#snow removal rates

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

For reference this is the winter coat I own and would thus be wearing these with for the most part:

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 16 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of Taehyung punching Jungkook, alcohol, explicit content: car sex, hickey, oral sex (female receiving), begging, fingering, praising, jerking off, big dick!Jungkook, unprotected sex (please don't be stupid)

☆word count: 8.9k

☆a/n: almost done :( i hope you guys love this chapter, it makes me very soft :') thank you to @moonleeai beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, October 14th

You wake up slowly, soft snores by your ear rousing you from your slumber. You’re confused for a time, not recognizing the scene, but the second your eyes lay on Jungkook, everything comes back.

The fear, the hurrying back home, the tears and the confessions. Everything comes back with stark clarity, and you smile as you peek towards Jungkook. 

He’s sleeping on his side, facing you, his hand resting on your stomach. His lips are slightly parted, and it soon becomes evident that he is the source of the snoring as he takes a deep breath, letting it out as a rumble through his chest. It’s adorable, and your heart melts at the sight, filling with warmth for him.

But unfortunately you woke up for a reason, and that reason is because you need to go to the bathroom. So you carefully remove Jungkook’s hand from your stomach, and he slightly frowns, his mouth closing. You’re afraid you’ve woken him up, but the snoring resumes a few seconds later, and you reach into the space between you, gently pushing a strand of his hair back from his face. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, lips lingering on his skin for a few seconds before you pull away, sliding out from underneath the covers to get up. 

The floor is cold under your feet, and you shiver, searching the dark room for a shirt to put on. You find one of Jungkook’s t-shirts, and you immediately put it on, shivering some more once you’re half-dressed, the shirt more like a dress on you.

You tiptoe out of Jungkook’s room, gently shutting the door behind you. The orange light from the neon light outside in the street illuminates the living room, guiding your steps to the bathroom. But light filters from underneath the door, and you freeze in the middle of the room when the door opens, revealing Taehyung.

He takes in the sight of you, clenching his jaw as he turns off the light from the bathroom. You just stare at him for a few seconds, your nails digging into your palms at the reminder of the anger you harbour for him.

“Everything okay in there?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

“Y/n…”

“Are you done in there?” you query, taking a few steps forward as you motion to the bathroom.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

The apology falls flat, and you stop, folding your arms on your chest. “I just want to go to the bathroom.”

He gauges you for a time, holding your gaze, and then he steps to the side. “Jungkook and I talked,” he admits. “We’re good. That’s why he came back.”

“Good for you,” you let out as you walk the rest of the way to the bathroom.

Taehyung stops you from closing the door, slapping his hand on it. “I really am sorry,” he insists. “I was pissed at him, not at you.”

“You should not have been pissed at any of us, Taehyung,” you seethe through your teeth. “I’m an adult. I am allowed to do what I want to do. What was so wrong with it?”

“Jungkook is…” he trails off. “Was the kind of guy that would just hurt girls. I didn’t want that for you.”

“It was none of your business,” you say. 

He sighs. “I would have just appreciated it if you guys told me before.” He pauses, his arm falling at his side, but you don’t move to close the door just yet. “I kind of knew. I had my suspicions all semester, and then in Paris too.” He takes a deep breath, glancing towards his bedroom. “I really would have just liked that you guys tell me. Now I just feel blindsided.”

You clench your jaw, shutting your eyes. “Taehyung. You have nothing to do with my relationships. We did not have to tell you shit, and you were not blindsided. You had nothing to do with us.”

“He’s my best friend, and you’re my sister,” Taehyung says. “I’m not saying I should have been involved in the relationship, Y/n. I just wish you’d trusted me and told me.”

You slowly shake your head. “It’s not like you gave me any reasons to trust you, Tae. You told him to not touch me.”

Taehyung snorts. “That didn’t stop him. Pretty sure it just spurred him on.”

For a moment, you just stand there, your gaze widening. You see that Taehyung is trying his hardest, but you’re not ready to forgive him. You don’t even know if you want to forgive him - he came very close to ruining everything between you and Jungkook, and you don’t think you can forgive him for it.

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Taehyung adds after a few seconds, his baritone voice barely over a whisper. “I fucked up. But we laughed about the fact I punched him so, I guess we’re good?”

You’ll never understand guys. If you were Jungkook, you would hate Taehyung for the rest of your life. But you reckon maybe you should take a page out of Jungkook’s book.

“I don’t think he’s upset with you,” you carefully reply.

Taehyung nods, sensing that you probably don’t want to speak about it anymore. So he says, “I hope you guys manage to fix things. I’ve never seen Jungkook so distressed about someone before.”

“I think there’s a lot that you don’t know about him,” you say.

There’s a lot you don’t know yourself, too.

“Ah, that’s fine,” Taehyung says, shrugging his shoulders. 

Guys and their friendships indeed.

“M’kay,” you let out. “I… I’ll go now.”

Taehyung nods again. “Sounds good. Sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing, you’re getting on my nerves.”

He snorts. “There’s my sister.”

He moves to ruffle your hair, and you push him away as he laughs. “Good night, Tae.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

And though you don’t think you’ve forgiven your brother yet, you feel a little lighter when you go back to bed, Jungkook pulling you back into his embrace with a soft sigh.

Friday, October 18th

You’re anxious. You don’t know why - it’s just Jungkook, but this will be your first real date, and there’s something about it that renders you anxious, palms sweaty as you check your makeup for the thousandth time in the mirror, making sure that it’s perfect.

Your friends were relieved when you told them what happened last Sunday. When you explained the misunderstanding, and that you and Jungkook were good now. You could have cried saying it. Jungkook and I are good now. 

You never would have believed yourself if you’d said you’d end up with Jungkook, months ago. Hell, you recall the Incident - it was the first step into the madness that falling for Jungkook was, but now you feel as sane as ever.

Jungkook is your sanity, as much as he’s your insanity.

But yes, your friends were all happy for you. Even Yoongi, though he did complain that he was the last one standing in the single zone. You don’t think he’ll be there for much longer. You see how the reception guy has been eyeing Yoongi up, and you know Yoongi just needs a push in the right direction. 

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you straighten. Your makeup is perfect - Ria helped, though she left twenty minutes ago, as she had a date with Seokjin to get to. 

She’d screamed when she’d seen your Yves St-Laurent dress. You felt like it was fitting to wear it tonight, considering that Jungkook bought it for you. It fits you just as well as it did then, making you feel like a princess once again. But it does nothing for the nerves in your stomach - you think you need to see Jungkook for that to be solved.

“Okay,” you whisper, grabbing your purse and your phone. 

Jungkook texted you three minutes ago to tell you he was ready, and to meet him in the living room. You’d thought it was funny, but right now, as your hand reaches for the doorknob, you wonder if you should tell him you’re sick.

You’ve never been this anxious about a date before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath.

“Y/n?” Jungkook says on the other side of your door, and you let out a startled shriek. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” you quickly reply. “Yes, sorry, I’m almost ready.”

“Okay.”

You take a deep breath, amassing whatever courage you can find, and then you finally open the door.

Jungkook looks beautiful. He’s dressed in black dress pants, with just a white linen dress shirt that he’s tucked in the pants. It’s rolled around his forearms, revealing the ink on his right arm. He’s styled his hair for the occasion too, revealing more forehead than you’re used to seeing with him, and you’re hit with the musky scent of his cologne a second later.

Most of all, your eyes catch in the huge colourful bouquet of flowers he’s holding.

