’t tear his eyes away from your face. 

“Oh baby, you’re so pretty.” Caleb delirious whines, “You’re mine right? Ours? You gonna come from Zayne’s big knot? Fuck yeah, you are. God yes, pips. Please. Please, I need to see it. Come.”

Zayne draws back, keeping only the tip inside for a moment. The hesitation is torture for you, but the wait is only a moment before he’s slamming back in. His knot shoving past the tight ring of your entrance to lodge inside. It presses against your sensitive clit from the inside and you burst.

Caleb feels the tight rope of your pleasure snap beneath his fingers. A breathless gasp and then beautiful twitches. He can feel the intense stretch of Zayne’s knot against you and the realization that he took that mere minutes ago and will again very soon is too much to take. 

The feeling of you coming against him sends Caleb tumbling right after you. Coming untouched and moaning against your shoulder. He hides his face in shame as he struggles to keep a grip on you as pleasure relaxes and tightens every muscle. Orgasms feel so different in heat then when not. A full-body experience that threatens to tear him apart. 

The intensity of your peak leaves you limp and panting for a few long moments. Zayne grits his teeth as come pours into you. He grips your hip tightly with one hand, and keeps himself upright with the other. 

The air around you is thick and humid, but, for the moment, quiet. The only sound is the slowly descending rhythm of your collective breaths. 

Sanity slowly returns to you and you lick a parched lips. You let out a soft curse and try to lift your head. Caleb is still resting his forehead against your shoulder and hiding his face, and Zayne’s expression is slowly relaxing but his eyes are still closed. 

Funny that you’re the first one to recover. Although, when you try to move, you can feel Zayne’s cock twitch inside you and you whimper. Still so sensitive. The warmth building in your hips is intoxicating, even though it’ll be a sticky mess of slick and come when he pulls out. 

You pull the hand still intertwined with Caleb’s a little closer to your chest, whispering softly, “You okay?”

When your words reach Caleb, he laughs. Shoulder shaking with amusement as he lifts his head. There’s the remnant of tears collected on his dark lashes, and he looks at you with disbelief, “I should be asking you that, pipsqueak. Are you okay?”

You nod, smiling, “Of course I’m okay. I’ve been around this block before, remember?”

“Water.” Zayne pants, taking a large deep breath to steady himself before repeating, “You need water, and to rest.”

“Um, hate to tell you this Zayne but we’re all a little snug right now.” Caleb snarks motioning with his free hand how you’re securely covering him and Zayne’s knot keeps you in place, and therefore Caleb in place too. 

You flush slightly when you see the slick coating Caleb’s fingers, and shudder when he licks them clean like it’s nothing.

Zayne’s brow furrows and he seems to take Caleb’s words as a challenge. He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you close– up and off Caleb and into his lap instead.

“There,” Zayne replies, giving Caleb an amused look while simultaneously caressing your back. His fingers mindlessly trailing the line of your spine. “You’re free now.”

“So mean to your omega, Zaynie.” Caleb scolds with no heat. The moment you’re off of him, he’s already moving. Scurrying over to the water bottles and grabbing three. He returns to the nest with a proud smile, opening one of the bottles and lifting it to your lips. “Here ya’ go. Drink up.”

“You first.” You say, sleepily resting your head on Zayne’s shoulder. Caleb looks stern but you don’t budge, giving him a concerned look and a sweet, “Please?”

Caleb’s brow lifts and eyes widen. There’s a visible shiver that runs down his body, and when you glance down you can see his cock already twitching back to life. 

“Oh that’s so unfair.” Caleb huffs, “That is so much harder to say no to when I’m like this.”

Even Zayne chuckles at that. The dark haired man reaches up to place his fingers on the bottom of the water bottle Caleb holds and lifts it closer to his lips, “Drink, Caleb. Go slow, but drink the whole thing.”

Caleb sits on his heels and obeys, gulping down the water quickly. He pants when he’s finished and opens another, this time placing it to your lips. 

“This feels so weird,” Caleb whispers, more to himself than anything, as he tenderly helps you drink.

  The water soothes your throat and quenches the intense thirst you didn’t even realize you felt until you tasted it. With a curious tilt of your head you ask, “What’s weird? Drinking?”

Caleb flushes slightly as he opens the third bottle, “I…I’ve always liked taking care of you, but I’ve never– I’ve never gotten hard because of it.”

