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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt.77)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Tae and Hobi help Yoongi during your first wave of heat.

Tags: Yoongi x Tae x Hobi x m/c, Dom! Yoongi, dom! tae, switch! hobi, Sub! m/c, Foursome, heat sex, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, fertility kink, control kink, mommy kink, talking her through it, dirty talk, exhibitionism and Voyeurism, teasing, flirting, biting, a tiny hint of mind break, a bit of pillow riding, dumbification kink, size kink, dirty talk, hole check, inspection kink, fluffy smut, no hurt just comfort, okay slight hurt because Hobi has anxiety, coming prematurely, cum play, sleepy sex, brief referenced Somnophilia,

W/c: 14.4k

A/n: thank you guys for being so tolerant of my brief absense, i didn't intend to take so long to update this but unfortunately sometimes living through historical events can be really tough to get through. i can't belive we made it to the 77th chapter! i always thought it would be nice to get to this point because you know- seven is bts's number <3 bily is way too long lol

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

The hunger of the heat finds no respite and no quiet, not even under darkness where lovers touch finds seemly eyes blind. Your descent into fever is fairly controlled given how long it's been since you've gone into heat. It's gentle even as your body surrenders itself completely to your instincts.

But there is nothing dirty to it. Nothing that leaves you feeling filthy and used. Going into heat with the pack leaves you feeling clean of your insecurities and anxiety. The last little bit that clings to you burned out by the heat like Bitter weeds burned out so that sweet tall growing love can take the place of the barren fields.

It’s easy to burn. Lights just like that.

The next three and a half days progress in a haze of lust and love and comfort. If asked, you’re not sure that you could articulate just what it’s like- the thrall of heat. The fever that burns through you, simmers your bones to dry kindling and hungry wind. The fire that craves not for food or water or air, just their touch. Just them.

I would love to say that your, Jungkook and Jin’s heat goes well- but in all reality it doesn’t. In reality- it’s a bit of a shit show.

One omega in heat is generally chaotic, but 3 is a horny hurricane of slick, cum, and tears. Your packmates are bound to get exhausted at one point and fail to fulfill your needs through the own simple fragility of their bodies. Your alphas aren’t indestructible or immune from exhaustion, as much they like to pretend otherwise.

Normally Jin and Jungkook are a bit of a handful. On account of being a little older, Jin is sweet but a little demanding.

Willing to scruff the alphas just to sit on their knots and all but bully Namjoon into letting him hog his (Something that Namjoon only sometimes allows.) Possessive and protective of them. Often sleeping with one hand pressed to Namjoon’s stomach, his throat, or when the heat fever spikes particularly high- wrapped around his knot. Protecting it, keeping it safe. To make sure no one steals it.

Jin gets incurably sleepy during his heats, Awake one moment and fast asleep the next. Easily worn out. Jin’s pout is never far from his plush lips, eyes always about to narrow when someone denies him his requests (usually for his own good).

Jin has asked for…strange things in heat before. For the alpha’s to breed each other, knock each other up. For them to knot his jaw if they won't knot his hole (often already occupied). Stuff like that.

But he’s softer sometimes. More maternal. Checking their bodies obsessively for wounds, keeping them in the nest no matter if they need to eat or pee or go let Noodle out the back. Licking their scent glands raw to soothe until the heat fever burns so bright that he can’t resist any longer.

By comparison, Jungkook is a big bunny rabbit.

Insatiable and energized with every wave of heat, Jungkook turns twitchy and needy in the heat fever. Just as happy to bounce on a knot as he is to take a pounding. Jungkook requires stamina, Jungkook requires energy. Often laconic or non-verbal. Jungkook does not like it soft, likes hair pulling and biting and his knees scraping against the nest. Pulled from one knot to the next.

The pack is no stranger to waking up to Jungkook astride them, powerful thighs straining to lift himself up and down in the omega’s half-asleep state, sleep fucking his way to an orgasm. Their pj's pulled low or ripped if he's eager enough. Cute little gasps echo off the tall ceilings as he takes his pleasure at a dreamy pace. One of the alpha’s staring up at him sleepy, stretched out, happy to have a bit of a break from moving.

Jin honestly doesn’t know where all the energy comes from.

Sometimes the pack tie him up and fill his holes with some silicone just to get a break. With barely 10 minutes between his heat spikes at his worst. He’s willing to take anything- a spank to his cock, a knot meanly fucked in and out of his hole all loose when he’s too far gone. Anything and everything until the spikes get less searing and the fire ebbs from flames to embers.

Edging and overstimulation are the pack’s best friends when it comes to Jungkook’s heats. That’s what Jungkook needs; to whine and whimper and flinch at every touch until it’s worn out of him. Until pleasure becomes pain and then goes back again. Flip-flopping until Jungkook can’t tell if it hurts too much to keep going or if it feels too good to stop.

It’s a good thing he’s equally soothed with a plastic knot as a real one, that he’s happy so long as he’s filled and plugged up so that no cum escapes. Precious and warm and his alpha’s gift. Evidence of their claim and devotion.

Evidence too of what bonds the omega’s together.

Nestmates do this, they take their breeding together in their nest during a heat. That’s what’s good and right. What Jungkook’s instincts crave. There is safety in numbers. The more pups the better.

(never mind the fact that out of heat, jungkook plans to be pupfree forever thank you very much).

But everyone knows not to take the things said during a heat seriously. that all that talk of breeding and pups is just that- talk. what matters is the devotion and the sentiment. Yes I am planning on keeping you forever. No you don't have to worry if I'll love you forever, let me claim you, let me show you in a way that matters.

It’s cute even if it is a little gross, how possessive omegas can get of alpha cum during heats. Their bellies going swollen and messy with it. A little plug does wonders to soothe any of Jungkook’s discomfort. A spank to his hole before one is shoved in even more so. The cherry on top.

The pack has learned how to meet his needs well, even at the expense of their own. That’s one thing that separates your alpha’s from the others, they don’t think about their own pleasure at all, they don’t think about their own needs- only yours.

I want to share my side of the nest with you, I want to talk you through it- the pain and the pleasure. I want you to feel love in every kiss, every bite.

The pack has wondered many times over the last year where you fit on the spectrum from bratty to obedient, from lethargic to energized.

Would you pout and whine like Jk? Bouncing on their knots for a bit of reprieve? Or would you be like Jin- bratty and needy in all the best ways? A princess and the pee, the omega and the knot. It’s all very fairytale.

But compared to Jin and Jungkook, you’re a bit of an angel.

They thought after so long your heat would hit hard, that your body would make up for time lost and leave it long and drawn out and brutal. That your lack of heat for so many years would reward you with spikes that never end and pleasure that went too far. That it would be rough.

Yoongi would never want to abandon the others, but even he has to admit that you need to be his priority sometimes. You’re more delicate than the others. That is a fact that he's never been able to ignore.

But he need not worry. If anything, your heat just makes you more gentle, soft, and round at the edges where your anxiety and fear can sometimes turn you a bit prickly.

Something about the heat just wears all of your energy out of you, makes you sleepy and soft, hurtling down through Omegaspace so far that you can’t really feel anything if it’s not good, brain a mess of good pup, good alphas breed good puppies, knot good puppies too, pup pup pups.

You are completely pliant and suggestible. Tears forever hovering on the edge of your waterline summoned by the slightest edge of disapproval. Good, you just want to be good. To part your legs and let them have the sweetness between them. You don’t need to be needy; you hardly even need to ask before someone is there. Someone is always always there.

The need builds to a fever's pitch, a fire burning through you. You’ve never felt so touch-starved before. Your skin dimpling with gooseflesh the second you feel even the slightest warmth, the slighted brush of possible body heat. There is something frantic in you, the hot flush crawling under your skin that stills only when they touch you.

Is this what overstimulation feels like to Jimin? Is this what he feels like when he holds Tae? does he feel the same sense of lingering relief? You watch the ceiling spin as Yoongi heaves you up. Everything is in slow motion. Putting it together second by second. Everything slow and drippy like syrup.

The thing about omega's in heat is that they're a little bit dumb.

Like, there's no way that you could have ever conceivably run away from Yoongi and Tae and Hobi, no way that you could have escaped given your small size and their height. your run is doomed from the start.

The heat hormones are a little intense, a little hard to thing through.

You can't get over how good the pack’s hands feel, how calloused and intentional, bird bones and painted nails. Slightly rough and always firm. Calloused between the thumb and forefinger from pencils or firearms.

They’re always so gentle. So gentle that you feel every touch as not hunger but love instead. Maybe that’s what heats are? The need for love and pack sated by your bodies, that would find no satisfaction in it otherwise. There is no lust without love for any of you. You wouldn’t have gone into heat without them and their tender love and care. The love has always been there and this is no different.

You don’t have to question if they need you and want you the same way that you do. The scent of arousal is heady on the air, not just from the omega’s- but from them too. You can scent it; how they’re feeling. Their hunger.

It’s as if they've just come from in from out of the cold. It conjures up images of warm fires inside honeyed houses, of someone washing your face and you trust them not to get soap in your eyes, of waking up in the nest with your eyes still closed, the warmth all around you. Someone buttoning up your coat. Something warm and sweet to eat in your hands, sugar on the edge of your tongue, crystals of sweetness glittering and dusting deserts like starlight.

Only you are that sweet thing, you are that warmth. Your alpha's are the ones that have come in from the cold.

There’s this mischievous victorious edge to Jimin’s scent, the vanilla sweeter and smokier than usual. The concerned edge to Hobi's- the caramel all warm and melty but with a sharp hint- like his anxiety has turned syrupy by proximity to the omega’s in heat. The calm edge to Tae's; roses in the morning, cinnamon sugar sweetness for breakfast even if it will spoil you for later.

But Namjoon- you hiccup when you breathe it in too deep. A shudder runs down your spine.

Namjoon smells so much richer than usual. Mouthwatering and potent. Dangerous and musky. Namjoon smells like a threat and a promise. Like a storm coming that you cannot evade. Namjoon smells like an ache. Your lungs flutter around it, your breath going heavy, and your eyes roll back briefly.

You feel drunk on it, almost tipsy from it. So good that just catching it in the air makes you slick up, and it turns the tops of your thighs all glossy underneath the big shirt you wear, the big shirt that gets pulled this way and that when Yoongi and Hobi and Tae pick you up and drag you from the hallway into the nest room.

You squirm, trying to get to him at the end of the hall as they move you. Their single-minded focus is getting you somewhere safe and comfortable even as the fever climbs and climbs. Your skin turning hot beneath their touch so quickly that they share nervous glances.

One moment your skin is sweet warm to the touch, the next your pulse is racing and you’re burning up. Cheeks pink, temples damp. Your pupils are so dilated it turns your eyes dark and glassy, so little of their usual color visible.

You’d be worried and teary at Hobi's scent but it’s just so fun.

You’re having a hard time holding onto your worry. Being restrained by them feels like playing this way. His hands go hard around your wrists as you push and giggle. His thin bones pressed to your fragile ones. Grinning up at them a little feral, a little heat addled.

You try to push and roll away futilely, unable to put any real force behind it as Tae grabs your ankles and Yoongi takes you around your middle. You catch sight of his grin as you squirm. And his hands go harder around your waist. Pausing to tickle at your ribs before they toss you- a little unceremoniously- into the center of the nest.

Your body is bare from their touch for about two seconds but you still don't like it. No sooner has a whine started to build in your throat. Nuckles brushing the nest, belly up, staring up at them dazed. Then your alphas and mate descend on you. Depressing the nest with their knees and feet, rushing and hurrying to cover you.

The whole house is full of the sound of snarls, wet slaps, and the burning haze of arousal. The hormones drip to a slow build. Setting everyone on edge. Even Yoongi breathes through his teeth. You try to kick at Tae's thigh just for fun but pull back once Yoongi’s fingers scrape your ankle in warning.

Tae doesn’t seem to like your squirming, taking your wrists in both of her hands and pressing them into the nest until you feel it in the bones of your wrists. With firmness comes clarity.

Holy fuck. Tae's so hot.

Her hair spills over her face and her eyes are dark. The hem of her dress pulls low, and you try to lean up to nuzzle into it, lips curled into a snarl, a laugh. You could bite her. You want to bite her. You try too- but it’s hard to bite her when all you want to do is laugh.

Yoongi's fingers continue to tickle against your ribs, laughing and giggling through your very first spike of heat, ticklish. Squirming, held down until your breath goes ragged and you sag back against the nest, your surrender is just as sweet as the rest of you. You're so dizzy you're unable to fight against them. The heat zoomies worn out of you.

You laugh until you hiss. Curling to the side just a little as you double over in pain. A wave racks through you. Burning and stinging from your stomach outwards.

Yoongi stills, one hand on your knee, eyes wide. Tae lets your wrists go so you can clutch at your stomach. Holding your face through it. Hobi's hand is hard on your shoulder, knuckles white, expression stricken but unsure.

"Oh my little honey, don't worry, we'll make it better, shh just-" She's a little more panicky than the rest of them are. Her hand goes to Yoongi’s hip, his waistline, all but tugging at his shorts as if to say ‘do something.'

Yoongi holds your stomach too. Alarmed by your trembling. "Are you- do you need-“a knot, hovers on the edge of his tongue.

But you just blink. “Yoongi- it's too much- it burns- Sore- so sore here.” You touch your stomach gently, but it's so sensitive it still makes you hiss, eyes watering. Yoongi's hands slowly press to yours, flat, long fingers covering yours.