“Oh,” you let out. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t decide which colour you’d want, so I told them to put a little bit of everything.”

“Kook…”

He grins. “I hope you like it.”

You can’t help the smile curving your lips. “I love it.”

You grab the flowers, inhaling their fragrance as Jungkook just looks at you, his grin falling into a much smaller lovesick smile.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments you, and a light blush takes over your cheeks as you eye him up and down.

“So do you.”

He smirks. “Ready?”

You nod, though you raise the bouquet. “I should probably put this in water.”

You do so, heading towards the kitchen to find a glass big enough to put the flowers in it. You indeed do not own a vase, and Jungkook pouts and apologizes for it.

You kiss his cheek to reassure him, and then you carry the flowers back to your room, putting them on your desk. A second later, you’re back in the hall in front of the door, and Taehyung and Ariane wave goodbye as Jungkook grabs your hand.

“We’ll see you losers later!” you say, and Taehyung laughs.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he replies.

Jungkook laughs, saying, “Fuck off, Tae.”

You grab a coat from the closet - the weather has grown colder in the last few days, and though Jungkook is driving you to the restaurant he chose, you don’t want to get sick around your midterms. Jungkook puts a coat on too, and a second later you’re walking outside, the wind catching in the lapels of your coat. You shiver, hurrying down the stairs.

“Shit, it’s cold,” you grumble.

Jungkook kisses your forehead, and suddenly it feels like the warmest summer day.

“Let’s hurry then,” he says, and you hold hands as you walk to his car, which fortunately isn’t parked too far.

You blast the heat the second the engine purrs to life, and Jungkook laughs next to you, his hand finding your thigh. You chat about everything and nothing as he drives you to the restaurant, and he drops you right in front of the doors despite the fact that he needs to go park further away. You complain about it, saying that you’re fine to walk with him, but the stern look he sends you makes you pout, though you obey and slide outside of the car to walk into the restaurant. 

It’s fancy. You’d expected it to be fancy, but you didn’t think it would be fancy fancy. There’s a huge crystal candelabra hanging from the ceiling in the hall, the lights catching in the crystal and reflecting the multiple facets. The walls are covered in red tapestry, and fake dark wood columns climb the walls as if they’re holding up the ceiling.  It’s beautiful, extravagant, and though you feel out of place, you know that you’re okay.

You belong anywhere in the world where Jungkook is, and tonight, it’s at this restaurant. 

Jungkook meets you in the lobby a few minutes later, cheeks red from the cold wind outside. His hair is slightly ruffled, a lone strand having escaped from the confines of his hairstyle, and you immediately reach up to push it back.

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, tugging you close to kiss your cheek. “Let’s go.”

You walk up to the desk, behind which the hostess has been waiting for you. She smiles at the two of you, and then leads you to the table that Jungkook reserved for the evening.

The restaurant proper is just as beautiful as the hall, with its dim lights that hint at a romantic ambiance. Candles adorn the center of every table, on top of white tablecloths lined with gold. You’re pretty sure the glasses on the table are also made of crystal, but you don’t focus on them long enough to tell as Jungkook helps you out of your coat, draping it over the chair he’s pulled for you.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you tease as he walks around the table and sits in front of you.

“Esmeralda raised me well,” he answers.

You furrow your brows in question. “Esmeralda?”

He smiles gently. “My nanny.”

Oh.

He hasn’t told you much about her, but you know he cared for her a lot. It shows in the way his eyes dip to the table, and in the deep breath that he takes, heaviness settling on him.

“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” you gently say.

He nods, meeting your gaze again. “She was the best. She would have loved you.”

You’re not sure about that statement, but it makes butterflies take flight in your stomach all the same. 

“I would have loved her, too.”

Jungkook’s smile grows bigger as the heaviness lifts, and he looks at you with the sparkles in his doe eyes that you’ve come to love so much through the months.

Before you can speak more, you’re handed menus for drinks. Jungkook suggests a bottle of red wine, and you accept the offer, trusting him more than you to know what to drink at a place like this. As the waitress takes the order, you glance around to the other couples, fast in intimate conversations all around you. Jazz music is playing over hidden speakers just loud enough so that you can’t hear the people around you, and it really makes for an intimate ambiance, like maybe it’s just you and Jungkook in the restaurant tonight.

“You like it?” Jungkook asks when the waitress leaves.

“Like it?” you repeat.

“The restaurant.”

You nod, scanning the place with your gaze once more, before setting your eyes on him. “Yes. It seems really fancy though.”

“I can’t treat my girl?”

Your mouth falls open as your heart starts racing in your chest. “Your girl?”

He grins. “Are you not my girl?”

You’re blushing. You’re blushing like crazy, yet you can’t help the small happy dance that takes over you. Indeed, you squirm on your chair, smiling wide as Jungkook chuckles softly.

“That’s right, I’m your girl,” you reply. “And you’re my boy.”

He scrunches up his nose. “That makes it sound like I’m a baby.”

“Are you not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, though the amusement that paints his features tells you that he isn’t annoyed in the slightest.  “We should choose what to eat.”

He’s right, and so you grab a menu to choose what you want. A few minutes later, when the waitress returns with the wine bottle, Jungkook lets you taste it despite your lack of knowledge of wine. You judge it good enough, nodding wisely as Jungkook snorts in front of you. You throw him a warning glare, though it’s more teasing than anything, and then you both order your meals along with an appetizer of beef tartare to share. 

The conversation is easy after that, while you share a first glass of wine. It truly is a good wine - it’s a lot sweeter than you expected it to be, and you enjoy the taste of it as Jungkook tells you stories from his childhood.

By the time the beef tartare arrives, the conversation has shifted to what you did during the summer.

“I’m jealous,” Jungkook says when you tell him about the camping trip with Taehyung and your mother. “I’ve never gone camping.”

Your gaze widens. “You haven’t?”

He eats a piece of tartare, nodding his head. “Never.”

“Let’s go next summer!” you say. “You can tag along on our trip. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind.”

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “As long as I get to share a tent with you.”

“Obviously,” you say, chuckling. “But you’ll have to behave.”

“Hey, I always behave!”

You both laugh, though Jungkook’s features grow somber a few seconds later, his laughter fading. 

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs, lips jutting out in a small pout. “Your summer sounds like it was a lot more fun than mine.”

You purse your lips, reaching across the table to grab his hand. You gently squeeze his fingers, and he meets your gaze, offering you a quick smile that barely meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say.

“Not your fault,” he reassures you. “It was just a lot of sudden responsibilities and… navigating it all when thinking that I lost you was hard, you know?”

“I can imagine,” you whisper.

“But it’s okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Taking over the US branch of JJS is scary, but I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “My parents finally deem me worthy enough to talk to.” He pauses, sighing deeply. “So that’s something, no?”

Your heart breaks for him, for the kid who always wanted his parents’ approval but never got it.

“I guess it is,” you agree. Your thumb glides on the back of his hand. “I’m sorry they treated you like that growing up. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Ah it’s okay,” he says. His fingers grip your hand tighter. “I mentioned to you that I go to therapy, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, you did.”

“It’s really helped with that,” he admits, and he offers you a small, vulnerable smile. “With a lot of things actually.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad it did, Kook. You deserve the healing.”

He pats your hand, letting go of your fingers to jab his fork in a piece of tartare. “Have some of it,” he says, raising the fork towards you.

You eat the tartare, the taste melting in your mouth. “It’s so good,” you say once you swallow.

He nods, taking another piece. “I came here a lot last year,” he admits. “Alone.”

“Why alone?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. 