Another glance down confirms his statement, but it’s not surprising to you. You’re not sure Caleb is being truthful about never getting hard because of it before, but it must feel odd to be so aroused by someone drinking water.

Zayne doesn’t let Caleb help him drink, taking the bottle from the brunet’s hands and helping himself. He brings Caleb close, brings their foreheads together, rubbing against one another. 

“It’s normal.” Zayne assures, “Now, go lay down. Get comfortable, we don’t have long before your next wave.”

Caleb seems equally nervous and excited at the prospect, and for once, doesn’t snark before obeying the alpha’s command. 

Once his knot goes down, Zayne gently pulls out of you. There’s a little more mess for you than with Caleb, but it’s not too bad. Zayne keeps you close, cradling you close to his chest as he crawls over to where Caleb lays and places you between them.

“Hold each other for a moment,” Zayne commands. Unnecessarily, it seems, because you and Caleb are already cuddling close. Caleb presses soft kisses into your hair and forehead and you nuzzle in close to his neck. 

Zayne leaves the nest to go to supplies in the corner, finding food and towels to clean up. He’s hard again, which both you and Caleb can’t help but stare at as the alpha busies himself. 

Caleb hums happily and rubs his cheek against you, bursting with flowery affection and possibly cuteness aggression as he squeezes you tight. A little breathless, he looks down at you, “Can I… Can I be inside you, please? Just to…to be close?”

You don’t reply because you’re already moving, adjusting your leg over his hips to let his cock line up with your cunt, still dripping with Zayne's come. 

A small swat finds Caleb’s butt and he squawks. Zayne kneels down on the bed behind Caleb and gives the two of you a stern look, “You’re going to get yourself worked up again. Now, scoot.”

You and Caleb part slightly, and Zayne wipes the two of you down with a warm cloth. Once he’s done, he gives a satisfactory nod and then pushes against Caleb’s lower back to push the two of you closer again, “Alright. Now you can.”

You and Caleb shift closer, smiling like you’ve been allowed to pilfer through a cookie jar. Caleb sighs as he enters you and you hum in response. Tangled up in each other, the happy-float still encompasses you. He wasn’t lying about just wanting to be close, and you can happily admit it’s nice. 

Done with his post-wave chores, Zayne returns. Sidling up behind your back and drawing a heavy arm across your body. His hand finds the dip in Caleb’s waist and pulls the both of you securely into him. 

“Rest.” Zayne commands, and you’re more than happy to shut your eyes and obey. “Conserve as much energy as possible. Since this is Caleb’s first heat, it’ll likely last two weeks instead of one..”

Caleb, who had been cuddled up with his face snug against a pillow, suddenly stiffens, lifting his head sharply and gasping, “What? No way, really?”

Zayne opens one eye and cannot hide his amused smirk, “No. Not really. Now sleep.”

You giggle at Caleb’s aghast expression and know that the brunet is resisting the urge to pinch the alpha. But sleep calls too strongly, and you know you have maybe another half hour at most before Caleb is delirious again. But, these precious moments in between are what you hope you remember from this heat, cradled between them. Like nothing else exists.

[A/N: This is my first time writing omegaverse. I hope it was okay!]

[justwinginglife]

Now this is a sandwich I’d LOVE to be part of 😋thank youuuuuu for the banquet omgggg

[justwinginglife]

Katsuki Bakugo, who’s not sure how he ended up here, who didn’t mean for him to end up here, being the only one at your side to comfort you after the fallout of your breakup.

Katsuki Bakugo, who only just recently met you after your agency proposed a team up with his agency, who only even more recently gave up his protesting about having to work with strangers after he realized you were actually useful in a fight.

Katsuki Bakugo, who barely knows you, who really doesn’t know how to comfort people let alone you, but even more so doesn’t know how some idiot would ever dump someone like you, who awkwardly pats your back because he heard that’s what people do when they’re supposed to comfort someone.

Katsuki Bakugo, who barks out that he doesn’t care whether or not you drink yourself silly, that it makes no difference to him, when you ask him if he’d be bothered, but who then watches to make sure you’re not drinking too much.

Katsuki Bakugo, who insists he’s watching over you so intently because he doesn’t want you puking all over his freshly laundered costume, but who doesn’t make a move to leave when you offer him an escape.

Katsuki Bakugo, who doesn’t drink, but finally decides to throw back a shot in solidarity with you in attempts to lift your spirits, who then ends up retching at the vile taste of it.