It's gone as quick as it comes, the wave ebbing after a stiff peak. And after a moment with more of Tae's shushing. You relax, stretching back out in the nest. Breathing heavily until you aren't. Until the cramping and the aching need want need to be filled in your head quiets.

Yoongi's fingers swirl on your stomach, gently. It's sensitive, but it actually does make you feel better. “You ran, do you want us to wait for Namjoon or-" You’re already shaking your head no when Yoongi cuts off. Letting your legs flop open so that he can shuffle forward closer. Nudging at the back of his hips with your heels.

You don't wonder why Yoongi mentions Namjoon. He's the pack alpha, and the right to breed you first in heat is his as dictated by old laws and rules. It’s stupid, but it’s instinctual. If you weren't mated, Yoongi might be tempted to ask Namjoon for permission.

Yoongi huffs at the mere idea of it.

But Namjoon isn't like that. He cares about your wants first. His own ego is very far down on his list of priorities and probably ranks just after Noodle's well-being in terms of Namjoon's pack alpha running task list.

Dominance is its own kind of submission.

And, judging by Jin's snarling from the other room- he'll be preoccupied for at least the next hour. You don't know if you can wait that long. A whine drips out of you, a sound small and weak. The fire starts to tickle in your tummy, insistent.

Hobi shuffles closer to you. Bare-chested, his red shorts looking tight. Looking unsure. "You did run, do you not want-" us, does not come out.

You shift, futile in your efforts to try and get comfortable, it's impossible with the weight of your instincts pinning you down, the pervasive ache that's sort of everywhere.

“Nah, just ran cuz it’s fun. Not cuz I didn’t want you to fuck me.”

Yoongi huffs and Hobi's grin cracks. His anxiety dissipates, fond with it. Yoongi's fingers itch up your thighs, parting them just a little so that he can shuffle forward closer to you. Until you can feel the heat from his tummy against yours.

You can feel so much. Your whole body one big nerve ending. You can feel the slight fluff and softness of the peach fuzz on his tummy dragging against yours as he gets closer. The feel of his slender but strong fingers circling your ankles. All of it.

You like this, you always like it when Yoongi's close.

“Glad we cleared that up, it’s not like I can’t literally see you slicking up but-“ you laugh and try and swat at him. He drops one of your ankles to catch your hand and tangles it with his for good measure.

A small smile hovers on the edge of his lips. He searches your face, smiling at what he sees your dopey smile and endeared indignation. The heat might be new, but this is so familiar his heart aches with it.

“If you’re gonna tease me while I’m in heat can you at least make it good?” Your breath goes heavy. Warm and sweet, fluffing over him. Everything; the sweetness to your scent, the ruddiness of your knees, the messy fluff of your hair over the pastel pillow, and the relaxed sprawl of your body is a siren song for Yoongi.

Above you Tae and Hobi stay quiet. Just watching. Tae drags a lock of your hair away from your face. Patient while you and Yoongi flirt.

“I thought you liked my teasing.”

Your tone sounds petulant even to you, “I do just not-”

Yoongi presses your knees apart, up towards your chest abruptly cutting off your words as you let out a broken moan. He puts a bit more force behind it than usual, putting you on display, spread. The hem of your shirt hides nothing as you feel yourself clench and his gaze flickers down.

“There you are, now I can see that you like it.” Your entrance looks swollen and pink but inviting. Winking at him. Tae perks up, looking not at you but down.

“Fuck don’t-“ you strain. Palming at his hands, inarticulate.

“What? Don’t you want them to see how messy you are? How messy you get for us. You make it so cute when you slick up without meaning to, so flustered.” The dirty talk makes your bones crack like kindling, makes you gush fresh.

The smile on his face widens just a bit, and you hiccup through the shudder that rocks through you. Your body burns, your stomach churns, and your skin simmers where he touches. Stoking your craving for more more more.

A breeding press. That's what Yoongi's just put you into. Knees to your chest, your sensitive heat slit ripe and wet between your thighs, ready for the taking. A breeding press in front of two alphas, in front of Tae and Hobi, watching with wide dark eyes. Your mate presents you for breeding. An invitation.

“Hold her.” Yoongi’s command is not snapped or growled out but Hobi and Tae follow suit regardless. Hobi fumbles, grabbing one wrist and Tae grabs the other.

Ready. Settled. It’s a bit of a strange show of dominance. But inside, Yoongi isn’t surprised that you needed a firm hand. To be held down and puppeted and propped. To know that they’re in control before you let your alpha's breed you.

He says your alphas- but he's the only one you're looking at. The only one you're whining for.

It’s hard to articulate your hands or your mind, tongue wrapped around a sound that can only be an endless whimper. Tae leans low when you try to squirm again. Her teeth nip at your ear, a shock to your system that makes you leak a fresh gush of slick half onto Yoongi's lap.

You have to be spilling and dripping by now. You try and press your legs back together and hide but Yoongi keeps you spread. His thumb skims the apex of your hips, the dewy fold between your thigh and pussy. Teasing.

“No pup, settle.”

You obey, unable not to. Sprawled there with them looming over you. Tae's fingers hover around your throat, manicured fingers rubbing soft against your scent gland, sensitive and tender. Achy. So achy you tilt your neck and show her your throat. Dizzy. The only thing solid is Yoongi’s hands and your instincts that tell you to try and get them closer.

Your instincts know what you need.

All of you sort of hurts. A bone-deep ache that has pinned you here as well as their touch. The ache that turns you free for them to poke and prod and love at. Each moment of their absence a physical wound, each kiss and brush of skin- a band-aid.

Belly down, you need to get belly down and show them. Need to show your alpha’s and your mate that you can be good- that you’re worth breeding. That you can take all of the love that they have to give and more.

You just can’t move your body; can’t make it cooperate- you feel so heavy and tired all of a sudden. Falling slack. All the fight going out of you.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” Yoongi’s voice is a deep purr.

You are missing things, the seconds slipping away as you start to sweat and whimper. You don’t see Hobi's stricken expression as tears start to gather at your waterline or Tae's eyes, dark but sympathetic. You don’t see or feel the way that Hobi trembles as he holds your wrists perfunctory now that you've gone limp.

But still, he holds you. the touch goes tender where moment's ago it had been firm. Hobi doesn't notice, Hobi doesn't see.

But Yoongi does. Yoongi sees all of it, holding your knees still, fingers rounding out over the bone, rubbing up and down your thighs, an inch higher with every pass, until the cool pads of his fingers are brushing your shirt. Shushing your whines as he shuffles between your legs and the meat of his thighs meets your ass. Shirt fluffing up to your belly button from this position.

If the other alphas smell good, then Yoongi is the heat in the back of your throat and the compass by which you fly home. Your scent spikes watching him settle on his knees between your legs, your toes pressed to his stomach still in your socks. White, to the upper ankle.

Yoongi takes them off, slow, fingers sliding over your calf. squeezing firmly, releasing the tension. Setting them to the side the way he'd fold laundry, casual, like he's not making you hiccup.

You can feel yourself clench when you register that there is hardness at the front of his shorts. Yoongi smells good, drippy, and chocolatey. You want him all over you. The fabric at the front of his boxers brushes your heat slit, rougher than the pads of his fingers, and you feel like you might just pass out.

Sensitive- your body is oversensitive. You can feel everything, the tickle of Hobi's breath as it hitches when he sees the mess between your legs. Sweet nectar to the hummingbird thunder of his heart in his fingers. Tae's soft growl rippling from her chest. Small chest vibrating with it.

Yoongi lets your hips relax and slides his hands up your hips to your waist instead. Bypassing where you’re sore for him entirely to go under your shirt, the rough pads of his fingers skimming up your midline as he says, “let’s get rid of this sweet honey.”

There are pet names everywhere. Pup, honey, little treat, sweetheart. On the edge of every line as he coaxes you to sit up. Sweetening every sentence. They’re unable not to add them, each nickname more loving than your own name.

How could you deny them the pleasure of it on their tongue. You like the way they say it, pup. Like you’re small and sweet and worth caring for. Worth claiming in a way that’s permanent like this. You trust them enough to see you like this, at your most vulnerable.

A shout comes from the hall. A loud repetitive smacking sound the backtrack to Yoongi’s deep satisfied hum. You toss your head to the side, looking towards the door with a loud whine. Hopeful to summon the other omegas here. Here where nothing is scary, and everything drips as slow as syrup on a cold day.

But you hear only hisses and snarls in response. A dark sound that becomes Jungkook’s giggle and something hitting the wall with a loud thud. A knee- or maybe someone’s hand.

The other omegas are not as easy to catch and soothe as you are. It will take one knotting each before the alpha’s manage to settle them and cajole them back into the nest. You go right away, no need to be disobedient.

Jin hisses loudly and goosebumps erupt on your arms. It has nothing to do with feeling cold on the contrary; the heat fever tears through you. You didn’t realize you were overheating until Yoongi disrobed you. Your mate is so good. So good at anticipating your needs. Guiding your shirt off of you with a gentle hum until Hobi can grab it and get it over your shoulders. All of this is so gentle.

Yoongi’s hands stay on your back, making you lie back down slowly, supporting you so that your abdominal muscles need not strain. Hobi tosses the shirt into some forgotten corner where it’s doomed to be used as a cum rag in the foreseeable future. You blink up at them, two of your alphas and your mate.

Why won’t they- why can’t you-

Yoongi’s hand presses flat against your stomach, quieting your sweet whines. You are entirely unselfconscious of your body like this, unaware of the marks or rolls on your body or the soft plush to your stomach. There is only Yoongi’s eyes on you, maintaining contact as he sets you back where he wants you. One hand on your shoulder, the other on your waistline.

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes darting from place to place, feeling his hardness grow. You look so flushed and healthy, your body glowing from within from the fever. You look- you look-.

Yoongi cringes internally but you do look ready. Fertile and sweet and glowing from fever. Ready for pups, ready to be knocked up, ready for breeding. If Yoongi was an alpha, god help them all. He can’t imagine what it feels like to the others. To have you flushed and cute and willing like this.

What wouldn't he do? What wouldn't he give for your happiness?

What would Tae write about this moment? Yoongi imagines himself as a fly on the wall, a poem inside her head.

I think of you in all the softest colors, collect moments for you in the palm of my hand, give you love until its nicknacks and keepsakes, slip through my fingers, too many to count, your pocket and bowl overflowing. You are that, my overflow and my undertow, I dreamed of you, I dreamed for you, and yet, you are still here. My bedtime story, my good night kiss. the moon to my firefly, the sugar on cream.

For a second, he imagines it. You pregnant. You bred.

Your stomach round and taught. He imagines watching you get bigger and bigger until you're waddling around. Your chest sweetening with milk, already supple now nipples pebbling in the cold. To imagine them bigger is honestly- Yoongi cannot think about it without throbbing and twitching. The hardness a heavenly jut against your cunt. Just as weepy and needy as the rest of you.

You look so healthy too. A lump comes to Yoongi’s throat at the realization. You’d have it so easy carrying the pack’s pup like this. But even then- Yoongi wouldn’t let up, on the contrary. He'd probably rival Jin and namjoon in their protective instincts and their doting. He’d cave to all your cravings and leave in snow or rain and sleet to get you whatever your pregnancy cravings might ask.

He never thought he had a thing for it; pregnancy and breeding is more an alpha's wheelhouse but you…All round and full of them. It wouldn't even matter who got to you first, whose seed would take all of that is your choice.

But Yoongi imagines your scent going milky, imagines how sleepy and brody you'd get. He wonders if you'd take to carting one of your stuffed animals around. Would your instincts prepare you to cling to everything small and cute and soft?

He already treats you like fine china- but pupped? Your mate wouldn't let you lift a fucking finger. He decides right then, he won’t let you do a lick of the work in this heat. All of your pleasure should be by their hands shouldn’t it? That’s just an extension of love, right? Dictating what pleasure you get and if it’s enough- should be up to them- you clearly aren’t thinking straight enough to decide if you need a cock in your cunt. That should be left up to him.

(Clearly, the heat is getting to Yoongi)

Contraceptive, you took the contraceptive, didn't you? Yoongi should remember that. He shouldn't be so giddy for something that is impossible now and for all real likelihood may never happen or is years and years away. This is only your first heat. His instincts should honestly chill, he shouldn't be reacting the way the alpha's do.

Even if there is truly no harm in pretending.

Why does his chest feel so tight? Why do his muscles feel poised to fight? His pulse beats a little quicker, a little harder, as if in response to you.

Yoongi's breath goes deep and ragged. “My little honey.” He says, voice husky, and you squirm. A little happy. A little overwhelmed by all the attention.

He picks you by your hips, turning you over, guiding you to present the way that all good little omega’s do. Tummy down and ass up. You blink dazed as they move you, losing yourself a little more with each moment. Tae puts a pillow under your tummy and the crinkle of the waterproof pillowcase distantly assures you that whatever mess you make will not ruin the fun.

The room spins with the smell of them, the pet of Tae's fingers down your back as Yoongi spreads your knees so he can kneel between them. Stroking gently over your spine, pressing it to curve and arch for them.

“So good for us, so good presenting yourself, so so cute.” Her voice is quiet and honey-sweet. And you don’t know why but you suddenly feel like crying.

You want to cry in relief, you might actually cry over the praise. You are pinned there- beneath Yoongi’s touch and by his eyes as he looks down at you. He pauses to turn your cheek to the side so that he can better watch your face. Tae shuffles forward, picking your chest up and lying your half in her lap, your cheek resting just below the hem of her dress against her plush thighs. A predicament you've found yourself in many times.