“Because most of my friends wouldn’t be able to afford it,” he points out. “And then, none of them knew that I am…” he trails off, but you don’t need him to complete the sentence to understand. 

“I knew,” you remind him.

He tilts his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “I think you would have had an aneurysm if I’d asked you out on a date in public then.”

“Jungkook!” you let out, though the second he starts laughing, you can’t help but join too. Because he’s right - you would have never risked being in public with him like this, not when it could get to Taehyung’s ears somehow.

You finish the tartare, sipping on the wine as it goes. Jungkook asks you about your plans for the rest of college, for your future as a medical student, and you tell him that you and Nabi are planning to take the same route, if possible.

“You girls are inseparable,” he teases.

“We are,” you say, nodding your head. He chuckles, though he immediately listens as you continue, “What about you though? What’s the plan when college finishes?”

He’s in his last year after all.

“My father wants me to do an MBA at Harvard or NYU,” Jungkook admits. “And though I don’t really feel like studying at one of those universities, I already said I would.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping forward a little, the perfect picture of defeat. “I wish I could just stay here.” He meets your gaze. “With you.”

You wish he could stay, too.

“It would be awesome,” you agree. “But you have to plan your future too! We’re not even… fully dating yet?” You say it like a question, and he pouts, a frown overtaking his features. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to be the thing keeping you from doing what needs to be done for your career, you know?”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” he reassures you, the frown vanishing. “Don’t worry. I could always drive down here on the weekend.”

“Or I drive up!” you suggest. “Besides, how long is an MBA? Maybe I can try applying to NYU for med school and meet you there.”

“I might do full-time or accelerated,” Jungkook admits. “So…”

He’s interrupted as the waitress stops next to you to steal the empty appetizer plate away. You watch how she eyes him up, and you can’t help but grab his hand. He squeezes yours, a knowing smile on his lips as he looks down at the table.

“You always get jealous easily?” he teases when she’s gone.

You glare at him, choosing to ignore his comment. “You were saying?”

He laughs, but he recovers quickly, saying, “So I would probably be done by the time you start med school.” 

Right.

“Well then I’ll come live with you while I study there!” you suggest. “So we’ll just be separated for two years.”

Jungkook winces. “I’ll still drive down here every weekend. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand my family for longer than a few days at a time.”

As much as you understand him, it still pains you to hear so. Because, how can’t they see just how amazing Jungkook is? 

“I’m sorry…” you let out.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand again where it rests on the table. “I just don’t want to be away from you.”

It’s cheesy, but there’s also underlying pain in there. You can’t blame him - the months away from him have been some of the hardest of your life for you too. You’ve been overcompensating since Sunday, spending practically every second together, but you don’t mind.

It’s healing, oh so healing, and you just want to bask in it while you can. Though you don’t think he’s going to be ripped away from you, you can’t help the fear that still creeps at the back of your mind when you don’t pay attention.

Your main dishes arrive, and you smile at the sight of how small the dish is - plenty enough for you, but you already know Jungkook will eat some more when you get home later. The conversation is lighter while you eat, filled with stories about your classes and that midterm you’re convinced you failed last week. Jungkook reassures you, and the rest of the dinner goes by so quickly it feels like a car passing by at a hundred miles per hour. You want it to last - but soon enough you’ve eaten dinner, and the wine bottle is empty, your mind buzzing from all the alcohol you ingested, which is obviously more than Jungkook considering he has to drive.

You’re pouting. You know you are, and Jungkook chuckles at the sight.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod, though your pout intensifies. “I can’t believe our first date is almost over.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling like a thousand stars. “We’ll have plenty of other dates,” he promises. “Besides, you’re the one who said you have to study tomorrow.”

“I’m boring, aren’t I?” you say, scrunching up your nose.

You do have three midterms next week though.

“Nah, you’re cute,” Jungkook replies, winking at you. “Studying hard is hot.”

“Is it though?” you say, laughing.

He nods forcefully. “If it’s you doing it? Totally.”

Another laugh tumbles from your lips, interrupted by the waitress as she stops by the table with the cheque. Jungkook pays, making sure you don’t see the bill, and you then get up, putting your coats on to slowly head to the world outside.

It’s drizzling now, and you pull the hood of your coat on your head, following Jungkook as he leads you, his large hand firmly wrapped around your small one. You look up at him when he glances over his shoulder, melting at the sight of the dimpled smile on his lips.

“You look adorable,” he says.

“So do you.”

He narrows his gaze. “Thanks?”

You snort, tugging on his hand so that he faces you. “It was a compliment.”

He pulls you closer, hands settling on your waist. The drizzle tickles your face as you look up, your hands resting on his chest, and for a moment it’s like the world is slowing down, allowing you a glimpse of an infinity of you and him. The wind blows, and the hood of your coat falls, your hair dancing around your head. Jungkook gently pushes a strand of it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

Despite the cold, you feel like you’re in your own summerland, and your lips part as Jungkook’s thumb teases your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

“Kook…”

You’re alone in the world. Tonight is just about you and him, like you’re the main characters in the story, and the second the drizzle turns into rain, Jungkook presses his lips on yours. You sigh softly, kissing him back as he tugs you so close you feel the full hardness of his body against you. Your arms sneak around his neck, holding him tight, and he kisses you like you have all of the time in the universe.

Because now you do. Now you do, and it’s liberating in the softest of ways. It’s you and him, swimming in the gentle rain, holding each other closer because you can, and you want to, and no one can ever take it away from you anymore.

“I really love you, you know?” Jungkook says after he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I think I was waiting for you my whole life.”

“Jungkook…” you breathe out. 

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You make me happy. More than you can even imagine.” He pecks your forehead, pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you all evening so…”

You can barely hold your smile in. “I get a kiss on the first date?” 

He smirks. “You can get a lot more if you want to, peach.”

Though the rain is cold, and your hair is slowly getting wet, and your makeup is surely getting ruined, your blood heats up in your veins. “Oh?”

“If you want to, of course,” he adds, voice low. “Unless you don’t fuck on the first date.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Of course I don’t.”

Jungkook steps back, letting go of you. “Well, then I won’t push you.”

He starts walking away, and you laugh as you follow him, quickly grabbing his hand again. You reach his car thirty seconds later, and Jungkook opens the door for you. You climb in, and he shuts the door behind you before walking around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says when the car purrs to life. He throws you a quick glance filled with indescribable softness. “I really had fun.”

“Me too, Kook,” you whisper.

His hand finds your thigh once he’s finally driving down the street, heading to your shared home. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

You wonder if it’s a hint of insecurity in his voice, or if he’s just teasing you. Still, you reply, “You could never.”

You don’t want him to ever feel insecure when it comes to you. Not when his very soul is the reason why your heart beats in your chest.

“My parents would highly disagree.”

There’s a silence as your mouth falls open, and Jungkook throws you a look before bursting out laughing. 

“It’s a joke, peach,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook,” you let out. “That was…”

“Funny?” he provides.

You snort. “No.”

“You laughed.”

You glare at him, slowly shaking your head. “I didn’t.”

There’s a prolonged silence, and he chuckles, patting your thigh. “I swear it’s okay,” he says. “It really was just a joke.”

“I just think it’s…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “Sad?”

He toys with his piercings, throwing you a quick glance. “I guess it is. But therapy has been helping.”

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper.

Jungkook freezes next to you, and you know the words have hit him right in his chest. Has anyone ever told him before?

“I really am,” you add. “I know therapy can be hard but look at you!”