Katsuki Bakugo, who didn’t realize his heart could skip so many beats and still survive, after he hears your laughter and sees your bright smile, your spirits having been effectively lifted by his efforts.

Katsuki Bakugo, who grumbles under his breath that he’s glad you’re so happy he poisoned himself for you because he won’t do it again, who looks away as he begins to feel his cheeks flush, when you smile even wider and propose dinner instead.

Katsuki Bakugo, who tries not to seem too eager about accepting your dinner offer, but who answers just a little too quickly to pass off as nonchalant about the whole ordeal anyway.

Katsuki Bakugo, who turns one dinner date into a repeat affair when he discovers he genuinely, truly enjoys your company.

Katsuki Bakugo, who is suddenly turning down all offers to work with other pro heroes on joint missions unless you’re there beside them.

Katsuki Bakugo, who’s not one to ask for help, who suddenly surprises his agent when he casually begins to throw out reasons as to why you, in particular, are needed as backup on his every mission.

Katsuki Bakugo, who shouldn’t be surprised you kissed him after he spent the better part of a year stealing your heart (unbeknownst to him), but whose eyes widened anyway, heartbeat roaring in his ears, as your lips finally met his.

Katsuki Bakugo, who kisses you back twice as passionately as you kissed him, whose arms wrap around you tightly, lovingly, who silently vows he will never again let you be that girl who cried her broken heart out on his shoulder at the bar that night.

[mattsundaes]

NAMING THE STARS IN THE SKY AFTER YOU ; — bakugou katsuki x f!reader

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me,” his voice is ragged, tumbled rough over gravel. “Tell me, and I’ll fucking leave if that’s what you want.”

wc: 3.3k

c: 18+, lovers to friends to lovers, infidelity (reader x oc), angst with a hopeful ending, fingering, sex toys, unprotected sex, creampie, oral fixation

It’s always like clockwork—the sharp scrape of a key in the lock. The echo of boots on hardwood in the entryway. Fingers working open taut laces. A familiar gate traipsing down the hall, one that holds a note of surety each step. A smoky, sweet scent that settles over you. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say without looking up from your phone screen as the footsteps come to a stop beside your bed, hushed by the carpet and the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears. 

The mattress groans softly, dipping beneath the weight of the knee now resting on it with a give not unlike the one bending its way past the shackles of your ribcage. 

“Says who?”

Bakugou’s voice is low, and you glance up just in time to catch the way his eyes flick to the golden band that sits forlornly on your nightstand. 

He sees right through your tongue’s long-worn, perfunctory script. Right through the gaping holes in your indifference. The sheets shift as he climbs onto the bed, one knee now positioned between your bare legs. You sigh as you toss your phone aside, heart involuntarily skipping a beat when you finally meet his gaze head on. 

He’s in cargo pants and a black t-shirt that does little to hide the way his biceps flex when his palms come to rest on either side of your face. His blond hair is messy, and there’s a fading bruise at the corner of his jaw. He smells like a cool fall night. Like gunpowder. Like laundry soap. Exhaustion lingers in his eyes—you don’t have to ask to know he came straight from a long patrol shift. 

Sometimes you feel like a teenager again here beneath him. Like you’re still at UA. Like it’s half past two o’clock in the morning, and Bakugou’s crammed into your dorm room’s twin bed beside you, legs tangled together as you count the plastic, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that you’d cajoled him into hanging. 

As he grumbles about the happenstance of constellations and shooting stars and flings a tiny, harmless rogue spark into the darkness of the room before pressing a kiss to your temple and muttering for you to go to sleep. 

(You think you still see it sometimes, that flicker in the dark.)

Fifteen odd years stand in between then and now. The awareness of time chafes at you like grains of sand; it slips between your fingers like it, too. 

You’re not married to Bakugou Katsuki. 

“How long’s he leaving you for this time?” he asks you gruffly. 

You look away. “Two weeks.”

Bakugou curses under his breath. “You have a huge goddamn target on your back after that last raid, and that fucker thought it was a good time for a business trip?”

“I knew what I was getting into when I took my job with the Commission.”

You’ve grown used to the risk—to triple checking the locks at night, to looking over your shoulder on the street. The work you do is too important. 

His fingers slide over your jaw, turning your face forward again. “He’s fucking his assistant in some hotel room that costs more than that shitty excuse for a ring while I’m coming here to make sure you’re still alive because you haven’t answered my messages all day.”