You peer up at her, teary-eyed. Fists tangling with her dress, clinging to it, to her. You need something to steady you. Something to hold onto when your brain feels like a feather fluttering in the wind. Dazed and fuzzy. Omegaspace has never felt so intense before.

your lower lip juts out, glossy and pink. “Mommy it hurts.”

She bends low, pressing a kiss to your brow. The brush of her skin against yours makes you dizzy. It feels so good to be touched and loved like this. To feel someone touching your body so gently like it’s precious.

Who knows, maybe to them, you really are.

She nuzzles forward, her forehead finding yours. Her nose going that way then the other. Pecking your lips once, twice, and then again.

“I know pup, we’ll make it better.”

You whimper, and Tae sets your cheek against her thigh so that you can rest there through whatever happens next, one hand wraps around her ankle, and your other reaches back blindly to tangle with Hobi's.

Neither of them stops Yoongi. Neither of them tries to get in the way- it’s Yoongi’s right- as your mate- to do with you what he wishes during your heat. To fuck you this way and that. To take precedent and priority.

If only yoongi understood that.

Yoongi leans over you, letting his lap make contact with your ass, grinding forward almost immediately as you jerk back. You’ve never heard Yoongi sound so dark, his voice so rough.

“It’s so tough, isn’t it? Feeling so many instincts all at once huh? Being so small and scared right? You just wanted us to chase you, make sure we could catch you- make sure we’re worthy.”

He digs his fingers into your hip bones pressing you down into your knees. Your cheek turned to the side, nuzzling into the fabric of Tae's dress. You blink up at Tae dazed, eyes feasting on the way that her dress- flimsy and partially see-through- slips down her shoulders- pulled askew in your chasing.

From the hall- you hear the sound of groans and moans. You don’t know why your other nestmates don’t just come willingly. It feels so good, so soft and safe underneath you.

You didn’t think you could feel so safe.

Gone is the instinct to run, gone is the instinct to hide and cower- now all you can do is whine and part your legs, the ache there so deep there you feel it in your teeth. But Yoongi grinds his half-hidden hardness where you’re needy and sensitive. The fabric of his boxers quickly darken with slick. He doesn’t go quick, he savors it.

The fact that Yoongi doesn’t have a knot doesn’t cross your mind. Not even once. He’s still the first one you want.

…not the only one you want of course, but him first.

Yoongi cannot actually read your thoughts, so he leans low, pressing kiss after kiss into your spine, dragging his lips down to the dimples of your hips before he rises back on his knees. A look so soft in his eyes- Hobi and Tae feel a bit like they’re intruding on something.

“Whose knot should you take first honey, Taetae’s, or Hobi's? Or do you want me to decide for you? Tell me who you want, honey- anything.” He promises, voice husky. And Tae can tell he means it. Anything that you’d want right now, he’d give.

You whimper, shaking your head against Tae’s hand, her touch, a finger-popping into your mouth to sate your need to suck. You can’t speak- couldn’t even if you wanted to. But that’s alright, you’ve got packmates to do that for you.

“I don’t think she wants either of us Hyung,” she says, hushed, gentle in her tone- nothing in it telling her how hurt she is or if she’s even hurt at all at not being chosen first. You don’t catch the way that Yoongi’s eyebrows raise, the way his cheeks heat.

For all of his dirty talk earlier, he is completely surprised that it’s him and not alpha and a knot that you ask for first.

Oh, how intimate it is to be needed like this.

You look up at him, shy but needy, you need him- oh how you need him- you couldn’t imagine feeling this way without him here. Couldn’t imagine it feeling so good without his touch. The press of his palm on the small of your back, the rub of his thumb against your rib. It’s so much. It's too much.

You tug one arm underneath you under your chest, the other hovering, holding Hobi's hand behind you blindly. Your fingers, his fingers tangled. You rest your cheek on Tae's thigh and look back as Yoongi shuffles forward. The elastic of his boxers pulled down his hips. The head of his cock pink and glossy with pre-cum.

There is some scuffling in the hall too, a high-pitched “please please please” that can’t be Jin. You’ve never heard him sound desperate like that. Hobi's hot breath dusts the back of your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed as one of Yoongi’s hands leaves your waist to guide his cock. Only to shoot open again. Gasping at the familiar prod.

The thickness is just right, his body heat and his heartbeat you can feel as he fills you more and more. The comfortable stretch that you’ve become so accustomed to. No pain now only pleasure that makes your body hum and tingle from your toes to the top of your head, hair standing on end.

Hair that Hobi pets over. Shushing your full body shivers and hiccups as Yoongi slides home gently. All the way in. Hips flush. Pushing out the rest of your lucidity as he slides in to the hilt.

From that moment on- your heat is a blur. A dizzying cocktail of pleasure, pain, and comfort. Descending down and down and down now that you’re safe. Now that your mate is here.

Yoongi slides all the way in without any resistance. You’re wetter and tighter than usual, so tight around him that he’s sure your clit twitches against the pillow with the strength of your clench. He takes a moment through your mewling to calm himself, certain that if he’s not careful, if moves even a little tiny bit, then he’s going to cum early and muck this all up.

The moment passes between one breath and the next. Yoongi’s hands tremble where they hold your waist. Thumbs rubbing circles on the small of your back, breathing heavily.

"Shh shh shhh little pup, there you go, just like that. So full huh? I know you're sensitive but that's what you needed, isn't it?"

He makes the mistake of looking up at Hobi, and then that’s almost all it takes. His lips are glossy, looking not at him but at the place where both of you connect. The wet hot gush of your cunt stretched around Yoongi’s thickness.

His eyes are so dark they reflect everything, the curve of your bodies, the paleness of Yoongi’s chest a bright speck on his eyes, as fleeting as any star. He licks his lips, barely resisting the temptation to rock forward into the pillow between his thighs.

Barely.

You gasp against Tae's thigh, but her eyes are dark and trained on the same spot. Her lower lip pinned between her teeth like a butterfly to a wall. Keeping a filthy-sounding growl at bay.

There is something about the narrowness of Yoongi’s waist in between your legs and the broadness of his shoulders that makes her feel a little bit crazy. Yoongi has always been beautiful in a way that is neither alpha nor omega. Strong in a way that is an attribute and not a chosen quality.

The gentleness in him is a choice as he pulls you back on his cock, one hand goes to your shoulder, and the other stays on your waist, pulling you back and forth on him. Mindful of everything. The hot squelch of you and the pleasure tugging firm in his gut is secondary to the gentle way he guides you. Gentle and slow but firm.

Yoongi's hand is on your shoulder. Your cheek on Tae’s inner thigh, Yoongi's knuckles brush the inside of Tae's thigh every time he forces you back on his cock. Every warm gasps brushes her skin and Yoongi’s knuckles.

She greatly enjoys this; watching and waiting for her turn. She might not mind waiting forever if it’s Yoongi doing the taking apart. Tae can put you back together later. They can go like that again and again and she’d never mind going second.

Tae picks your hair off your cheeks so that all of them can see your slack lips, your eyes half closed in bliss. Your breath comes out in little 'hng' sounds. Like a moan stuck in your throat.

Her mouth is dry, and you gasp against her thigh when Yoongi grinds deep and stays there. Testing the resistance of your body and marveling at how there isn’t any now. He can feel it deep inside; a place that’s usually impenetrable shifts open bit by bit as the heat settles in you. A little tightness just at the head of his cock that’s maddening.

Fuck, Namjoon will be able to reach there, Yoongi probably could with his fingers, if you hadn’t taken the contraceptive, Namjoon could have put his cock right there and-

It must be your hormones. It must be the mating mark. That must be why he’s so close to cumming so quick. Rocking inside, just to savor the feel of you.

There’s no one alive who's felt this, no one alive who knows what you taste or smell or feel like during your heat. Yoongi will savor this for a moment. Maybe forever.

If the others would only listen, would they let him linger for as long as he wants to? His end barrels past him, flush with the knowledge that it’s him, him making you pant and blush, him making you clench and drip and moan and-

Fucking hell- Yoongi’s almost going insane.

He cums like that, holding your hips flush to his for a handful of seconds, rocking through it, breathing heavily. But he doesn’t flag, doesn’t go soft, just keeps fucking you after a few seconds, cock twitching and throbbing hard.

Fuck. It's so wet and hot, he can feel his cum in you, feel the way it's kept warm and snug. His spend turns frothy around the base of his cock too quick as he sets about fucking you faster, endlessly craving more. The clench of your cunt is not quite enough to keep it from escaping without a knot.

It’s okay, you don’t need to worry about wasting it, Yoongi has more than enough. Yoongi usually doesn’t cum so much, but he’s so distracted by you that he doesn’t notice.

Tae and Hobi grin at him, nostrils flaring because they can scent Yoongi's cum on the air. They know. The feral curve of their teeth eggs Yoongi on. He's not pulling out and he's not stopping until your eyes roll back.

Your eyes go wide when you feel it, giggling softly and reaching down to touch your tummy. Nuzzling into Tae's thigh, as much as a response that they'll get. Your giggling cuts off with a broken hiccup as Yoongi starts up again.

Hobi's watching you, fringe in front of his eyes to the point where Yoongi can't read him. Doesn't have the mind to right now, wholly focused on you.

But the tops of his cheeks are pink, and he can’t quite meet Yoongi’s eyes. On the other hand, Tae can’t look away from you, your hand gripping her thigh hard to hold yourself steady through the waves of pleasure and the brutal never ending breeding. Every time Yoongi juts forward, no matter how gentle. It feels like fire.

Out in the hallway someone snarls loud. You fall limp, clenching so hard that you all but force Yoongi out of you, he just laughs, deep and low, before guiding his cock back in. Not finished with you at all yet but not quite letting you cum.

Neither is the heat, licking at the back of your throat. He won't stop fucking you no matter how many times you almost cum, at least not until the fire ebbs. You hiccup, squirming.

"No pup, we're not done yet. Just a little more, just a little more and then you can cum, are you gonna make it pretty and squirt for me? I know mommy wants to see you all messy."

He’s jogged out of his reverie by the appearance of Tae's hands. Covering his, helping, pushing you back against his cock. Her eyes meeting his. You mewl blindly. Blinking away tears that Hobi pauses to wipe away.

Yoongi wishes she’d move so that he could duck down and kiss you. Is almost about to ask her to do just that so he can when she speaks.

“What does she feel like- what's it like?” Yoongi hisses, feeling his cock twitch, feeling you clamp down tighter in response to it. Aware that Tae can watch his stomach tremble on the exhale. Hobi looks away, a bit overwhelmed.

“She’s very-” Yoongi cuts himself off as you push back into him, intent on starting the fucking again. But the others soothe you. Stop your pushing, make you go slow. Thighs trembling, drawing out your pleasure. You mewl but it just gets shushed away by Tae. A mild scolding that just heats your blood further.

"Be good pup, I know you can wait and take your breeding like a good girl." She turns back to Yoongi, completely unfazed.

“Very very wet. She’s warming up. It's Hot.”

Hobi presses you down, hands on your shoulders, keeping you presented and at their mercy. There will be time for roughness and more roughhousing later. You keen at the harsh contact, the feeling of being pinned. Hoseok swallows so hard that the two of them can hear it, but Hobi's dominance is a fragile thing.

“Yeah, she is.” Hobi goes bright red, flushes, stutters. "I meant inside."

“I know what you meant.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. Hobi's cock jumps in his shorts partially at the embarrassment of his slip-up, and partially because when Tae leans to nuzzle she nips at his scent gland in reward.

Hobi likes this, being made to wait. Different than the way that Tae likes it. But if he stops to think about it he'll get insecure. So he lets the humiliation, the control, wrap around him like a blanket. These are the people he trusts to be vulnerable with. The people who decide when Hobi has a chance to knot or be knotted. Same as you.

How strange it is, to be equal to an omega in heat and a female omega no less. Hoseok is not used to this. Not the same way that he is with Jungkook and Jin and their heats.

It's good that the others are going first, to show Hobi that it's not scary. You peer up at him with unsure eyes. Like you're checking too. Hobi's anxiety is a low simmer. Barely there but not entirely gone. Threatening to flare should something trigger him.

You're not glaring at him, you're just looking. Eyeing him like you know he's anxious. Your hand twitches. And he moves to hold yours before he thinks better. You don't reach for his knot between his legs, already throbbing. You don't do anything but hold his hand, turning away from Tae's thigh briefly to nuzzle into your tangled fingers.

Tae's eyes are dark pools of honey. And her scent spikes, nice. You turn away from Hobi to resist the urge to bite his wrist. Pain and Hobi are not things that you want to put together. Pain and Hobi are things that your brain, even heat-addled, does not like to combine.

You press your face into Tae's thighs. Half under her skirt. Hiding there. Hiccuping, breathing heavy. Unaware of the dynamic emerging above you. She waits for another breath, watching Yoongi. The four of you go still.

Below him, you start to hiccup. It's nice being filled, but you want Yoongi to move already. Your fist tangle in Tae's dress again. Eyes wide and staring blankly, And it’s like you can’t figure out where to grip, where to grab to keep yourself steady.

But all of this is very routine, if they keep you just there, on the edge. build you up and set you down gently, your eventual Orgasam will keep the next wave of heat at bay for a little longer and your body will have more time to recover. It's a balance, giving you what you want and what your body needs.

you mewl and cry below them, sniffling. you've never been denied before. you don't know why, with your tummy already hot and heavy with yoongi's cum, they're keeping you right on the edge.

Tae massages the back of your neck and you pant little mewling breaths against her thigh. it's not a scruff but it's close because a scruff might just make you cum.