Even in the orange neon light of the street lights, you can see Jungkook’s cheeks tinting with pink. His waterline shines silver, unshed tears swimming in his gaze, and he gulps, letting out a small chuckle.

“Thank you,” he says once he’s mastered his emotions. “You are…”

“The best?” you suggest when he doesn’t finish his sentence.

He laughs a hearty, happy giggle that makes everything in you shine, like maybe a star was born in your chest. “Yes,” he agrees, nodding his head wisely. “Definitely the best.” 

You fall silent for the remainder of the ride, though you keep playing with Jungkook’s fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. He’s wearing rings, and you spin the one around his index mindlessly, eyes cast on the world outside the window.

You near your apartment, and you notice the lights are on in the living room, a sign that Taehyung and Ariane are probably still there. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t slow down, and you glance at him, brows furrowed.

“Are we not going home?” you ask.

He looks at you just long enough to wink, then settles his gaze back on the road. “You really think I’d let the evening end so early on our first date?”

Gosh.

Warmth swarms into your heart as it beats softly in your chest, and you slightly shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully. “Alright then. Where are we going?”

He grips your hand, raising it to his lips so that he can press a feathersoft kiss on your knuckles. “It’s a surprise.” You narrow your eyes as if glaring at him, earning a soft laugh from him. “You really are adorable.”

“And you are fucking cheesy.”

You laugh in unison as he nods his head yes. “Guilty,” he says when the laughter recedes.

The rain hasn’t slowed down since you reached his car, only increasing as Jungkook drives and drives up until you’re out of town, and you think tonight might be perfect after all. Because you’re with him, and it’s freeing, like maybe you were stuck in a cage for months before tonight.

The feeling grows tenfold when you reach your destination, the top of a hill overlooking the city. Through the rain lashing the windshield, the city seems to be a sparkling jewel where it sprawls down in the valley. It’s beautiful in a calming, ethereal way, and your eyes slide to Jungkook.

“How did you find this place?” you ask him as he turns the engine of the car off.

He unbuckles his seat belt, turning so that he can lean his back against the door and look at you. “When I was searching for a place to sleep when Tae asked me to leave,” he admits. “I drove around for most of the night and stumbled upon this place.”

The memory of pain jabs deep in your chest, but a deep breath soothes it away.  

“I’m sorry Tae kicked you out,” you whisper as you look outside.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I came back on the Saturday,” he admits. “Slept in my car on Thursday, then at Jimin’s and then Tae texted me to come home.”

You nod, glancing at him. “How did that go?”

“It went a lot better than I thought it would,” Jungkook answers. “Mostly Tae said he wished we’d told him before, and that though he was a little… disgusted that you and I had sex, he just wants us to be happy.”

You snort. “Disgusted?”

Jungkook nods, and he lets out a small laugh. “I mean… Can you blame him? You’re his little sister, I highly doubt he wants to think about you having sex. Like… Do you want to imagine him with Ariane?”

The second the image pops into your mind you scrunch up your nose in disgust, punching Jungkook in the shoulder. “Ew.”

“See? You get it.”

You chuckle, and then you look outside again. The windows are already fogging up a little, distorting the lights from the city even more.

“You wanted to ask me questions the other day?” Jungkook says.

You furrow your brows. “Huh?”

“Last Sunday,” he explains. “When we…” He motions between the two of you as if that explains anything. “You said you wanted to know everything about me, and I said I’d answer all of your questions.”

“Oh right.” You ponder for a time, gazing out the window, and then ask, “What’s your favourite colour?”

He smiles, eyes sparkling, and then sets his gaze on the city too. “Black. You?”

“Black is not a colour,” you point out. “But I’ll let it slide. Mine’s green.”

“You’d look fantastic in green.”

Your cheeks burn, and you look at him again. “Favourite animal?”

“Dogs.”

You grin. “Me too.”

Jungkook grabs your hand, and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Then we will get a dog together.”

“And a cat?”

He chuckles “You want a cat too?”

You sigh, reminiscing about the cat you had growing up because your mother was too busy to get a dog like you and Taehyung wanted.

“Why not?” you say. “That way the dog would always have a friend around.”

“Why not two dogs?” he suggests.

You smile. “Deal.”

You go back and forth like this for a while, sharing everything from your favourite food to your favourite movie, though the questions slowly get more personal. When you ask him what his favourite childhood memory is, Jungkook tenses, yet he replies his Disney trip with Esmeralda and Junghyun. Yours is the first camping trip you’d taken with your mother and Taehyung.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook says after you finish telling him the story of how you’d burned all your marshmallows that first night. “I’m coming with you guys next summer.”

“You are,” you agree, nodding forcefully. “My mom will love you.”

He smirks. “Of course she will, I’m the whole package.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, even though you fully agree with him. 

There’s a silence, as you both shift your attention towards the world outside. The windows are completely fogged up now, and the sound of the rain on the roof of the car creates a gentle melody, one that’s been accompanying the conversation as it goes. 

You glance at Jungkook. You’re not surprised that his eyes trail to you a second later - big doe eyes filled with all the stars in your universe. Especially as he smiles. It starts deep behind his pupils, then cascades down his face to stretch his lips in a blinding smile that eclipses all those you’ve seen before.

And you wonder, has he truly smiled since he lost you that May night? Or is that his first true smile, the one not of the moon passing in front of the sun, but of the moment the sun shines through after the passing? Because his smile is truly blinding, like he wasn’t really smiling all night. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was still stuck in the shadows of the months apart, of the void between the stars in the night sky after you’d lost each other.

But he isn’t stuck in those shadows, in that void anymore. He isn’t, and you reach for him, reach for his soul and heart. He meets you halfway there, with a gentle sigh that fans over your features as your eyes flutter close and your lips brush his. The kiss is softer than a flower’s petal, the kiss is love shared and earned and longing and the perspective of a bright future, if you so dare to take it. 

The kiss fills you with love for this man sitting next to you. For this man that kissed you for the first time on Valentine’s Day, stealing your heart from your chest then. It’s not scary - you know he’ll take care of your heart till the sun sets on your last day.

He’ll take care of your heart until the sun rises on your first heaven. Though perhaps this is your first heaven. Perhaps it starts with him, and leads into infinity. You think it would make sense - it always was about you and Jeon Jungkook after all.

When the kiss ends and you sit back in your seat to hold his gaze, Jungkook smiles again. Just as soft, just as gentle, like the rising sun in the summer. It holds promises of you and him, and you love him.

You love Jeon Jungkook more than you’ve ever loved anything in this world.

“Do you want to head home?” Jungkook suggests a little while later, after you’ve gone back to looking at the jewel of a city down below.

You sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s half past ten, and though you do have to study tomorrow, you don’t feel like leaving just yet. Not when your heart beats for him like it does, slowly filling with unquenchable desire, with a thirst for him that only he can help with. So, instead of accepting the offer, you turn to face Jungkook, smiling softly.

“Not really,” you say. You glance at the back seat, your smile turning into a devilish smirk. “Remember when I sucked you in your car?”

He follows your gaze to the backseat. “Yes?”

“Have you ever fucked anyone on that backseat?”

The silence that follows fills with tension, with barely concealed lust, and Jungkook lets out a low chuckle.

“No,” he replies. “Why? Got anything in mind?”

“I kind of really want to ride you right now.”

You’re not exactly in the mood. You know you’ll get there easily - it’s mostly just that this place feels like a safe haven, like a retreat from the whole universe where you and Jungkook can just get lost for a while. You want to take advantage of it, to live in it until it’s time to return to your normal life, to Taehyung and Ariane and studying.