Bakugou has a habit of checking in on you after big missions.

“I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”

“You’re lying.”

“I mean I literally spent all afternoon reorganizing the pantry—”

“You’re not fine. I know you’re not fine. You just ousted three villains that’ve been working underground for years. You almost fucking died yesterday—” Bakugou’s voice goes rough around the edges, jagged in a way that’s wholly different from his normal snark. 

You know him well enough to know it’s not anger in his tone; he’s upset. 

Reaching up, you let your fingers brush over the scar on his cheek. “I’m okay.”

You can feel the way his hackles shiver and recede under your touch. His shoulders drop.  

Beside you, your phone vibrates, and Ichigo’s name flashes across the screen. Bakugou’s tongue clicks against the back of his teeth in distaste when he sees it. You don’t bother to pick it up to read the text. It doesn’t really matter what it says.

“Glad to see you ignore him, too, at least,” Bakugou mutters.

He’s still looking at your phone, eyes trained on your lock screen even though the backlight has dimmed. To anyone else, it looks like a dark, blurry, out of focus image. But by the way he stares at it, you know he recognizes it for what it is: a grainy, old picture you’d tried to take of those stupid plastic stars on your dorm room ceiling.

They weren’t glowing brightly enough, and Bakugou was grumbling beside you every time you nudged him to shine his phone flashlight on them a little bit longer to get them to shine brighter for the picture. It had almost worked, but you were laughing too hard at that point to keep your phone still. 

You unearthed the picture last week while you were going through an old hard drive. And it felt comforting then, on a bad day.

You see it for the dangerously sentimental thing that it is now.

“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him quietly. 

Bakugou’s eyes sweep back over to you. “Do we?” 

Your friendship with Bakugou has remained in the years that have passed, surviving the small cataclysm of your breakup after graduation. You were still just kids then. 

Bakugou’s the one who discovered Ichigo was cheating on you almost a year ago, accidentally catching your husband out with his assistant while he was on patrol one night. He’s the one who came straight to your apartment and told you himself. Who you had to talk down from killing your husband with his bare hands while his palms sparked incessantly in raw, undiluted fury. 

Who throws his hands up in the air every time you talk about the complicated politics of divorce when you and Ichigo both work for the Commission. 

“Marriage isn’t always about love.”

“So you’d rather be fucking miserable? You’d rather be here in this depressing fucking penthouse apartment by yourself every time he’s on a goddamn business trip? Knowing what he’s doing in those hotel rooms he puts on the Commission’s tab?”

“It’s not worth the fallout. It’s not worth potentially losing my job.”

Because the reality is, you don’t know what would happen. What Ichigo would do. His pull over your department is enough to give you pause. 

And so, despite your protests that you don’t need to be coddled, Bakugou’s taken it upon himself to do these welfare checks whenever Ichigo’s been travelling since then. He’s away on business trips more often than not as of late. 

It started off innocently enough—he’d make sure you were eating. Do a sweep of your building’s security. Settle down on the couch beside you and watch whatever awful reality show you were absorbed in for the sake of keeping you company. 

It’s been nearly eight months since the night you fell asleep on his shoulder and woke up with your head in his lap, the television long-since gone dark.

Five months since the brush of a kiss goodbye on his cheek found his mouth on yours up against the wall beside the coat rack.

Four months since you spent the better part of the night making out on your couch till you found yourselves horizontal, desperately dry humping till you both came in your pants.

Two months since you talked about that night. Since Bakugou got down on his knees and fingered you and ate you out till you were sobbing his name.

You started having sex with him just over a month ago.

He’d arrived at your apartment late, still in his hero suit and looking completely worse for wear after a rescue mission gone entirely wrong. His mask was shoved up over his forehead, eyes weary, shoulders slack. He’d found you perched up on the kitchen counter in the dark, a bowl of cereal beside you, your phone in your hands.

And you’ve never seen Bakugou’s defenses so low, so utterly nonexistent that he slotted himself in between your legs and buried his face in your chest while you carded your fingers through his hair.

He’d been shivering, and you quietly told him he should take a hot shower. So he lifted you off of the counter, carried you there with him. He’d let you wash him clean, watched every bit of ash and dirt and blood swirl down the drain. Then he’d kissed you after, soft and tender and slow as steam curled against the tiles.