You drag your teeth against her thigh when it gets too much, your cute little canines leave little red lines that vanish as soon as they’re there. Tae just coo’s down at you before flicking her eyes up at Yoongi. Waiting and expectant.

She cocks an eyebrow at him and inside of you, his cock twitches. “Were you going to move or….”

“Yeah- sorry,” Yoongi flushes at the momentary awkwardness, the same awkwardness that dissipates immediately as he starts fucking you again.

He’s thankful you’re so vocal. Drowning out the wet slaps and his own broken curses. You’re so wet- the slide is so easy. So good. Your little 'ah ah ah's are so melodic. Joining the chorus of Jungkook's yelps and Jin's snarls.

You’re being touched everywhere, Yoongi’s hands big on your hips, Hobi’s hand down your back, and Tae cradling your face telling you it’s going to be alright. Every touch stokes the fire to burn harder. You like being touched like this, casually while Yoongi has you. You’re close almost from it alone.

Between your legs you start to drip, first down the generous curve of Yoongi’s cock, then onto the nest below. Staining it with the evidence of your sweet surrender.

“There you go,” Hobi says, low and husky as you fall into a rhythm. Your cheek rests against Tae's thigh, panting openly, hiding a little under her skirt. Hobi's finger strokes over your cheek, and you turn away from the touch, not because you don't want it, but because it's embarrassing. Having them watch you so closely like this, at your most vulnerable.

“Awe, pups so shy huh?” Tae teases, and you nod, blinking away tears.

Tae says something far above you, something that sounds too suspiciously like a command, but it's not meant for you. Hobi's hands go to your face and turn you to where they can see you. His thumbs rub up your jaw, cupping your cheeks, and keep you from hiding away in Tae's skirt.

He doesn't say anything and he doesn't need to as your lower lip quivers. There is no one to hide from, no one here that wouldn't love all of you. There is no part of you, dark or pink or otherwise, that these three- Tae, Hobi, Yoongi- don't know yet and love anyway.

Above you sunlight hits Hobi’s hair, turning it red-brown golden. The light Falls on Tae's dress strap too, across Yoongi’s chest and the veins in his hands, throbbing with a heartbeat from here. And you are breathless breathless breath-

“Deeper want it-“

No sooner have you asked for it than is Yoongi adjusting his position. Barely pausing at his steady pace as he hooks an elbow under your knee, all but picking your hips up so he can fuck into you at a punishing pace. The weight of your body pushes him deeper. Hitting a new place inside of you that’s so sensitive you tremble. Popping through some hidden resistance.

Yoongi keeps it steady, not stopping when you gasp, when you drip below you, hitting his legs as you soak the nest below you. Christening the heat nest with the first wave. Your first orgasm that only builds, a first peak that promises another. You gush a little, squirt a little more, every time yoongi slides into you to the hilt.

From this angle you’re completely unable to push back against it. Even less in control and at the mercy of the pace Yoongi sets faster and faster. Carving out a new feeling in you with every thrust. A space in your tummy just for Yoongi, warm and tight and perfect. Pleasure but also hunger for more more and more.

Any other day the wet sounds of your pussy clenching hopelessly around his cock would make him shy- but now all Yoongi can do is give you more. Chasing his building pleasure. A second climax that is stronger than the first. Building you up to your relief as quickly and as gently as he can.

You can’t remember your last heat, the handful of them that you had with Geumjae, you think you were left alone for most of it. You know it wasn’t anything like this.

Hobi pauses and reaches to touch your stomach.

Your eyes shoot open, looking up at him and the half-hardness tenting in his pants. because of you. for you.

Yoongi and you are honest to God so pretty when you fuck. Hobi hasn’t seen this too much before. Sure- little hints of it here and then. both of you tumbling out of the nest room looking sleepy and sated, He's seen Yoongi's hands wander or your touch linger. But this is-

Yoongi is so gentle with you but also firm. Dominant in a way that takes Hobi's breath away and makes his head feel fuzzy. Forcing you back on his cock, punching little “ah ugh’s” from your throat. So gentle in the way that he takes you apart. unyeilding in the pleasure he demands from you.

And the dirty talk-

"Right there yeah? That's the spot that you like isn't it? cute little omega you're doing so well. So cute, don't worry, i'll give you everything you need. I know, it's so much right? It's not too much, i know you can take it, thats my girl- there just like that."

Hobi's going to go insane, Hobi's going to cum in his pants before he's even gotten inside of you. just from the sound of Yoongi's rough voice. husky from the effort. He's already wet, the front of his boxers turning dark from it. Knot already half popped just from watching and-

Tae pulls at your hair, making your neck arch so she can wipe a bit of drool from the corner of your mouth. Cooing, touching your tongue where it lolls out obscene and cute at the same time. Hobi strokes over your stomach, saying nothing, just watching.

He hopes you can’t feel the tremble in his hands or the rapid thunder of his heart or smell his arousal. His hardness, prominent enough that if there weren’t blankets, you’d be able to see. Your eyes are glassy and wide as Yoongi breeds you, Hobi physically sees the haze descend as you get closer and closer to Cumming. Cheeks and chest flushed and pretty. Your eyes flutter closed. Hobi's hands are still on your cheeks. Tae has the same idea.

Your lips open in a perfect little oh. Yoongi thrusts forward particularly hard, and the wet squelch is filthy enough that he almost looks away. Tae's voice is a deep purr.

“Don’t close your eyes honey, I wanna see.” Yoongi laughs at Tae, Teeth gritting.

“Fucking.” Yoongi pants, driving his hips faster. “Bratty” his pace falters, “Alpha.” Tae's pink lips stretch in a smile.

Tae pets through your hair. And it’s gentle but somehow more ruthless that all they do is watch. You’d blush, but your blood is already hot from the heat.

You sob and Yoongi’s face cracks into a grin. “That’s it, there you go for us, cum for me-”

It builds and builds until you’re right on the edge, you stumble over it when the second wave of Yoongi's cum turns your insides hot. That and the barest touch of Hobi's fingers against your clit that has you clenching wildly around him, clenching too hard, almost forcing his cock out if it weren’t for the way he puts his weight behind his next thrust with a broken groan.

Your ears fill with a ringing sound. High-pitched, mind blank. Staring up at Tae without really seeing her. Going just a tiny bit cross-eyed. Just for a second.

When you finally stop seeing stars. Tae is smiling down at you lazily. A satisfied smirk on her face.

Your slick drips down your midline, just a little. You usually get very very wet when the pack gives you proper attention, in heat- your usually slick production is amped up. If you could feel anything right now, you'd be embarrassed.

The world is a collection of sensations. The ringing in your ears. Yoongi's kiss against your mating mark. The sensitivity of your body against the nest; the fabric damp beneath your belly as they turn you onto your back to wipe up your stomach. The blankets replaced. Someone mentions something about getting towels for the next wave and where did Jinnie put them? In the closet or out in the hall?

They set you down gently. Yoongi stretches your leg out straight and makes sure it doesn’t cramp.

There is a drop of water on the end of your nose. You're crying.

Yoongi doesn't move from between your legs, he stays inside. Because an alpha wouldn't move after breeding an omega, wouldn't be able to take their knot out. Yoongi is accustomed enough to omega's in heat to know when to move and when not to. He'll rest here, in your warmth and wet and mess until you tell him to move.

But still, it’s not enough. You cry, cheeks wet, unsure why exactly. The hunger and rabid wanting animal in you is not quiet. The fever does not ease. It hardly even goes down.

Hobi sits up, nervous, about to go bother Namjoon, knotting or not. The hair on the back of Yoongi’s neck stands up. But Tae shushes both of them rubbing your tears away, bending low to kiss them until she moves you off of her lap.

You barely register Hobi's husky voice. “Did so well, so good ug-omega.” Hobi's flush and his shyness escape your notice. But you do peer up at him, lips pressed to the meat of his thumb. Mumbling, sleepy and sniffly.

“Good? Not scary? Not hurts?” You ask, your words a little scrambled from the heat.

He leans low to kiss your brow. Lingering there for a second, leaving his lips there. Make eye contact with Yoongi over the top of your head. Looking sweaty and victorious and a little bit like he’s gloating as he shakes his long hair out of his eyes. Tae's hand splays on his stomach, bullying up behind him, saying something filthy into his ear, before she swirls her fingers through his tummy hair and then reaches lower.

“Not scary at all.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Your breath hitches, You feel something prod at your sensitive entrance. Something bullying its way in next to Yoongi. The stretch burns but it feels so good. It’s the itch you needed to scratch, the last thing your body was missing. It quiets the fire in you, the flames of wanting ebbing.

You don’t even register that it’s Tae's fingers, sneaking in next to Yoongi and holding you open a little, curling just a bit to simulate the stretch of a knot and press against the scent gland in your pussy, close to your special little spot. Has she had to do this before for Jungkook and Jin? Is this a normal predicament for Yoongi? What does it feel like to have Tae's fingers by his cock and you so warm and wet outside?

Yoongi's pants, pants as Tae…sort of holds his cock while it's in you. He gives a faint twitch and she laughs behind him, hardness pressing against the curve of his hip. Forgotten about it for now.

The extra stretch calms your instincts and the fever ebbs a little. Your sweat cools. Your heart rate slows. Eyelids heavy, starting to get sleepy.

“Thanks Tae.”

You hear the sound of kisses, slow and sloppy as you doze. Comforted by the stretch at your entrance and Yoongi’s cock. You collect moments like seashells. Hobi sprawling out, more relaxed than before. Hand combing through your hair gently. Careful not to snag.

Tae's knees accidentally pressing against your hips. Yoongi strokes up and down your stomach, your sides, everywhere. Your hands pulled to your chest. Unable to focus on anything other than how full and filled you feel. Bred and taken. Claimed by the mark on your throat and the warmth in your tummy. All full, finally full.

The stretch makes you feel a little better- makes the need not quite so frantic. It can wait for later, the need for the others tearing through you. You can take this moment of peace right now.

your mind drifts, the seconds and minutes drifting away.

Warmth comes and goes, There is someone holding a straw with a cup to your lips. Hobi is along your front, half sitting up. The glass is dewy with condensed water. His hands damp.

Was he just standing up? Did he go to the kitchen and leave the safety of the nest just to give you some water, that's so lovely and so sweet. Your instincts tell you that you should let Hobi pup you for that.

As a treat.

You know you won't be awake for long, your thoughts are slippery to hold onto at best. Yoongi rests inside of you and doesn’t pull out. he Lets you cockwarm him and keeps you filled even though he’s going just a little soft. Tae pulls her fingers out once your fever goes down, ebbing until your body temperature returns to a stable baseline and the next wave no longer threatens to flare.

Hobi pokes the straw against your lip, and you suck blindly, obediently. Without opening your eyes. Non-verbal. They’re talking- you register dimly. You don't need to be concerned with what they say, you know they'll look after you regardless of if you're listening.

You rub your cheek against Tae's thighs. You love her thighs, they're so soft and warm. You hope you get to spend all of your heat like this, your head propped up in Tae's lap.

Well…maybe not all of your heat. You'd also like to sit in her lap too, preferably with her knot inside of you. But that can wait, she’s not going anywhere and you’ll make sure of it.

Your fever flares as your heat-addled thoughts run rampant, eyes closed and scent sweetening. It garners the attention of your pack, falling quiet above you.

“Do you think-” There is a hand on your face, your cheek, feeling you for fever. Tae's chipped fingernail polish flashes in the light.

“Not yet. We've got like, half an hour probably? Maybe a bit less?”

The slapping sounds in the hallway have finally quieted and the sound of your pack omega’s purring lulls you into a soft state. Your eyes flutter closed. Jinnie will be here soon, Jinnie is purring so you should purr too.

You fall back asleep, the rumbling in your chest a light lullaby. Above you, your packmates go calm and quiet.

"She smells so calm, it's so- it's so-" Tae rubs down Yoongi’s side, but Yoongi doesn’t look up. Looking down at you, eyes full of some unreadable emotion that is actually not unreadable only because they know Yoongi so well, his breath comes quicker, and he blinks quick.

Lowering his body, getting as close to you as possible. But he doesn’t relax, doesn’t blink so as to not miss a single moment looking down at you. Hand on either side of your body, depressing the nest. Your purring peters off as you actually fall asleep but- but-

Crouched over you, you don't even stir. Your chest rises up and down. Evenly. You nap without worry.

Hobi wants to tell him it’s alright. And it is alright if he needs to cry. Hoseok understands. Sometimes getting what you want finally- the person you love healthy and happy- Can bring up a happy sort of sadness.

Sadness, unfortunately, has its way of sticking around.

You doze below Yoongi, completely unworried and unburdened by any of it, and what a lovely lucky thing that is. For a single moment, Yoongi wishes that nothing would change. That you’d never leave this room and stay just like this. Happy and safe and satisfied forever.

He hovers, lingers in the moment. Tae and Hobi hold him. Letting him process it for a breath or two. The moment will end whether Yoongi wants it to or not.

Tae and Hobi don’t bring it to your attention and you slumber on, unaware. Gently pausing, getting up, abdominal muscles straining. Each of them presses a kiss to either side of your mate's face. Silent in their loveing but Yoongi finds it no less reassuring.

The next time you blink away the haze you can see evening yellow streaming through the window. Casting all of your loves in honey shadows. You don’t think to count for bodies, you’re too focused on the task in front of you.

The very very big task in front of you.

Your instincts sniff it out like blood on easy prey. Your cheek is still on Tae's lap. And there is a scent a few inches from you that makes your fever spike again. Your eyes flutter open and you see it.