“Shit peach,” Jungkook lets out, voice dark and husky. “Say less.”

You laugh, though you immediately squeeze between the front seats to get to the back. Jungkook, much larger than you, doesn’t fit, and he grumbles as he gets out of the car, only to climb with you in the back.

“Good thing the windows are all fogged up, mmh?” he says as you lean against the door opposite him, legs spread open to create room for him to get close to you. 

You bite at your lower lip. “You don’t want people to see us?”

His eyes darken, if that’s even possible. “Oh peach. Don’t you remember how I wanted all of New York to see just how good I fuck you?”

Your blood heats up in your veins, shooting down your body until it warms up your core. “Oh, I remember,” you whisper, breathless as Jungkook pushes your dress higher on your body, revealing your dragon tattoo first, which he gently traces with a finger, and then the black, lacy thong you’re wearing.

“So, so hot,” Jungkook praises.

He leans in, his lips ghosting yours, though he diverts at the last second, aiming for your neck instead. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a breathy sound as he finds the sweet spot under your ear. He sucks on it lightly, teeth teasing it, and then pulls away just enough to meet your gaze.

“Just, before we go too far,” he says, and there’s a hint of clarity in his dark eyes, of sanity you know he’s about to lose. “I don’t have any condoms.”

You smirk. “Guess that means you’ll have to fill me up.”

“Fuck.”

Before you can truly register what happened, Jungkook crashes his mouth on yours, ravishing a languid kiss that has your mind spinning. You fight against the buttons of his dress shirt, and when you think you’ll lose it Jungkook pulls away to help.

Soon the shirt is off, revealing Jungkook’s perfect body, though the dim light from the city down below doesn’t allow you to see his hard-earned muscles in all their glory.

“You’re keeping the dress,” Jungkook says as he plays with the hem between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to ruin you in it.”

You’d argue if you were able to produce a single sane thought, but right now, all you want is him, and if he wants the dress on, you’ll keep it on.

“The panties can go though,” he says, and he lets go of your dress to press a finger on your core. You’re already getting wet, so you’re not surprised when he hisses, and then brings his finger to his mouth. “You know what?” he says after he’s sucked on his finger. “I think it’s time for dessert.”

Though the car isn’t that big, Jungkook manages to move back enough so that he can lower his face between your thighs. He kisses his way down, sucking a hickey on the inside of your right thigh that makes you moan softly.

You lose a hand in his hair, the other finding leverage on the back of the passenger’s seat next to you as Jungkook nears your pussy. He doesn’t go for it though, instead pressing a light kiss on your clit through the fabric of your thong, and then he moves to your other thigh.

“Don’t tease,” you whine, though he still sucks a hickey on the soft skin of your inner left thigh.

“Why?” he asks, his lips moving against your skin as he licks at the hickey.

“I want you.”

“Oh, peach, I promise you’ll have all of me soon.” 

The words make you see stars, or maybe that’s because he’s pulled your panties to the side with one hand, revealing your glistening pussy to him. He blows on it, and your eyes flutter shut as your hips try to rise towards the sensation, though Jungkook holds you down.

“Be patient for me, peach,” he warns. He bites at the inside of your thigh, hard enough to slightly hurt. “I’ve been thinking about what you taste like all week.”

You haven’t had sex again since last Sunday. In the moment, you hadn’t cared that Taehyung was home, but you both were too embarrassed to fuck again since then. It’s been haunting you, evidently so, considering you’ve slept tangled up with him every night. More than once you’d felt his arousal against you, and resisting was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Perhaps it’s contributing to your impatience tonight. 

“Yeah?” you let out in a breathy sound.

Jungkook teases your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve been thinking of how you come undone on my tongue.” He sucks on your clit next, before adding, “How you always come so good on my dick too.”

You’re going to die tonight, aren’t you? He’s about to destroy you, and you don’t even care. 

You want it so bad you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.

“Kook…”

“Yeah?” He raises his head from between your legs, kissing your thigh. 

“Please touch me,” you beg.

“Where?” he asks. He kisses your thigh again. “Here?” He grabs your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth so that he can kiss the back of it. “Here?” He moves up your body and captures your lips in a quick kiss that still leaves your mind spinning. “Or here?”

“I want your tongue on me,” you breathe out against his mouth.

“But where, peach?” he teases. “You’ll have to be more precise.”

“Eat me out, Kook.” You moan softly as one of his fingers teases your entrance. “Please eat me out.”

“Oh I will,” he says like a promise, and then he pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle. “I will,” he repeats against your lips, and then he’s going down your body again as he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside of you. 

He arches it, searches for your g-spot, and lets out a low chuckle as you squirm the second he finds it, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Patience,” he teases, and he pulls his finger almost all the way out before pushing in again.

You moan softly, resting your head against the door. This time you resist moving though, and Jungkook answers by diving his face between your legs again, his tongue circling around your clit once. He does it again when you return your hand to his hair, and this time you hold his head in place, keeping him from pulling away. He laughs against you, which sends vibrations deep inside your core, and then he finally gives in to your desire, sucking on your clit hard as his finger starts fucking you at a steady rhythm.

He’s good to you. He’s always been - far too good - and tonight is no different. No, tonight you think he might even be better, like the months apart only served to enhance the desire and passion you share. Because even though you’ve had sex twice in the last week and a half, tonight feels new, in all the ways that matter.

Tonight feels like your soul might fuse with his, and for the first time since the very beginning of your relationship with Jeon Jungkook, you jump in feet first.

Jungkook’s mouth works on you, his tongue alternating with pressing circles and licking at your clit, the pressure he applies slowly increasing as time goes by. Soon, he’s able to add a second finger inside of you, and though your walls clench hard around his digits, he works the muscle loose.

So much so that, by the time your orgasm is nearing the horizon of your conscience, he’s able to push a third finger in. You’re wet, soaked and dripping, and your pussy makes squelching sounds as he fingers you in time with the ministrations of his tongue on you. You’ve been moaning softly this whole time, though now that you’re split wide open the sounds grow higher pitched.

“You’ll come for me, mmh?” Jungkook says against your pussy. He laps you up, drinking your juices. “I want you to fucking scream my name when you come, okay?”

You don’t know why it undoes you. It just does, and a second later you’re indeed moaning his name, your orgasm slamming into you. It shakes you to your core, and your walls clench hard around Jungkook’s fingers, though he pushes to keep them inside of you. His tongue keeps moving on your clit as you come, milking your orgasm in the most sinful way, and the waves of the climax wash over you, again and again and again until all that’s left of you is a breathy mess.

Jungkook kneels back on his heels, wiping his chin clean with the back of his clean hand. He licks the fingers he’s been fucking you with clean, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as ecstasy invades your bloodstream, blowing your pupils wide.

“You’re always such a good girl for me,” Jungkook praises as he caresses your thighs next. 

“Fuck, Kook,” you let out, and it’s whiny, almost embarrassingly so.

“I know.” He caresses up and down your thighs another time. “Think you can take my dick now?”

You gulp, your throat dried out by all the moaning you’ve been doing. “Yes, please.”

He pats your thighs approvingly, taking your panties off for you. He then undresses himself, awkwardly so with the size of his car, yet soon enough his dick is freed. It slaps against his abdomen, standing hard and tall and leaking precum, so enticing to you that you think you might be going crazy for this man. You immediately reach for Jungkook’s dick, grabbing him so that you can jerk him off.

