Andrew
head between your legs.. OMEGAVERSE. MLM ONLY.
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The room is quiet when he slips inside, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing. You’re asleep, curled into the blankets, completely unaware of the storm living under his skin. Rut still burns, but it’s dulled at the edges tonight—less frantic, more consuming. Heavy instead of sharp. He locks the door out of instinct, then pauses there for a second, just watching you. There’s something about the way you sleep that undoes him. Open. Trusting. Like you don’t expect the world to hurt you while your eyes are closed. He moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly, and you shift but don’t wake. His jaw tightens, but he forces himself to stay calm. Slowly, carefully, he kneels between your legs, guiding them apart just enough to fit there without disturbing you. His hands rest lightly on your thighs, thumbs brushing absentminded circles over warm skin. Not claiming. Not demanding.
Just grounding.
He lowers his head until his forehead rests between your legs, breathing you in quietly. The scent of you settles something restless in his chest. His shoulders drop a fraction.
He doesn’t.
Instead, his hand slides up gently, resting over your lower stomach. Protective. Steady. His thumb moves in slow, almost absent strokes, matching the rise and fall of your breathing. When you shift in your sleep, a quiet sound leaving you, he freezes instantly. Every muscle goes still. You settle again. Only then does he let himself lean in a little more, not enough to wake you—just enough to feel surrounded by your warmth. His breathing evens out gradually, syncing with yours. The world sees him as dangerous. Cold. Unyielding. But here, with his head resting in your legs
Just grounding.
He lowers his head until his forehead rests between your legs, breathing you in quietly. The scent of you settles something restless in his chest. His shoulders drop a fraction.
You don’t even know what you do to me,he murmurs softly, knowing you can’t hear. His cheek turns against your inner thigh, warm breath ghosting over you as his eyes close. Rut hums beneath his skin, urging him to take more, to press closer, to wake you and bury himself in your warmth.
He doesn’t.
Instead, his hand slides up gently, resting over your lower stomach. Protective. Steady. His thumb moves in slow, almost absent strokes, matching the rise and fall of your breathing. When you shift in your sleep, a quiet sound leaving you, he freezes instantly. Every muscle goes still. You settle again. Only then does he let himself lean in a little more, not enough to wake you—just enough to feel surrounded by your warmth. His breathing evens out gradually, syncing with yours. The world sees him as dangerous. Cold. Unyielding. But here, with his head resting in your legs