Her hardness is right there, poking up through the translucent fabric of her dress. Flush with her stomach and visibly pink and hard. Barely contained by her panties in a way that you know must be uncomfortable.

Tae has such a pretty cock, such an unfairly pretty dick. No doubt, she's still hard because of your heat hormones. Hard and thick and lovely bulging in her skirt. Just looking at it makes your eyes water, your tongue feels slippery and hungry in your mouth.

You start to shuffle forward only to be momentarily distracted by movement in the door.

It’s a little comical the sight of someone so small carrying your big buff omega. Jiminie handles Jungkook like he’s nothing, like he hardly weighs more than a pillow. both of Jimin's hands underneath his knees. Jungkook's arms loosely wrapped around the alpha's neck, kept snug against his front.

Jungkook looks blissed out and dazed. His strong neck and shoulders are bitten up and dotted with red semi-circles. His chest is too- at least from what you can see of it. He's bundled up so close to Jimin's chest, it almost makes his usually muscular form look small. He's probably feeling small and omegaspacy like you are.

He's still knotted to Jiminie judging from the tender and careful way that Jimin carries him.

Jimin deposits both of them in the nest without any unintentional pulling or unknotting the omega. You perk up a little, chin balanced on Tae's knee to watch. Hobi cranes his body, bending backward without getting up, twisting and reaching so that he can get his hand in Jungkook’s hair.

“How is he?”

“Little fucker tried to bite my knot.” Tae giggles, her tummy makes her cock jiggle. You’re so close. All you have to do is press your mouth to the fabric and it will practically be inside. Your tongue is already pushing out and-

She shuffles away, every inch a heartbreak. You are too tired to chirp.

She reaches back mirroring Hobi's position, long chestnut hair spilling in the nest, arching her back and looking at both Jimin and Jungkook upside down so she can tangle her hands in Jungkook’s raven-dark hair. So that her other hand can settle on Jimin’s calf. Sporting several bite marks of his own.

You're too tired to whine or chirp to get her attention. But across the nest, Jungkook shifts. Restless.

“Do we need to muzzle you like we muzzle Joonie, Koo?”

Koo has little more than a huff in response. Uncharacteristically tired after being thoroughly put through his paces by Jimin. But it’s only the first wave, and like I said, hormones take a while to build

For everyone, not just omegas.

Whatever quiet moment Jin and Namjoon are having in the hall comes to an end as Namjoon carries him in, bridal style and no longer knotted to the pack alpha. Not all of you can be as dexterous as Jimin is. Jin doesn’t look like he minds, happy to be placed next to you. Taking Hobi's spot or close to it. It's almost like Namjoon puts Jin on top of your little puppy pile.

It's where Jinnie wants to be, on top of his pups.

Namjoon’s hands linger, but only just, he stands up straight but then ducks down to run his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, messing it up.

“Oh, my fucking god-” Yoongi says, a little incredulous. Already flushing even though Namjoon hasn't even spoken yet.

“Proud of you,” Namjoon says. A grin that is ever so slightly hassling on his face.

Yoongi's cheeks and ears go splotchy. “I’m fucking my mate Jonnie, it’s not something I need a participation trophy for.”

“We could get you one- engrave it ‘best cock in the fucking world’ or something. whatever you want.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I was hoping you’d take it as some light flirting, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’m literally still inside of our omega and you want to flirt with me?” He’s more perplexed than he is annoyed. He looks a bit like a fluffed-up cat, astounded to realize the toy he's been caught playing with is, in fact, plastic and not a mouse.

Beside you, Hoseok flushes and you know it has everything to do with Yoongi calling you ‘ours’ and not just ‘mine’. Namjoon got the job done. Yoongi is no longer looking down at you like he might cry.

“He called your cock great; I think that hardly classifies it as ‘light’” Tae says.

“Guys, I am literally still-“

Jimin pushes Jungkook to the side, all so that he can grind his knot in again, deep, still not going down enough to pull out. The omega lets out a choked whine, at Jimin’s mercy. “I am too- never stopped me.” He turns to Tae. Hips rocking in circles. Absent-minded.

Jungkook tangles a fist in the nest and takes it with sweet little 'hng' noises. “That dress is honestly-“ Jimin trails off, Jungkook lets out an aborted whine at the pulsing in Jimin’s knot.

Tae just raises her eyebrow at him. If Jimin wasn’t red before he is now, especially once her eyes flick down to where he’s knotted to Jungkook. Pushing at his streached rim. Little cock helplessly weepy. His abdominal muscles faintly glossy from drying slick.

Yoongi splutters and you smile against Tae's thigh. Purring your agreement with Jimin. Now if only your hands would cooperate in taking off her dress or at least hike it up-

But Jinnie shuffles over. Still a little non-verbal in Omegaspace, just like you and Kookie. But to the point where his sentences are broken but sure, said with a pout and a command.

“Needed to check, needed to make sure." The others move for the pack omega, parting like the river over a stone. you don't immidatly register it, letting out a petulant whine when yoongi starts to move away.

Jinnie touches your tummy gently, delicate in the way that he sets palm against flesh. Finding it swollen and heavy. Perfectly soft and delicate. He touches you like someone would touch a flower, worried about the slightest brush too bruising.

You’re momentarily distracted by it. The warm heat of Jin’s palm, the flushed pout to his lips and cheeks. Pretty- your pack omega is so pretty in heat. You look up at him, sprawled. Yoongi twitches hardening inside of you as Jinnie bends low to nose at your stomach. Dark hair tickling your belly button.

Jin presses his nose just above your waistline and sniffs deep. when he breathes out it's a purr. Loud and satisfied.

He picks himself up and looks down at you with eyes that reflect no light, no anything. Dark and round like stones. "Bred omega, good packmate, good-"

Outside a bird putters close to the window. Jimin’s head jerks in it’s direction. Taught body relaxing the second he realizes it. Namjoon blinks down at you and Jin slowly.

Yoongi is still somewhat hard but pulling out, and even though it's been 30 minutes since you came, it still garners him a small mewl of displeasure from your throat. He doesn’t let any of his cum slip out. Forcing the little that does come out back in with the tips of his fingers.

but jin needs to see, needs to check, he pulls apart the dewy folds of your cunt with his fingers, nuzzling with his nose, you're so sensitive you jerk, all but mewling when he dares to lap at your entrance. soothing where you got stretched. happy to find you unharmed.

You twitch and tremble. Above you, Tae laughs.

Jin's voice is a deep hiss. "More- more not yet." He rubs his face into your stomach and thighs once more, makeing sure you're scent marked, that the alpha's who defile you will be able to smell him on you before they knot you. before he gets up on his knees and scents them. Hobi first, then Tae, then Yoongi.

He might get a little bit of your slick on them, his cheeks wet in patches with it. it's a little goss but honestly, Jin doesn't notice.

"Good pups. Best pups"

Above all of you, Joonie looks on fond. His knot is still half-inflated at the base of his cock. Still hard and achy and yummy, looking entirely too large to be real. As is normal. Everyone is bare besides your trio that helped you through your first wave and as you realize this, Jin tugs at Hobi's boxers. Displeased.

But you are not paying much attention to Hobi and Jin, still looking at Namjoon. At his knot between his legs. You clench down hard when you look at it, Yoongi’s fingers direct your gaze back up to him. Raising his eyebrows almost in challenge.

Namjoon's scent thickens on the air, but so does Tae's

Hobi ducks away at Jin’s attention and Jin won't let him rest, sniffing at the hollow of his throat, all but backing Hobi up against a wall. Like Jin’s worried he doesn’t believe him. “Best pups” he repeats again, like he's worried hobi doesn't belive him.

“We haven’t even done anything yet-”

“Still. Best. Pups.”

You turn to Hobi, whining, and finally breaking your eye contact and the weird half-tension between you, Namjoon, and your mate. Namjoon finally gets off his feet. Sinking into the nest and shuffling up behind Jin, half pinning him to the nest. Distracting him from quite literally herding Hobi by pawing at his legs. Jinnie has pretty legs, strong thighs and muscular calves. They part when Namjoon prods, more instinct than conscious choice.

Namjoon's hands shift the pack omega's legs apart and start to guide his cock back, not for another round but maybe for comfort. Perhaps he's been influenced by Yoongi's cockwarming to soothe. (That's a nice idea, isn't it? All of their omega's warm and bred full, all at once). Obviously trying to settle whatever instincts are currently rocking through Jinnie.

But Jin makes a noise, alarmed and not entirely interested.

Namjoon is already half inside but he pulls Jin off his cock anyway. His knot falls, heavy and wet with slick and spend against his thigh. He sets Jin down. “Fuck.” The pack omega throws his head back against the nest and blinks away his daze the same moment that Jungkook sighs and pushes back against Jimin before the elder of the two finally pulls his knot free with a gentle hiss.

You assume, more than see- as Namjoon’s hand finds its way between Jin’s thighs to push his spend back into the omega’s hole. You still don’t know how Jin manages to take Namjoon unprepped- even inside of heat.

A whine starts to build while you look at it, how are you supposed to choose?

“Wanna switch?” Namjoon offers reading the pack omega in the way that only sort of soulmates do. You perk up, trying to push yourself onto your palms unsuccessfully.

Jin nods, messy hair fluffing. “Too sleepy, can’t sleep on your knot, s’too-” Jin licks his lips, eyes darting down to look at it. “-Distracting.”

Jimin’s hand is already on Jinnie’s ankle and Jk sits up on his hands and knees. He and Tae make eye contact and before you know it he’s shuffling over to her and she’s starting to shift.

It’s casual like that- your alpha’s talking about which omega to breed next and who needs it most. You’re the only one still blissed out and at ease. Maybe just because you had three packmates to settle you and they only had two.

But you don’t like it. The way that Tae moves away from you.

Your attention ping-pongs back and forth from Namjoon to Tae. Completely unaware of the pack alpha's dark eyes on you. The thing about omega's in heat is that they're a little bit dumb.

Jungkook watches you move, watches Tae jostle you. Pupils dilating in alarm. His own pleasure momentarily forgotten. Your hands tighten on Tae's thighs, a needy whine building in your throat.

“Wait- my mommy- mine-” You chirp. But Tae is already moving away.

And before the others can even breathe Jungkook is jerking in Tae's direction. Lip lifted in a soundless snarl, answering your call first. The quickest.

“Kookie don't you dare.” "omega." “Wait don’t-”

Jk is quicker and stronger in heat. Too quick for Jimin to grab him or for namjoon to dive. He jolts, but at the last second you curve your arm over Tae's hip and his teeth hit you and not her. Hissing and spluttering, a smarting pain that honestly to God shocks you.

Jungkook’s teeth are still embedded in your skin as you look down. Cheeks hot, eyes wide. the rest of the pack falls silent. A bit stunned. But Jungkook just hurtles on, crouching over you and growling and hissing. Jungkook’s nose presses hard into your cheek as he bares his teeth. Licking them. glaring up at tae. “My pup- mine- alpha bad- alpha made omega sad-”

Tae lets out a crushed sound, upset.

Namjoon wastes no time, the first one to move after being shocked still. Getting up on his knees only to drag Jungkook back and away from you. Drawing him over his lap in quick succession, landing several swats over his ass. hard and loud. landing one over his cock for good measure and jungkook folds, breathing heavy. After the third hit to his cock, Jungkook’s yelps become moans.

Namjoon gives him no mercy when he pulls him onto his cock in one fluid movement, not bothering to prep him. Jungkook likes the sting, the stretch. Eyes rolling back.

Tae pulls you up onto her lap. Her cock trapped between your stomach and hers. But she’s not looking at your face but at your wrist. Yoongi shuffles behind you, inspecting it tilting it gently so that the red marks catch the light and they can see the damage jungkook did.

Your skin already already going purple and dark from a bruise.

“Are you alright- are you-” You are not worried about the pain in your arm, only the searing need between your legs. Tae has you in her lap, right where you want to be (unless?). You fumble with her skirt. Tearing it this way and that, hungry and insistent.

Her knot- you need her knot. You grind your hips together hot and filthy. Your pussy against her cock, her dress trapped between both of you. The fabric is rough even though you can feel her body heat through it.

“Mommy- mommy please-”

The room spins, and you're so dizzy you can't even think straight. Jungkook biting you must have sent you hurtling into your next wave of heat, which is not good. Not good at all. If your spikes are too close together at the beginning of your heat then they just won't end at all. A prolonged fever is too dangerous.

She barely pauses before she pulls up the hem to her skirt, letting her cock- pink-tipped and pretty- pop free of the honestly tiny panties, the bow at the front crumpled. You rub against it, turning it wet. The fire flows, sparking hotter and hotter and hotter. She grabs your hips, alarmed.

But Yoongi grabs your waist. Keeps you from putting it inside your hole, clenching around nothing, empty. You wail. You want it. Yoongi tucks his chin over your shoulder, hands running up and down your sides to try and soothe you.

"Wait little honey, let's get mommy nice and wet like this first." He guides you like that, to rub your cunt up and down Tae's length, every push of the head of her cock through your pussy makes you moan and twitch, wetter and wetter. Tae looks down, and it's not just your slick, but Yoongi's spend wetting her cock. Creamy, milky white tinged clear. Fuck.

at the base of her cock, her knot skin feels tighs and swollen, you rub low, getting it nice and wet too.

Yoongi does not let you go further, does not let you put in. his voice is husky in your ear.

"I want you to cum like this before you have her, you have to show Mommy how messy you get just from this, have to show her you're good for a knot too. A big pretty cock like that won't fit in unless you're nice and wet okay honey? You're too tiny to take it without cumming first and besides-" yoongi hesitates.