He’s steel hard under your touch, his dick twitching as you stroke up, your thumb teasing his slit. You work your way down then, smearing the precum on him, and then move up again. You watch what you’re doing like you’re entranced, and you think maybe you are.

Jungkook’s dick has that effect on you, after all.

Jungkook lets you jerk him off for a few seconds, grunting softly as you spit in your hand to lubricate his tip. He soon grows impatient though, and he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to ride me?” he asks, voice so low it’s almost gravelly. “I want to feel your pussy on my cock, peach.”

You smirk through the haze encasing your brain, and you straddle his lap, holding yourself up on his shoulders. “Yeah?” you say, circling your hips on his dick, your juices dripping all over him.

His eyes flutter shut, and you lean forward to suck on his lip piercings. He grunts, his hands flying to your waist so that he can guide your motions, forcing you into a back-and-forth motion that rubs his dick on your oversensitive clit in just the right way.

“Fuck,” you moan, your face falling in his neck.

He forces you back, then forth. “That feels good?” he asks.

“Everything always feels good with you,” you reply.

“Damn right.” He kisses the side of your face, and you meet his gaze just long enough for him to be able to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. You taste yourself on him, and it only turns you on further, until you move up enough to be able to grab the base of his dick and align him with your entrance.

You lower yourself on him slowly, your mouth never disconnecting from his. He grunts against your lips, and you swallow every sound, up until his dick is fully sheathed in you, pushing against your cervix.

“Fuck you feel good,” he groans, and he leans his head back against the car seat. 

It reveals his neck to you, and you lean in to lick at the column of his throat, your lips closing around his Adam’s apple as you suck softly. His grip on your waist tightens, before shifting to your hips, and he lifts you up, slamming you back down a second later.

You see stars. You fucking see stars, and your mouth falls open as you moan unabashedly loud. It spurs Jungkook into action, and he lifts you enough so that he can ram his hips into you, his dick splitting you open again and again until all you can think of is the space where your bodies are connected. Jungkook lets go of your hips on one side, grabbing a handful of your dress so that he can push it up, revealing the space between you, and his cock inside of you.

He slows down, grunting softly as you moan his name, and then he entirely stops. 

“You look so pretty on my dick, you know?” he says, and he pushes up once, before pulling almost all the way out. “You feel so, so good too.” He fucks you a few times, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feeling. “I just want to fuck you constantly.”

“Please do it,” you reply, and a second later he’s pulling you flush against his chest, and then he’s fucking you hard and quick, your moans and heavy breaths filling the car into a pornographic song. The rain on the roof soothes the edges of the sinful sounds, and the dim light of the city paints it all in a scene of passion and shared love, and whispered confessions when Jungkook comes a few minutes later.

“I fucking love you,” he says, face hidden in your neck. “Shit peach, I am so in love with you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beats of your heart, and then you say, “Me too, Jungkook. From now on until the end.”

You don’t even know what you mean by the end. You think you mean grey hair and years and years of being with him - you almost can see it. You can see yourself going in the night with him, falling asleep on his chest eternally. Or maybe him on your chest, like that scene from The Notebook that always rips your heart from your chest.

Yes, you think if you and Jungkook are to end one day, it’ll be at the end of a very long road, and tonight you know you are ready for every single second of it.

The most beautiful part is, you know Jungkook is ready for it, too. From now on until the end.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

can't believe there's just one chapter left :') did you guys like this one? I feel like we all deserved the healing after all the pain these two went through :') let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after. 

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked. 

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation. 

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can. 

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face. 

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth. 

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame. 

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg. 

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface. 

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face. 

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away. 

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out  “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds. 

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles. 

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long. 

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge. 

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost. 

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out. 

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move. 

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still. 

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his- 

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up. 

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you. 

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop. 

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks. 

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck. 

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation. 

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you. 

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth. 

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle. 

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds. 

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars. 

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan. 

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest. 

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us" 

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves. 

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often. 

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Pretty As A Picture

Title: Pretty As A Picture

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Fandom: The Gray Man

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.

Warnings: Murder Daddy, gun, murder(not Reader), chase, knife play, kidnapping, pet names(gumdrop, princess), slight dacryphilia, Sir kink, blood, language, head injury, bondage, cutting clothing with a knife, DUBCON, unprotected rough p-in-v sex, pussy slapping, hyperspermia, slight aftercare, implied captivity

A/N: This is my late submission to @the-slumberparty’s Naughty or Nice Challenge. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You sit on the bench in the park, digital camera resting against your sternum as it dangles from the strap around your neck. The sky shines above you and illuminates the world around you as you look for something to capture. It’s been so snowy and the park’s surfaces are covered in white fluff. You had to wipe off the bench considerably to be able to sit down on the old wooden seating.

Your knee-length puffer coat is zipped and buttoned, but you still cross your arms to retain heat when the wind sweeps through, blowing snow in your face. You’ve taken about a handful of photos of empty swings and the slide that has become an ice luge. You hear voices nearby and turn toward the sound.

Two men are talking in the front seat of a town car parked on the edge of the park. Strange that they would pick here to have a casual conversation, but you can’t blame them. You came here for the peace too.

Curiously, you raise your camera and point it at the men. You zoom in, trying to read their lips, snickering when you see the younger man’s mustache. That was a choice. You catch little snippets here and there. But you can’t put all the pieces together. You are just about to lower your camera when movement surprises you.

You freeze when you see the man with the mustache on the passenger side bring out a pistol with a silencer on the end of it. He points it at the man in the driver’s seat and pulls the trigger. The mustachioed man then proceeds to wipe down the interior of the car and exits.

He turns to face the park, putting his hands in his pockets. He closes his eyes, tilting his head from side to side to relieve tension in his neck. When he notices you, you lower the camera slowly and wish upon wish that you can make it back to your apartment before he catches up to you. 

You let your camera hang around your neck and rise from the bench. Turning on a dime, you race between the swingset and head for your building. You are barely past the seesaw when you feel the man’s body crash into yours. Air escapes your lungs as you hit the ground and your camera is whipped to the side of you. You are disoriented for a second before you are turned around and grabbed by the front of your coat.

“Well, what do we have here? A little spy, maybe?” The mustachioed man removes one hand from your coat to reach into his pocket and withdraws a butterfly knife, holding it to your neck, “Who do you work for?”

You squeak when the point of the knife meets your skin, the sharp poke keeping you from moving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just taking photos of the park. I didn’t see anything.”

He turns the knife slightly, the tip penetrating your neck. You feel the sting of the cut as a drop of blood slowly trails down the blade. He watches as you plead with your big doe eyes for him to let you go.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh, gumdrop. Anybody who says ‘I didn’t see anything’ most definitely saw something. The question is: What do I do with Little Miss Photographer?” His tone could have been considered sweet, if not mocking.

“Please, let me go. You can have the camera. Just please don’t hurt me, Sir.” Unshed tears blur your eyes and you try to blink them away but they fall down your cheeks.

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head slowly. “Calling me Sir and crying for me? I just may have an idea of how to...take care of you, princess.”

He pockets the knife, the pressure of it releasing from your neck. Standing you to your feet, he turns you to start walking to the left, away from the direction of your apartment. With one hand on your coat, he reaches down and grabs the camera as you walk, his long legs moving faster than your shorter ones.

Once you get to a car, he tries to put you in the front seat but you get the sudden urge to fight for your life. You let him open the door then you kick it closed, turning in his arms and scratching at his face. He jerks away when three nails make contact with his forehead and slide down to his temple.