And he didn’t stop kissing you. Not as you turned the tap closed, as you toweled off. As you led him to your bedroom.

As you climbed into his lap and eased down onto his length, still completely naked, damp, hot skin pressed to his. 

Bakugou’s thumb traces the curve of your jaw now, swipes over your bottom lip. Heat burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you think he cares about you.”

His words sting. You don’t reply. 

“Tell me that your marriage still means anything to him.”

Silence. 

“Tell me that you still love him, even after all he’s fucking done. Tell me that ring isn’t just a goddamn shackle.”

The corners of your eyes feel wet. 

Bakugou’s hand slips between the back of your head and the pillow. He leans in closer. “Tell me you’re not lonely.”

You inhale, breathing him in. It’s a battle to suppress the shiver that begs to wrack through you. 

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me,” his voice is ragged, tumbled rough over gravel. “Tell me, and I’ll fucking leave if that’s what you want.”

Your chest feels like it could cave in at any moment. You reach up, cup his face. 

“Katsuki.“

You haven’t called him that since back then. Haven’t dared let the familiarity of it traipse the path of your tongue to your lips.

And he knows it, because he immediately inhales sharply, eyes going a little wide before he slides his hand to the back of your neck and brings his mouth crashing into yours.

—

Bakugou’s two fingers deep inside of you when he finds your vibrator tucked away beneath the sheets. Because you had had plans for yourself for later, before he arrived.

He uses his thumb to toy with the gusset of your panties, pulling the material taut against your swollen clit. 

“What? You were ignoring my texts so you could stuff yourself full of this little thing?” he murmurs, flipping the silicone toy in his free hand as he appraises it. “‘’s barely two of my fingers, baby.”

There’s a glint in Bakugou’s eyes as he pulls his sticky fingers out of you, tracing your slit with the vibrator instead. He licks his fingers clean before he leans in close, lips ghosting over yours while he bullies the tip of it into your fluttering hole.

You buck, gasping at the cool contrast of the silicone compared to his warm fingers. 

Bakugou kisses you softly, swallowing down the moan that slips out of you when he plunges the vibrator into your cunt as deeply as it’ll go. 

“This what you needed?” he rasps, slowly pulling the toy out of your wet hole, only to stuff it back inside. “This enough for you?”

He flicks the button to turn it on, and you moan as the slender device vibrates against your plush inner walls.

But it’s not enough. Not when you can feel the thick, hard outline of Bakugou’s cock pressing against your leg every time you squirm. Not when you find yourself absently humping into the vibrator looking for more. 

He chuckles under his breath, 

“You think about me when you fuck yourself with this?” he asks, low and quiet. “Do you imagine it’s me when you stuff it in that pretty pussy in the shower while your piece of shit husband’s still home?”

Bakugou knows that you and Ichigo don’t have sex anymore. He knew it the first time, when he saw just how pathetically touch-starved you were. 

When he watched the way you fell apart on his fingers alone.

“Roll over for me, baby,” he murmurs, and you whimper at the way your cunt drips with emptiness as he pulls the toy out of you with a slick pop. 

He slides a pillow beneath your hips and tugs your panties off (and you don’t have to look over your shoulder to know they’re now stuffed in his pocket, to know that you’ll never be getting those back). 

His clothes find a rumpled home on the floor before he begins to palm at the globes of your ass, thumbs sliding down the center in a steady line until the pads of both meet your wet slit. Your thighs open wider for him on instinct, and a groan rumbles in his chest when he parts your folds with both thumbs, sliding up and down in an agonizingly pleasurable, repetitive motion. 

You hear the sound of him palming his cock, and you imagine the way his scarred hands look flexing over his flush, curved shaft.  You wish you could lick off the bead precum you know is leaking from the tip. 

You wish you could watch the way you know that he’d shudder when you do it. 

Later. 

You can do that later. 

Right now, you think you might cry if he doesn’t fuck you soon. It feels like it, from the edge of this needy, dizzy edge of desperation that you’re hanging on.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, kissing one of your shoulder blades as he dips a finger into your hole. Because he knows just how worked up you are. How badly you need this. 

How badly you need him. 

“Need it so bad, huh? You’re shaking, baby.”

You are—your thighs are trembling as he sinks in from the first knuckle to the last, teeth digging into your cheek. All you can do is nod. 