"don't you want to show them? jinnie and joonie and kookie?"

You nod, eyes glassy. Outside of heat, you might not believe him but right now Yoongi's words are gospel. At least your fever stops it's climbing, it doesn't get any better, but it doesn't get any worse. yoongi heaves a sigh of relief.

You really are unable to choose when you're in heat like this. It's not just useless talk. It really should be left up to Yoongi or the others, or else you'll hop from knot to knot, the heat fever frying your body and brain.

When you look over, Jungkook rides Namjoon. Facing you and pouting. Parting his legs so that you can see where they join. Mumbling something unintelligible that the others can’t make out. But your packmates keep you separated on opposite sides of the nest.

Behind him you hear the hush. “Is Koo? Rejecting her?” they hardly dare risk saying it out loud. “I don’t think so.” But still, the pack is not quite sure what just happened. why jungkook tired to bite you after tae moved away from you.

Deep in Jungkook’s chest, his instincts sing. My pup, alphas need to stay next to my pup, the pup needs pretty alpha. But words remain as effervescent as lucidity, the words just out of reach

Tears hover at the edge of your waterline, across the nest Jungkook watches you, sniffling too. Every time he even thinks of squirming away from Namjoon’s knot to get to you the alpha pulls him back onto it. After a few thrusts, Jungkook is too heat-addled to think straight. Too fucked up to glare at you (he's not glaring, he's staring at you with determination.)

In the nest still lying prone, Jin yawns, stretching out, toes curling. Showing off his cum stained tummy, his flushed cheeks, and the pretty round curve of his body. Raising his eyebrows at the alpha’s in your nest.

Your nest. Yours’s, Jin’s and Jungkook’s. Full of your pretty alpha’s with their pretty knots.

Tae's cock rubs up between your legs, head bumping against your clit and you jerk, only to be met with Yoongi's sushing.

It's so different to have them so close, to have them fucking right here close to you. You're almost more interested in watching Jungkook and Namjoon fuck than you are in getting fucked by Tae. Almost. Your body grids forward unbidden. Eager even if your mind is hazy.

Jin's a bit more lucid (the three of you share a single brain cell in heat, and Jin will keep it in his front pocket for the foreseeable future.) Your packmates sit at attention watching as Jin parts his honey thighs just a little in invitation. His cheeks are rosy as he raises an eyebrow at them.

“Well? Who’s next?”

Three hands shoot into the air. Then after a moment, you shakily raise your hand too.

~-~

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Notes:

part of me did not like the intro of this chapter like at all, almost deleted all of it so many times but? it's so hard putting so much effort into parts of this series that i know will probably never see the light of the final version and then choosing to delete them, like yes the wordcount might be high and this stuff might be a little wordy but? people always wanted more of bily so even months later i'll give it to them.

so i re-read a really good fanfic that was set in like, victorian/viking stuff? and it totally altered my brain chemistry and i feel as though i was writing in a way thats a bit more like, old timey? maybe you can tell because i felt like this chapter was alot more like- flowy than usual.

honestly i'm super proud of the line "Flip-flopping until Jungkook can’t tell if it hurts too much to keep going or if it feels too good to stop." like ugghhhhhhhh thats a good one.

also the line 'each nickname more loving than your own name.' was a very very small refrence to call me by your name, just a little. i do think that the m/c is not very comfortable with her own name, or your name- whatever that may be like- it's very clear that i avoid using y/n as much as possible. i think it appears in the story a good like 10 times after almost a million words? (i double checked and it in fact appears 21 times in the entire story- thats actually mind boggling to me tbh)

the part where yoongi is talking about how healthy the m/c looks was directly inspired by a conversation i had with @trifoliumrex because her ideas are always always so impossibly good i can't resist putting them into the story.

if it's not clear, yoongi is definitly feeling the effect of the m/c's addictive slick and her hormones, he is equally as heat addled as the pack is, he's just never felt the true effects of an omega in heat before because he's never been mated to the person in heat so yeah- it's the mating mark! this won't be the last time we see him acting like an alpha because of the marks.

yoongi *his cock almost in the m/c* so who you fuckin? m/c: the fuck? you?

can we just apreciate how ridicilously hot it is that tae's tiddies jiggle when she growls like??? fuck me right?

now personally i love woumb fucking but i know it's not everyones cup of tea so i hope i skirted by it just perfectly

that moment where yoongi is talking about how there's no one alive whose felt her in heat is a direct dig at geumjae. yoongi does hate him a lot you know- even if he couldn't kill him.

i am so soft for boys that cum too quick but also have no refractory period like i am so into it it almost makes me feel like i'm not a lesbian. i think it's so /cute/.

tbh, i think it's actually fucking adorable how it's thoughts of namjoon penetrating the m/c that has yoongi cuming too soon. like fuck he's so into how namjoon fucks her and how big his cock is- do we think yoongi has a size kink and that that itch is scratched by namjoon fucking her? like just imagine at the begining it was namjoon fucking yoongi that got him off and then he goes out and gets a mate thats even smaller than him who could hardly take namjoon's cock at the begining...ugh i love that.

(tmi but) i always end up subconciously edging myself when i write smut chapters because obviously this is all stuff i'm into and i've got to sit and finish it and wait to like... take care of myself until after i'm finished or else my interest in writing goes away immideatly. i just know that if mommy tae where here she'd make me cockwarm her while i write the chapter and that is a fantasy i'm going to reward myself with later.

i think that this chapter sounds and feels alot different because the process was so drawn out and so much different than other chapters because i had to pause.

i realized while editing this that i needed more of hobi in it so! i hope you enjoy how the wordcount jumped!

yoongi is so horny but also hopelessly sentimental in this my god.

the m/c is so dumb and horny in this chapter like what do you mean she wants namjoon and tae's knot both at the same time? like she can't even take one of those at once without prep normally let alone both-

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hotshotsxyz · 3 days ago

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living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

#you know when you have something important to do but you decide to write an angsty little spec fic instead? yeah #buddiefic #buddie fic #911fic #911 fic #911 #buddie #fic #abbie writes #911 spoilers

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justcreatininthedarkness · 3 days ago

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I really love this prompt, so I had to write something.

after the death of Jackie's lovely grandparents, his family got the estate and their cat. It was all fine and dandy as they started to move in, most things being as they were when his grandparents had lived there. The antique furniture was somehow in perfect condition, not a single scratch from the cat.

Jackie's room was going to be in the attic, so he started to clean out all the old junk. Sorting through stuff that would be worth money and old trash, keeping the antique and the yard sale pile separate. He found some old family photos and portates, setting them aside for later, most likely just planning to throw them away after getting photos of his grandparents.

After a while his parents called him down for dinner. on his way down he nearly tripped over the cat, causing it to meow up at him, it had such a tiny and kitten like mewl. He picked up the fluffy calico and headed to the kitchen. "What was the cats name again?" He asked as the cat jumped from his arms and sat down by its bowl. "I dont remember, it might've just been chat. You can rename her if you want." His mother said as she put together a meal from what they had at the moment. "That's a boy cat," He lifted the calico up by its sides. "See, he has balls." His father laughed at that but his mother didn't find it as funny. "Jackie, I dont want to see a cats genitals before I'm about to eat." The cat wiggled out of his grip, then he sat down to eat with his family.

After dinner he had almost forgotten about the pictures until he tripped over a box of them, making them scatter. With a sigh he began to pick them up, notice a cat in a few of them. A lot of them. Old ones. At first he thought it was just another calico cat, maybe an ancestor of the current cat. But then he noticed over the decades worth of photos, that the patterns stayed the same. Always the same.

He quickly checked the back of the photos, the ones that included the cats name all had him as Sasha. Same pattern. Same name. Same cat.

He rushed downstairs with the photos to show his family, almost tripping over the cat again, but this time he swiftly ran past instead of picking him up.

When he got to his family he frantically told them about the cat as they sat on the couch, they did not look concerned at all. Not one bit. They laughed it off and told him to get ready for bed. When the cat rubbed against his legs he jumped and whisper yelled "I know your secret." Before he ran off again.

He closed the attic door and locked it. Ignoring the meows and scratching that followed a few minutes later; he curled up in his bed and tried to sleep, hoping that this was just a bad dream.

When he woke up the photos in his hand were gone. Maybe it was just a dream after all. As he sat up with a yawn he spotted the cat, sitting at the edge of his mattress. Just a dream. Please? "Hey... S-sasha, that's not actually your name though, that had to have just been a dream... Right Sasha?" The cat meowed in response to his words. He quickly leapt up and ran for the door, it was still locked. It couldn't have been a dream. How did the cat get up there? How was it alive? He heard it's small feet patter forward and he quickly unlocked the door before running downstairs.

He spent his whole day avoiding that cat, spending most of it with his mother as he helped her clean up the house a bit.

The cat kept following him, somehow getting into locked rooms and watching him from windows when he was outside.

He couldn't run forever, and he watched in dread as the cat slowly approached hid bed when he finally had to sleep. He wanted to run, to scream, to do something, but he had stayed awake and avoidant for two days and he couldn't keep his eyes open, no matter how scared he was. He felt paralyzed as his eyes slid shut and he felt something else get on his bed. "Shhh, no one has to know. Let's keep this a secret, ok boy?" What felt like a hand touched his face, two fingers prying one of his eyes open. "Right?" The figer in front of him was still rather small and surprisingly humanoid, it was just a bit smaller than him. Sashas hair was long and fluffy; it was patched with browns and blacks, with streaks of white. His skin was similar. His eyes were still big and cold brown.

He managed a small nod, then Sasha let go and got off the bed as Jackie quickly fell asleep, more likely from magic than exhaustion at this point.

(Sasha btw. I had to draw him. Might draw Jackie next.)

I had to sit down and think about how I would make a person calico. I actually really like it. might render it later.

I need to stop drawing feminine men though...

Your grandparent passes and your parents inherit the palatial estate as well as the care for its cat. After going through several family records you realize the cat has been inherited throughout the generations. You try telling others but they forget. Now it keeps trying to be alone with you.

#writing prompt #writing #art #character art #fiction #my writing #my art #new oc #oc art #Oc

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embbarnes · 2 days ago

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Roasted Chestnuts. | B.B

summary: Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa.

warnings: Angst & Fluff | PTSD symptoms | Nightmares | Post accidental injuries

a/n: I hope this technically qualifies, even though it's sort of angsty. But there is fluff! I decided to use a few themes from the list provided and melded them together. Unedited, mistakes to be fixed later lol. ;; wc: 3.3k

Cold sweat and cold weather don't exactly mix.

Neither did the cold, wooden floor of the living room but...he insisted on it ever since he woke up choking you to near unconsciousness, his hands trembling with horror when he realized what he had done. The hardwood became his self-imposed punishment, refusing the comfort of proper bedding.

He couldn't forgive himself for that, his instability taunted him for weeks after that, having to see the bruise around your throat cause by his hand. Every morning he would catch glimpses of the purple-blue marks adorning your precious neck, each glance a reminder of how close he had come to destroying everything he held dear. The guilt ate away at him, manifesting in sleepless nights and countless apologies that could never seem to erase that moment from his memory.

He deserved it; the chill in the air making every bead of perspiration feel like tiny needles against his skin.

Especially his scars.

His shoulder hurt bad during the winter, which wasn't a huge surprise, but he would've appreciated if his body formed a bit of resistance to the cold by now.

Between endless cryofreezing, Siberian training, the prolonged exposure to freezing should have given him some sort of enhanced ability to withstand the cold but...cruelly, almost laughably, he was more vulnerable to the bite of chill now.

It pissed him off, quite frankly.

But right now, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on his annoyance.

Instead, his thoughts drifted to you as he sat there on the cold floor, his body tucked carefully against the chair that stood positioned by the stark wall. He had turned the chair into an improvised shelter of sorts, his upper body deliberately laid close beside it in a way that almost seemed to mimic having another body near him for comfort. The transition had been gradual over the course of several months, he had slowly grown accustomed to sleeping in a proper bed, and more importantly, he had grown used to having you there beside him.

Your warm, protective arms would wrap around his frame each night, and he had found himself free of any hesitation or shame as he tucked himself against your chest, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeat become his personal lullaby, lulling him into peaceful sleep. Better than any goddamn noise machine he could dream of.

But that peace had been shattered after one particularly visceral nightmare that had resulted in him nearly choking the life from you in his sleep-addled state. He found himself unable to bear the thought of sharing a bed with you again, too terrified of what his unconscious mind might make him do.

He thought he was getting better, he was supposed to be better. The words didn't work anymore...therapy was mediocre at best but it was supposed to help him. Yet, after all of that, he still hurt you.

He's still plagued.

Frustrated with himself and the situation, he kicks the chair slightly, causing it to skid a few inches across the worn wooden floor with a harsh scraping sound. Bucky takes a deep breath, his flesh hand instinctively gripping his dog tags - those small pieces of metal that remind him of who he once was - one his own, one Steve’s.

Damnit, Steve. Why didn’t he stay?

The one man who always had his loyalty, his best friend, he felt so abandoned.

Now he had to dump his shit on you. You didn’t deserve this.

Dealing with what remained of Bucky. Dealing with his problems.

Burdening you with his issues.

All alone.

His vibranium hand nervously bundled the thin, threadbare blanket he used to sleep under. The television continued to drone on in the background, playing yet another cheesy Christmas movie that felt hollow and distant. He didn’t like these ones.

He liked the older ones.

They were simpler, easier to grasp. The fantasy of talking snowmen and flying reindeer seemed far better to lose himself in than these modern romantic tales of a cheerful woman who sings perfect carols and inevitably falls for a handsome shop owner...predictable stories that seemed to play on an endless loop.