“Fucking bitch!” Blood wells to the surface and starts to trickle down his face. He grabs you by the skull, bringing you toward him before he smashes your head into the passenger door. It slows you down and your head pounds. Your legs are out from under you as he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the back of the car. 

You are barely alert while he speaks to you. “It didn’t have to be like this, gumdrop. All you had to do was get in but no, you had to be a brat,” He sets your feet down on the ground so he can grab a key fob from his pocket. The trunk opens and you are lifted inside, the zipper on your long coat being pulled down to reveal your clothing underneath. “Well know this. I don’t tame brats, ok? I correct them. Now, you get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” He taps the end of your nose and winks down at you.

Your vision swims but you register him leering at you while licking his lips. He’s kind enough to not close the trunk too hard. You hear his steps crunching in the snow as he walks around the car. A door opens and closes, the engine turns over. You lurch toward the back of the car when it starts to move away from the curb. The darkness of the space and the steadiness of his driving lull you to close your eyes, falling asleep soon after.

"...you there, Gumpdrop?” 

You hear a voice that feels distant. Slowly, you pick your head up and open your eyes to see the man with the mustache sitting in front of you on a bed. He has two flexi-strips holding together the scratches you gave his face. Your coat is off, you are left in your fuzzy green sweater and black skirt. You try and move but you only wince when you look up to see your hands cuffed to the framework of the headboard. Your thigh-high sock-clad feet are left free and his hand idly moves up and down your shin.

When you try to move your leg away, he holds it back and squeezes your ankle as a warning. You don’t want any more head trauma so you resign yourself to doing whatever he wants.

“I am so glad you’re awake. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself. Well, I did take these,” he reaches into a pocket and pulls out the familiar white panties, and waves them in your face, “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t play with that pretty little pussy. Wanted you awake for that.” He winks at you and stands. 

You watch as he walks away, listening to his footsteps going and then coming back. In his hands is your camera, safe and sound. He brings it up to his face, the lens moving forward and back before you hear the snap of the shutter.

“God, you are too damn sweet, gumdrop,” he coos, kneeling on the bed between your legs. He lifts your skirt and snaps a few photos of bare pussy. He hums, letting the camera dangle from the strap around his neck. The butterfly knife is back out, you shudder and he puts a hand up. “Calm down, pretty girl. Just gonna cut these pesky layers off you so don’t move unless you want me to cut you.”

You shove fear down and nod, following as he cuts through your skirt and sweater like butter. When he gets to your bra, he hooks a finger between your sternum and the fabric, cutting into the center of the material. When you are laid bare in front of him, he cups his crotch and groans. He raises the camera again and snaps away.

He takes the camera by the strap off of his neck and sets it on the nightstand. As he moves his hand back, he takes the opportunity to squeeze your tits. Pinching your nipples, he chuckles when you whine.

“Please...um, Sir?” you blurt, a mix of pain and pleasure radiating through you. You wish you could close your legs to get some friction but he is back between them.

“Lloyd,” he offers, still tweaking your nipples, “You can call me Lloyd, gumdrop.”

“Lloyd…um, please… uh,” You subconsciously begin to twist your hips and he gets the hint.

“Aww, my little princess needs some attention on her little pussy, huh?” You’re only turned on by his mocking tone and condescending words. He leans in to kiss and nip at your neck while he grinds his covered dick against your now slippery folds. “Alright, alright. I won’t tease you anymore. I know you need this much more than I do, gumdrop.” He uses one hand to unzip his pants and pull out his stiff dick. 

Although it is obscured from your vision, by the way he has to tilt his hips, you can tell he is packing a sizeable length. Covering the tip in your juices, he taps it against your clit. When he enters you, the stretch has you hissing along with Lloyd. He tilts his hips away from you and then comes back, going a bit deeper inside you. Adjusting his arms, he wraps one under your head and the other hand goes to hold your side while your legs wrap around him.

By the time you are used to his size, his hips are slamming into the backs of your thighs. His hand is sure to leave bruises on your hip and you don’t give a fuck in the slightest. He’s already restrained you and cut your clothes off. Might as well be fully debauched, right?

“Shiiiiit, this pussy is squeezing my fucking dick so good. I can feel you holding back, gumdrop. Let go for me.” He lets go of your hip and uses his thumb to pay attention to your clit. While he leans on his other hand, he clutches the bedspread as his hips continue their onslaught.

Your climax was just out of reach, like a word caught on the tip of the tongue. Lloyd locks eyes with you and lifts his hand, bringing it down to slap your puffy folds. You squeal and it only makes Lloyd slap it again. And that is how you discovered that this was a kink for you.

The tight band that held together your resolve snaps and on the third slap, you lose all control of your body. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in a long moan, your legs clamping around Lloyd’s waist. Your walls flutter around his cock and your orgasm washes over you like a warm summer rainstorm, refreshing and necessary.

“That’s a good girl! Fuck, you are clamped around me like a goddamn vice. Oh, shit. I’m gonna cum, princess. Shit, shit shit!” Lloyd thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and fisting his dick until he’s shooting thick, white ropes across your belly, chest, and neck.

You stop counting the spurts of cum after eight, watching as you essentially get glazed like a donut. He squeezes the head of his dick, pushing out the last dregs of his orgasm. He grabs the camera again, his eye lining up with the viewfinder. “Smile pretty for me.” 

You’re so fucked out that you smile when he asks. He snaps the photo and puts the camera back down. He leaves the bed and walks off, you hear him go down the hall and come back. He carries a wet washcloth and wipes you down, cleaning off the sticky substance before tossing it over his shoulder.

Lloyd opens a drawer in the nightstand, retrieving a small key, and unlocks your handcuffs one by one. He doesn’t offer to check your wrists for bruising, but you don’t expect him to. You’re more than surprised that he wiped his cum off of you, you didn’t want to push it.

“Now, gumdrop. So we’re clear, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m gonna keep you here with me. You’re gonna be my little playtoy. Whenever I need to take out frustration, I’m gonna take it out on this little pussy of yours. Or option B: I could kill you. Your choice.” 

And just like that, your fate is sealed. 

“Option A,” you mumble, tears line your eyes as you yawn.

“I knew you were a smart girl.” He pets your head and your eyes lose focus as you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

A/N: I really wish Lloyd would give me a break sometimes lol. I think I got this posted literally on the last day of the challenge.

**Tag List**

@cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily @titty-teetee @princessaxoo @gummydummy19 @posiemax @motivation-idontknowher @buckysteveloki-me @magnificentsaladllama @gyusbrownie @milknhonies @peyton-warren @raccoon-eyed-rebel

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

[mandos-mind-trick]

Warm Me Up

Summary: A freak storm has you and Hunter seeking shelter in a cave. The desperation to get warm has some hidden feelings coming to light.

Pairing: Hunter x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, fingering, confession of feelings, snow storms, almost freezing to death (not really but close), hypothermia, survival skills, cuddling for warmth, fucking to survive, cock warming (literally and figuratively), post Order 66, bit of an AU

A/N: I am once again bringing you Hunter and reader fucking to survive only under different circumstances. I have been in a Hunter mood lately so you are welcome.

Thank you @starrylothcat for the idea for this one.

MASTERLIST

It’s cold. 

The wind whips around you, finding every crack and crevice in your armor, numbing your skin. The storm had blown in out of nowhere, whipping big, wet snowflakes at you on a wind so strong it was hard to stand up straight. It’s a near whiteout, and even Hunter is struggling to break trail in front of you. 