He huffs, caressing your ass while he massages your inner walls with a curled stroke. Pleasure blooms in a hot rush in the pit of your belly, drags you into a weightless daze as he adds a second finger and scissors you open. You spread your legs wider, rocking back into him. Bakugo groans at the sight, fucking his digits into you harder and faster with every inch that your ass arches upward into the air. 

His free hand slips from the small of your back, slides beneath your hip to splay his palm against your abdomen. The gesture feels possessive as his middle finger stretches, reaches for the nub of your swollen clit.

It only takes a few strokes over the tender bud before you’re gasping, orgasm tearing through you like a whip as you shake with pleasure.

Bakugou’s cock is quick to replace his fingers, and he groans as he tries to line himself up with your soaked entrance only to miss, thick shaft rutting into the sticky, wet mess of your inner thighs instead. 

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your thighs for several strokes before tightly grasping the base of his dick and spreading your thighs with his other hand, realigning himself with your fluttering hole.

This time, he punches inside of you, and your greedy cunt sucks him in to the hilt without preamble.

“Katsuki, oh my god,” you cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets for purchase, pussy throbbing with the intensity of feeling so completely full.

Bakugou’s body folds over yours, his mouth hot at your nape, something low and pleased in his answering groan as you desperately whimper his name. He kisses his way up the side of your neck, and you turn your face to meet him, lips colliding in a messy, desperate kiss. 

“I could do this forever,” he murmurs against your mouth, hips grinding and rutting down into your ass as he fucks you prone into the mattress, slow and deep.

“Yeah?” you pant.

You can feel him smile before takes your bottom lip between his teeth, nips at it while you push back onto his cock, gasping at the feeling of him hitting your cervix as you meet his stroke. He laughs quietly.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, lips trailing along the curve of your jaw. “Fucking you is a privilege.”

Your pussy spasms, slick walls like silk around the steady, fat plunge of his cock. He’s heavy on top of you, his chest is a wall of heat plastered against your back. The pads of two fingers drag through the spit-soaked mess on your lips, and you part for them, moaning as you take them into your mouth.

“Fuck.” Bakugou’s answering whisper is rough as he watches your eyes fall shut, watches the mindless way you take both digits to the last knuckle, keening and drooling. 

He fucks into you harder, deeper, and you lap at them, messily sucking on his fingers, pussy fluttering in a cock drunk daze of pleasure as arousal drips out of you and soaks into the sheets, coats his cock in a slippery mess. 

“Come on my cock,” he says against the shell of your ear, breathing hard. “Come all over it.”

A sweet taste slides down your throat. And somewhere in the back of your head, you know it’s reckless, sucking the sheen of sweat and nitroglycerin right off of Dynamight’s goddamn fingers.

But it’s in that moment that you finally let yourself acknowledge it—that you trust Katsuki more than anyone else. 

More than you ever have, more than you ever will. 

The weight of that truth shudders down your spine, settles behind your ribcage.

And that’s when your pleasure explodes, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you helpless to do anything but moan and sob into the pillow as you climax so hard you can barely breathe. 

“Where, baby?” Bakugou’s voice is strained, his hips sloppily jerking into you.

You exhale hard, kicking your back leg up and pressing your heel into his ass, as if to hold him in place for lack of your ability to speak in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans, lifting himself up with his arms as he thrusts into you, breathing gone ragged. “Fuck—fuckfuckfuck.”

“Inside, Katsuki,” you plead. “Come inside of me.”

Bakugou gasps, letting out a strangled moan while he drives his cock into you straight to the hilt one last time just as he tips over the edge, emptying his balls inside of your fucked out cunt, filling you deep to the brim with rope after rope of thick, hot cum. 

He collapses beside you after a moment, pulls you face first into the warmth of his chest, tangles his legs with yours, cups the back of your head and kisses your temple. 

“Marry me,” he murmurs quietly after a little while.

“I’m already married, Katsuki,” you mumble into his chest.

He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin to meet his gaze, thumb stroking your jaw, eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit.”

You sigh. “That’s not how it works.”

The pad of his thumb finds your bottom lip, presses down into it. “I’m gonna figure it out.”

Snuggling back into him, you lay your hand over his heart, its quick rhythm echoing in your palm. “No explosions,” you tell him with a tired yawn.

He grumbles something under his breath before he says into your hair, barely above a whisper, “Either way, I’m yours.”

[justwinginglife]

Fuck's sake. This is like actually the best thing I've ever read (and the best thing I ever read BEFORE that was ALSO Dee's).