The warm glow from the Christmas tree cast a gentle, inviting light across the sparse living room, making the empty space feel more like home. The apartment was still largely unfurnished, your current financial situation wasn’t great to say the least. Bucky's couldn’t get a job with his ‘criminal’ background, nor would anyone hire the Winter Soldier, regardless of how good he worked and how well he was with his hands. That left you as the sole provider. The weight of being the only one working pressed heavily on your shoulders, though you never complained.

You were happy to do it, if it meant Bucky could spend time relaxing and not worrying about anything.

Still, he didn’t like it.

The thought of his girl working for the both of you gave him a sour taste in his mouth, his gut tightened as he saw it as just another burden for you. A gentleman deep down, you having to work to support the two of you didn’t do anything but give him even more mental crisis.

Even when you were on the run in Romania, he found odd jobs. He brought food home. He took care of the two of you. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t think you shouldn’t be working because you were a woman, it’s just…he felt horrible. You did so much for him, and all he could do was sit at home and wait for you to come off your shifts. He felt worthless.

And despite the tight budget, you'd worked extra hours so you could afford a Christmas tree for the apartment. While Bucky had initially been indifferent to the idea of holiday decorations, his memories of past Christmases long since faded into a blur. Watching your face light up as you carefully placed each ornament made every penny worth it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle creak of floorboards, and he turned to find you peering around the corner of the short hallway that led to your bedroom. "Buck Buck...what're you doin' up?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep. Your hair was charmingly disheveled, and his old henley hung loosely on your frame, the hem nearly reaching your knees. Your eyes, still heavy with sleep, blinked slowly, "I heard somethin' out here, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, doll I'm...I'm fine." He exhaled slowly, not exactly confident in his words, shoulders slumping forward as the weight of sleepless nights pressed down on him. His hand still held the dog tags, fiddling with them restlessly as his thumb pad gently traced the engraved names and numbers, a nervous habit he'd developed.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself that?" You asked softly, sitting down beside him on the cold floor, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give him space. "Why don't you come back to bed with me? It's cold out here and that small blanket is not enough... I can see you shivering."

"No." He spat firmly, his jaw clenching with tension, "We've been over this. I'm not going to risk hurting you again. I can't...I won't let that happen."

"It was an accident-" you tried to reason, reaching out instinctively.

"NO!" Bucky snapped suddenly, his volume and tone loud enough to echo off the walls, making you flinch as it startled the sleep out of you. The fear in his own eyes matched yours for a split second.

It was silent for a few beats until finally he found the courage to break it with trembling words.

"I can't...I won't hurt you again. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face - the fear in your eyes when I came back to myself. You can downplay it all you want. The doctors told me how close I came to crushing your trachea. How am I supposed to carry on knowing what I almost did? You still have that dark bruise around your throat, oh...god..." His voice cracked and faded, heavy with anguish. The traumatic memory had carved itself deep into his psyche.

The faceless HYDRA torturers had been replaced in his nightmares, instead, visions of his own hands wrapped around your throat, watching helplessly as the life slowly drained from your eyes.

That was more horrifying than any of HYDRA's torture.

He would willingly submit himself to every cruel experiment, every brutal conditioning session, every moment of agony they had ever put him through - if it meant he could erase that one terrible moment when he had almost become your killer.

"Bucky," you interrupted his thoughts, your hand reaching out hesitantly in the dim light of the room, hovering just inches from his tensed shoulder but not yet making contact. You turned your palm slowly upward toward the ceiling, silently willing him to either take your hand or at least allow you the comfort of touching him. "I promise you, I am fine. Yes, it might've been a bit scary in the moment when it happened, and I understand why you're worried...but I know you'd never hurt me on purpose, not in a million years. It was an accident, nothing more than that."

He shifted uncomfortably under your unwavering gaze, his fingers clutching the deep green blanket even tighter to his chest, drawing it close like armor against both the cold and his own guilt. You could see the slight tremor in his frame, whether from the chilly air or his inner turmoil, you weren't sure. You knew he must be freezing out here in the living room, but if there was one thing you'd learned about Bucky, it was that he could be impossibly stubborn.

No matter how much you yearned to lead him back to the warmth of your shared bedroom, you knew he wouldn't budge an inch, wouldn't dare return to your bed, not while the belief that he might unconsciously harm you still gripped his conscience.

Instead of trying the back and forth of arguing, you decided to do something else. Rising from your spot, you made your way back to the bedroom, your bare feet making soft padding sounds against the aged wooden floorboards that creaked ever so slightly with each step. When Bucky heard you walk away, he assumed you had given up and gone back to bed for the night, so he slowly lowered himself down onto his makeshift sleeping spot, trying to find a comfortable position to attempt sleep.

But your absence was only temporary. Within moments, you had returned.

Your arms were laden with an assortment of blankets and a plush pillow, carried from your bedroom.

"No, doll..." he sat up immediately, preparing to launch into reasons why you shouldn't subject yourself to sleeping on the floor, even if it might be hypocritical. But you possessed every bit as much stubbornness as he did, and you had already made up your mind that he wouldn't have to face this night alone.

"Hush. I'm staying with you, and if that means camping out in the living room, then that's exactly what I'm going to do." You insisted firmly but gently, carefully arranging the blankets and pillow beside his spot. "And if sleep doesn't come easily tonight, then we can always put on a movie to pass the time. But I don't want you to be on your own, you've been torturing yourself for weeks now..."

Bucky looked down at his lap, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his features. "You are such a brat..." He finally replied, his lips pulling into a small, almost reluctant smile. The warmth in his chest grew steadily as he watched you, touched by how adamantly you insisted on sleeping beside him, even if it meant spending the night on the cold floor.

"That's me," you replied with a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now...how about some hot chocolate? If we aren’t gonna sleep, then we might as well have a little treat. Plus, it'll warm you up." You offered, already making your way to the kitchen with determined steps, your mind set on the comforting beverage. "Marshmallows or whipped cream?" You called over your shoulder, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as you deliberately didn't give him any opportunity to decline the offer.

He shook his head slowly, running his hand over his face as an affectionate smile spread across his features, unable to hide how endeared he was by your persistence. "Marshmallows...please," he responded softly.

"And that chestnut flavoring?" You added thoughtfully, observing him still comfortably tucked away on the floor, his form relaxed against the wall. Bucky gave a shy nod, a gentle expression crossing his features, and you couldn't help but smile warmly in return. "We should roast some, I hear people do that this time of year. But I'm not sure why exactly? I haven't had the chance to try them prepared that way before."

You carefully made your way back to where he sat, extending the steaming mug of hot chocolate towards him. The ceramic vessel was filled nearly to the brim, with a generous mountain of tiny marshmallows creating a fluffy white peak on top.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders slightly, reaching up to pluck a few of the dry marshmallows from the pile, popping them into his mouth one by one. "You can eat them plain as a snack," he offered simply, savoring the sweet dissolving treats.

"Yeah, but that seems a bit too plain for chestnuts. How about…a pie? God, I love pecan pie, why not chestnut pie? Or I hear they go good with apples."

"Pie would be really good...you know how much I love your baking," Bucky smiled warmly, his eyes lighting up as he fondly recalled all the delicious sweet treats you had lovingly prepared throughout the seasons. Apple pie was one of Bucky's all time favorite desserts, and he always lit up when you made it for him. You aren’t a professional baker by any means, but the homemade pastries and treats that came from your kitchen had become one of his most treasured simple pleasures in the world.

You sat nestled against him, your shoulders touching as you both sipped hot chocolate and talked about everything and nothing. The conversation drifted from the gentle snowfall outside to potential weekend activities, from dessert recipes you wanted to try together to movies you both wanted to watch.

Bucky had changed visibly since you crept out to see him, his tense shoulders had gradually loosened, the worried lines around his eyes had softened, and genuine smiles now came more frequently. You both occasionally made playful commentary about the predictable romantic comedy playing on screen, sharing knowing looks as the plot became increasingly formulaic and harder to tolerate.

"Can't we watch something else?" Bucky asked, turning to meet your gaze with a slight grimace, "I'm getting tired of these kinds of movies...at this point, I could practically recite exactly what's going to happen next, line by line."

“What do you mean?” You laughed a little, smiling at him as he rolled his eyes in return.

“Let’s see…it’s either Noel, Carol, or some other Christmas themed name for the main girl, and she always moves back to a hometown or is divorced or lonely or just…wandering through life feeling like something’s missing. Meets a handsome guy, a handy man, a baker, someone she knew from her childhood, and they eventually fall in love after this big Christmas event happens.” Bucky muttered, “And there's always singing! That’s been the plot for the last three movies, I swear.”

"Sure," you responded with another laugh, he hit the nail on the head. You reached forward for the remote and scrolled through channels until you stumbled on one specifically for classic holiday films. "Oh my god, this one! It's from, like...1960." You watched, somewhat amused, as the distinctively vintage stop-motion animation showed Rudolph trudging through the snow, the character's movements charmingly stilted by today's standards. Your finger hovered over the remote button, ready to continue searching.

"No, no...don't change it," he interjected softly, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice, "I'd like to watch this one..."

"Really? Alright," you set the remote down and got comfy. These classic films held a special place in your heart, each frame bringing back cherished memories of curling up on the couch as a child, lost in the magic of storytelling and still believing in Santa Claus. "This used to be one of my favorites," you murmured softly, snuggling closer against him. Bucky lifted his right arm, eager to feel your heat against his bare chest. He hadn't experienced watching these movies the same as you had, his past denying him even these small comforts.

It wasn't like HYDRA allowed him a tv.

Watching it now, even without the foundation of the right nostalgia, he was drawn into the film's spell. There was something touching about its simplicity, the way it managed to weave enchantment through every scene despite its less sophisticated approach. Even with its fantastical storyline, it carried an authentic magic that resonated deep within him, something pure and genuine he could instinctively recognize. Much better than the movies he had seen all day.

The first movie seemed to float by in a comfortable haze, and before you knew it, another began to play. These old ones didn’t have a very long runtime, but you forgot just how quick they fly by. The Charlie Brown Christmas movie filled the screen with its familiar charm. The gentle orchestration of the score and soothing tone of the character’s voices set a comfortable mood in the room.

While the movie played, you felt a slight shift in weight beside you. You glanced over and noticed Bucky's empty mug resting forgotten in his lap, old white foam from melted marshmallows sticking to the rim, his features softened as his eyelids had finally drooped closed. His weight leaning more against yours, and you carefully adjusted yourself.

"Oh, Bucky..." you whispered tenderly to yourself, watching as the exhausted man finally succumbed to sleep, the warm hot chocolate having done its job exactly as you'd hoped it would. Gently, you removed the empty mug from where it rested precariously on his lap and eased him down into a more comfortable position, making sure his head was properly supported by the plush pillow beneath it. You then took your time meticulously arranging the thick blankets over his body, paying particular attention to his metal arm, ensuring it was completely covered.

The winter months were especially difficult for him, the cold made the connection points of his prosthetic ache terribly, so you made sure that every inch of the metal limb was thoroughly insulated against the chill.

Damn, you should really invest in a heated blanket…they were just so expensive.

You were determined to get one for him though.

After adjusting the television volume just a little to create a soft, ambient background noise, you settled yourself beside his sleeping form. You snuggled in close, your hand moving in slow, soothing strokes up and down the broad expanse of his back.

Even in the depths of sleep, he instinctively sought out your warmth, shifting closer until his face was buried against your chest, his arm wrapping around you in a secure embrace. Though the weight and coolness of the metal arm pressed against you was initially a bit uncomfortable since the henley rode up a bit, but you quickly adjusted. Vibranium was nice, once it warmed it would stay that way for a long time.

But the same vise versa, meaning you really should get a heated blanket soon.

For now, this would do. You'd be the heat he needed, even if it meant staying with him on the floor.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

@buck-star 's Fluffy Winter Event.

#sydneysfluffywinter #fluff star winter event #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #emwrites🌿

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brookaboo · 2 days ago

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little protector

Katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

Summary: Bakugo and the reader get into an argument that leads to an emotional moment, with the reader upset and their young son witnessing it. The son, who is around four years old, becomes a little protector, comforting his mom and showing love even when his dad is mad. When Bakugo returns, he faces the consequences of his actions with his son's silent disapproval

The argument had started over something small, as they always did with Bakugo. He was stubborn, fiery, and sometimes too prideful for his own good. You’d tried to keep your cool, but his sharp tone and harsh words had worn you down until your voice cracked, tears spilling before you could stop them.

“Why do you always have to blow everything out of proportion, Katsuki?” you said, your voice trembling.

“Because I’m right, that’s why!” he barked back, his crimson eyes flashing with frustration. But the moment he saw the tears on your cheeks, his expression faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he scoffed and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The house fell silent except for your soft sniffles as you sat on the couch, wiping at your face. You didn’t hear the little footsteps until a small hand tugged on your sleeve.

“Mommy?” a tiny voice asked.

You looked down to see your four-year-old son standing beside you, his big red eyes—so much like Bakugo’s—filled with concern.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you said, quickly wiping your cheeks again. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead climbing onto your lap and wrapping his arms around your neck in a firm hug. “Daddy’s mean,” he said quietly, his little face pressed against your shoulder.

You sighed, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “He’s not mean, baby. He just gets mad sometimes.”

Your son pulled back slightly, his small hands resting on your cheeks as he looked at you with a serious expression. “Even when I’m mad, I still love you, Mommy. Daddy should do that too.”

His words broke something in you, and fresh tears spilled over, though this time they were a mix of sadness and overwhelming love for the little boy in your arms.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” you whispered, holding him close.

The front door opened, and heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway. Bakugo walked into the room, his expression guarded, though his eyes softened when they landed on you and your son.

Your son, however, wasn’t having it. He turned in your lap, crossing his tiny arms over his chest and glaring at Bakugo with all the defiance his four-year-old self could muster.

“Daddy, you made Mommy cry,” he said, his voice firm.

Bakugo froze, his eyes flickering between you and your son. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

Your son cut him off, turning his head away with a dramatic huff. “I’m not talking to you.”

You bit back a small laugh despite yourself, watching as Bakugo looked genuinely panicked for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a frustrated sigh before crouching in front of the two of you.

“Hey, kid,” he started, his voice softer than usual. “Look, I was being a dumbass, okay? I didn’t mean to make your mom cry.”

Your son didn’t respond, still pointedly looking away. Bakugo’s gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, his tough exterior cracked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “To both of you.”

You nodded, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. “Apology accepted. But you’ve got some making up to do.”

Bakugo sighed, then turned back to his son, who was still glaring at him. “Come on, kid. Don’t make me beg.”

After a long pause, your son finally looked at him, his arms still crossed. “You gotta say sorry to Mommy again. And hug her.”

Bakugo’s lips twitched into a small smirk as he glanced at you. “You heard the boss.”

He leaned over, wrapping his arms around both you and your son. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I’ll do better.”

Your son finally uncrossed his arms, resting his head on your shoulder as he mumbled, “Okay, but don’t make Mommy cry again.”

Bakugo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Deal, little man. Deal.”

#mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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harrysfolklore · 13 hours ago

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i’ve always loved the piastri sis lore because the sibling dynamic is so healthy but just to switch it up a little bit in the tiny verstappen!sis universe i can imagine her skipping out on the WDC celebrations with max and be with charles instead and max is a little mad at her at qatar until kelly knocks sense into him 🥰

verstappen!sister was one of the first f1 fics i ever posted 🥺🥺 its kinda heartwarming that you guys still remember it and want to read more about them! it was nice to take a dip into that little world agai, i hope you like this!

READ VERSTAPPEN!YN HERE

The neon lights of Las Vegas blurred through as you rushed through the paddock, your heart torn between two directions. Behind you, the thunderous celebration at Red Bull's garage continued – your brother Max had just sealed his fourth world championship. Any other day, you'd be right there, spraying champagne and screaming until your voice gave out.

But right now, all you could think about was Charles.

You found him in the Ferrari cooldown room, still in his race suit, head in his hands. He looked up when you entered, those green eyes stormy with frustration.

"Mon coeur," he whispered, and despite his evident pain, his lips curved into a small smile at the sight of you. "You're here."

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him. He buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply. "Of course I'm here. Always."

"I had it," he mumbled against your skin. "I had the pace, the position... everything. Then they called me in at the worst possible moment—" His voice cracked slightly.

You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly. "I know, baby. I watched the whole thing."

Charles pulled back slightly, cupping your face with both hands. "You should be celebrating with Max, though. It's his championship. I don't want to take you away from that."

"You're not taking me anywhere," you said firmly, pressing your forehead to his. "I choose to be here."

He kissed you softly, gratefully. "Je t'aime. What did I do to deserve you?"

"Existed," you smiled against his lips. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

As you were leaving the cooldown room, hand in hand with Charles, you nearly collided with Max in the corridor. Your brother was still in his race suit, championship cap askew, smelling of champagne and victory.

"YN?" His voice was smaller than usual. "Where were you? Everyone was asking... we were all celebrating and you just disappeared."

Guilt twisted in your stomach. "Max, I'm so sorry, I—"

"She was with me," Charles said quietly, squeezing your hand.

Max's face fell slightly, though he tried to hide it. "Oh." He looked between you both, jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. "I thought... it's the championship, YN. Our fourth championship."

"I know," you said, stepping forward to hug him tightly. "And I'm so, so proud of you. You were incredible out there. But Charles needed me."

Max returned the hug, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders. When he pulled back, his expression was complicated – hurt mixed with resignation.

"Sure, whatever. Stay with your boyfriend." He shook his head, jaw clenched. "It's fine. Not like it's my fourth world championship or anything."

The sarcasm in his voice cut deep. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Charles standing in the corridor.

The next morning, you found Max in the hotel gym, pounding away at a treadmill despite probably being hungover from the celebrations. You knew your brother well enough to recognize when he was working out his frustrations physically.

"Max," you called out softly.

He didn't look at you, just kept running. "Shouldn't you be with Charles?"

"Can we talk? Please?"

He jabbed at the treadmill controls, slowing to a stop. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was guarded. "About what? About how you ditched your own brother's championship celebration to comfort your boyfriend? Because he finished P4?" He grabbed his towel, wiping his face roughly. "Real nice, sister."

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Kelly already gave me the whole speech last night, you know," he said, "Something about 'understanding love' and 'being supportive' and how she'd do the same for me."

"And?"

"And I told her she's supposed to be on my side," he said, but there was less heat in his voice than before. "She just laughed at me."

You sat down on a nearby bench, and after a moment, he joined you. "I'm still mad," he admitted. "And it's still weird as hell that my sister is dating Charles bloody Leclerc of all people."

"Could be worse," you tried. "Could've been Lewis."

"Don't even joke about that," he groaned, but you caught the tiny smile he tried to hide. His face turned serious again. "Kelly made some good points though. About how she'd choose to be with me if I was struggling after a race, even if it meant missing something important. Still doesn't mean I like it."

"I really am sorry about disappearing like that."

"I wanted my sister there," Max's voice cracked slightly. "You've been there for every important moment in my career. Every single one. Until yesterday. It's like ever since you started dating him, I'm losing my little sister bit by bit."

"You're not losing me, Max. You're my brother, nothing will ever change that. But Charles...I love him."

Max was quiet for a long moment. "You really love him that much? It's that serious?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "It is."

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I still don't like it. And I'm still mad about yesterday." He paused, then added grudgingly, "But I guess I need to get used to sharing you. Just... don't disappear on me like that again, okay? I had to listen to Helmut asking if you were sick or something. Do you know how awkward it was explaining that my sister was too busy consoling a Ferrari driver to celebrate with us?"

"Did you actually tell him that?"

"No, I told him you had a headache. You're welcome, by the way." He paused. "But seriously, YN. I get that you love him or whatever—" he made a face at the words, "—but you're still my sister."

"And you're still my annoying big brother," you leaned against his shoulder. "So... fourth championship, huh? Getting a bit boring now, isn't it?"

"Never," he grinned, then added more seriously, "Would've been better with you there though."

"I'll make it up to you. Plus, there's still family dinner tonight."

"Yeah, about that..." Max's expression turned mischievous. "I might have told Mom to make that really spicy Indonesian dish Charles couldn't handle last time."

"Max!"

"What? If he's going to be family, he needs to build up his tolerance," he said innocently. "Besides, it's payback for making me miss my sister at my championship celebration."

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but I'm a four-time world champion impossible brother," he smirked, pulling you into a headlock like when you were kids. "And don't you forget it."

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pixiecaps · 2 days ago

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youtube

i recommend watching connors video its really well done i think he went into the topic in a wonderful manner. he goes into the timeline of everything, explaining vtubers, mouseys primary immune deficiency, and all that context that i think people tend to gloss over.

connor even goes into showing examples of the hate mousey has gotten on platforms like tiktok. which sorta illustrate the overall picture of what mousey has had to consistently deal with. i think one of the moments for me when i realized how bad the hate had gotten was during the subathon where everyday people would come into mouseys chat to say something hateful. everyday. to the point where mousey would have to address these comments and specifically told her community, hey i know seeing hate sparks the reaction of wanting to comment back but dont. and if you truly feel the need to then simply reply donate plasma. saying this while facing some of the most malicious hate ive ever seen. still she would rather try to spread some positivity and awareness by saying to donate plasma rather than trying to shit on other creators communities which is a level of maturity i fucking admire. and i think in this period of the internet we dont see all too often. in the video connor actually shows examples of these chat messages from a 85 PAGE LONG DOCUMENT. fucking bizarre. and yet i still remember during that subathon era seeing people say she wasn’t getting hated on at all and that her fans were exaggerating.

what i really appreciate is connor even making this video on this cause as someone who watches ironmouse consistently and watched the entire subathon and all their streams together this is a topic that mousey is very vocal on with her chat and she talks a lot about this to connor. and he’s always been very sympathetic and there to defend her so it’s cool to see him constantly have her back and vtubers as a whole since hes so intertwined with these communities despite them not being his community per say. connor bluntly stating in the video, “yes you got me. this is a video about me defending my friend 100%. i’m not even trying to hide that. but i also just want to bring a tiny bit of attention to the level of normalized hate that is for some reason acceptable.” is awesome. and a video like this hopefully can inform others and make people realize that the level of hate thats accepted on the internet nowadays is wild. and i need this to be clear mousey has spoken about this hate train she’s been enduring a numerous amount of times and it doesnt get seen as much. but she has spoken about it and what she sees and gets told privately on a daily basis. from her own words the hate just gets more intense as time goes by. and it sucks that shes such a kind creator who has to deal with it just cause shes.. a vtuber.

in short. never send hate to anyone. be kind. watch more vtubers theyre fucking talented and great content creators. fuck what anyone else says about them.

#cdawgva #ironmouse

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 17 hours ago

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Hawks x Y/N | Doggy Style

Just pictured Hawks fucking me doggy style and I straight up drooled...so here's a little head cannon about it. A18+ MDNI

When Hawks lines himself up behind you, your dripping wet with anticipation. He starts like he always does, gently spreading your legs and slipping his hands up and down your hips to appreciate your curves.

You shiver when you feel the head of his cock brush against your sensitive pussy. He grins and slides his dick back and forth against you slowly. His cockhead glides against your clit and you see stars at the contact.

"Please, Keigo." You groan out, face planted firmly in a pillow, your ass up in the air beneath his capable hands. "Can't wait any longer."

You hear him chuckle to himself from behind you, and then feel him gently pushing inside. That's the thing about Keigo - he's always so, so gentle when he fucks you.

It's funny...you're not even together. Not really. Just two friends who's careers prevent them from dating and settling down. Instead of trying your hands at the dating market, you fuck each other. It's easier this way. Less complicated. You each know what the other likes in bed, and there's no time to sleep around so you don't need to waste time with condoms.

He fucks into you slowly, like you're something precious. Strong, calloused hero hands grip the sides of your ass as he buries himself inside of you, inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he lets out a strangled gasp. "No matter how many times we do this, I never get used to the feel of you. So goddamn good." He practically growls, throwing his head back as he starts to move inside of you.

Each stroke is measured - he finds the perfect rhythm and tempo as he glides in and out of your soaked pussy. Your hazy brain's pleasure receptors sparkle at the way he bucks his hips to hit that special spot deep inside of you. You feel your orgasm building as he slides a hand down your hips, up your stomach and smooths rough fingertips across your nipples. You vaguely wonder at when this turned from a friends with benefits situation to love. When he fucks you like this - all sweet and thoughtful - you swear you're in love with him. This has got to be love, right?

He keeps his pace steady and scoots closer to you so he can kiss at the planes of your back. He presses soft, open mouthed kisses to all the skin within his reach. You back up into him, feeling his balls bounce against you as he keeps his rhythm steady.

"Yes, baby. Just like that. Take it. Take everything I've got." He practically moans, singing your praises as you help him fuck you. That's new - since when did he call you baby!?

"Keigo!" You cry out as he brings his fingertips down to play with your clit. He rubs slow, lazy circles around you, encouraging you to cum whenever your ready. "Keigo fuckkk. Cum inside me? Please. Please cum inside me oh fuck."

He doesn't need telling twice - he lets himself get comfortable inside of you, enjoying the warm squeeze and stretch of your tiny cunt as he fucks you.

You cum around his cock within minutes, crying out his name as he fucks you into oblivion. A creamy ring forms around his dick as you throw it back and fuck him senseless - riding out your orgasm as he rolls his hips steadily. The fluttering of your pussy around his dick sends him over the edge as well. Thick, warm ropes of cum fill you up quickly. Your pussy milks him, taking every bit of cum his cock is willing to give you.

When he's finally finished inside of you, he slowly pulls out. You know he likes to watch the creampie drip out of you slowly, so you hold your position to give him a good view. When he's had his fill of looking, he slips off the mattress and grabs a warm washcloth from the bathroom to indulge in some after care. He wipes gently between your legs, avoiding your gaze as does so.

"So..." He says, somewhat awkwardly as he wipes up his baby batter between your thighs. "I don't know that I can do this casually with you anymore. Y/N. I'm, like, down bad for you."

You snap your legs shut and look up at him, surprised.

"I want us to be more than fuck buddies. I think we should go on a date." He says earnestly, handing over the washcloth so you can continue the job on your own. "I mean...of course I want to continue fucking. Fucking you is literally my favorite thing. I just want it to mean something more."

"Keigo, you're babbling." You say. The face you're making is absolutely priceless - you definitely weren't expecting this conversation to happen tonight.

"Cumming makes me emotionally intelligent." He jokes, throwing you a cheeky fan service wink. "Think about it. The date, I mean."

"Alright. Let's start now. Wanna go grab some food?" You say, your stomach growling loudly in agreement. Hawks looks at you with hearts in his eyes and nods excitedly.

"A woman after my own heart." He slides off the bed to gather up your clothes and pass them your way. "It's a date."

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 21 hours ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you’ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

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