He stops, turning to look at you a couple feet behind him, half to make sure you’re still following him. “There’s a cave up ahead.” He says, voice barely audible over the wind through the comms. 

Your fingers are going numb. You’d lost feeling in your feet not long after the storm started, already having been trekking through ankle deep snow. “Lead the way, Sarge.” You mumble, trying to convince your legs to start moving again. 

It’s slow moving for the few hundred yards until you see the mountainside jutting out in the blizzard. As you get closer, you can see the dark opening of the mouth of the cave like a monster waiting to devour you. You hope that’s not the case, but you suppose a monster’s mouth would be warmer than out here. 

You follow Hunter inside, the torch in his hand illuminating the small cavern. It’s not very wide, your shoulders would probably touch the walls if you stood side by side, but it’s deep enough to keep you from the howling wind outside. 

You’re shivering, teeth chattering as you stand in the dark cave. The storm was blocking your comms, preventing you from reaching the Marauder. This was supposed to be a quick mission, which was why you and Hunter had gone alone, leaving the others with the ship. Tech had assured you both the weather was going to be clear for the foreseeable future. 

You’re going to have words with him when you get back. 

“Kriff, it’s cold.” Hunter says, scanning the back of the cave before determining it clear. 

He turns back around, his torch illuminating your shivering figure. Neither of you had real cold weather gear, and Hunter’s armor was better protection against it than yours. 

“How are your toes?” He asks, stepping closer. 

“Numb.” You say, voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around your face. 

“And your fingers?” He asks. 

You lift your hands, fingers fumbling in an attempt to get your gloves off. He shines the torch on your exposed extremities as soon as they hit the floor, a curse crackling through his helmet. Your fingers are discolored and stiff, trembling as more shivers wrack your body. 

“We need to get warm.” He says, pulling you back towards the back of the cave. “We won’t last the night at this rate.” 

“H-How do we do that?” You stutter out between your chattering teeth. You were both ill prepared for this situation. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

You’re glad the cave is dark as the words leave Hunter’s mouth, the torch pointing at the wall as he removes his pack. You’re worried you may start steaming in embarrassment from the direct order. 

You’ve been harboring a crush on him for a while. It started during one of your first missions with them. Of course, you thought he was handsome when you first met him, but you didn’t start developing feelings until he saved your life. You were relatively new to combat, though fighting wasn’t anything new, and you had failed to see the explosive at your feet. Hunter had pulled you out of the way and shielded you with his body. 

He’d had his helmet on, but you couldn’t forget the way his hand felt on your arm, the way he looked hovering over you. You thought about it a lot. You still do. 

You had fallen in love with him after the war ended, and he had willingly gone toe-to-toe with Tarkin to keep you on the squad. Tarkin had wanted to reassign you, but Hunter had insisted you were part of Clone Force 99 and they wouldn’t be as efficient without you. 

You hadn’t dared act on it, though. He was technically your superior and you were not about to try pushing those boundaries. Plus, he’d never shown any interest in you in that way, and the last thing you wanted was to do was make things awkward. 

You also just haven’t had time. 

Between the Empire and deserting and being on the run and adjusting to having a literal child on board, you had little downtime for much else. You know Hunter’s stressed and has been feeling the effects of trying to keep everyone alive and deciding what to do next. 

The last thing you want to do is throw your feelings on him too. 

And now here he is, asking you to get naked in a cave with him. 

“What?” You stutter out, looking up at him, his face barely visible. He’s removed his helmet.

“Our clothes are wet. We can’t get warm wearing wet clothes. We’ll risk hypothermia, or worse.” He explains, his helmet hitting the ground with a thud. “Seeing as how we don’t know how long this storm will last and if we’ll be able to reach the Marauder by comm when it does end, getting warm is our priority.” 

His voice is so steady, so strong, reflecting every bit of the leader he is. 

This is moving much faster than you had expected. You’d thought maybe a nice dinner, or a walk on the beach, at least something before your clothes started coming off. Of course, survival was different. You would like to keep your toes if possible. 

Your numb fingers fumble to get your pack off as Hunter turns his back, digging through his pack. You’re glad for the darkness and the privacy as you tug at your own armor, fingers fumbling with clasps and straps as you slowly drop pieces onto the ground. 

You pause as Hunter turns slightly, putting something on the floor. The cave lights with a soft yellow glow of a heat lamp, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth. So you weren’t going to freeze completely. The walls of the cave glitter with frost, your breath visible in the air as you continue to strip out of your armor. 

You hesitate once your armor is off, staring at Hunter’s back. He’s making slow work of his armor, setting each piece in a pile next to his pack. You’ve watched them carefully stack their armor over and over. They always show it such reverence, though you suppose if it is your lifeline and one of your few belongings, you would treat it as such too. They always stack it in a way that would be quickest to get it back on and you can’t help but wonder if they practiced it. How fast can they get in and out of their armor if the need arose? 

You bend over your pack, fumbling through its contents before your fingers hit what you’re looking for. One of the spare GAR blankets that came in each survival kit the squad carried. Working separate from larger battalions meant you had to carry more supplies with you for situations like this one. 

You could cry as you pull the scratchy blanket from your pack. 

You would cry, except that it feels like all liquid is frozen in your body. 

You hesitate, eyeing Hunter’s back before you begin peeling your wet blacks off, goosebumps forming on your skin as it's exposed to the cold air in the cave. You fight off a shiver, shuffling closer to the heat lamp as you peel the rest off. You quickly wrap the blanket around your body, squatting down in front of the heat lamp. You can already feel the warmth from them on your exposed skin, toes starting to tingle. 

Your eyes move to Hunter, his back still turned to you. You swallow thickly as he tugs the top of his blacks over his head, revealing his back. Your eyes trail the tattoo on the right side until it disappears under his blacks. You’ve seen them all in various states of undress before. It was impossible in a confined space like the barracks or the Marauder. 

There had never been any insinuation, no lingering stares when you’d done a quick change. They were always so respectful, always so kind. 

You felt bad for ogling them sometimes. 

You quickly tuck your face in the blanket as Hunter tugs his pants down, praying you don’t start steaming. You want to look, you so badly want to look, but the last thing you need is to get caught being a creep. 

Hunter moves closer to you, spreading something on the ground behind you. You nearly jump as his hand touches your back, warm through the blanket against your cold skin. He’s squatting next to you, very close to you as you peek out from your blanket. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, those stupid big, brown eyes shining in the low light from the heat lamp. 

You stare at him for a moment before you nod. He pulls the blanket from the death grip you have around it, eyes never leaving yours as he opens it up, slipping his arms inside. His bare skin meets yours, turning you until your back is to his chest. He maneuvers you so easily so you’re laying on the blanket he had spread on the ground, curling his body around yours before draping your blanket across you both. 

He sighs as he settles into place, his hand trailing down your arm. His hand is calloused from years of hard training, rough against your frigid skin. “Kriff, you’re freezing.” He murmurs, pulling you tighter against his chest. 

Your breath hitches as his skin meets yours, cold but not nearly as frozen as yours. You can feel every ridge of muscle, every line, every divot of his body. You can feel all of him. You try not to think about it, try not to picture every fantasy you’ve had, every daydream of being in this very position with him. 

Instead you focus on your shivering, the chill slowly abating as your shared warmth cumulates under the blanket. You can feel the heat lamp on your face, slowly thawing your frozen cheeks. You can also feel Hunter’s breath fanning over the top of your head. 

You let your eyes drift closed, trying to avoid the thoughts racing through your head. You’re naked. Hunter’s naked. You’re very, very close. You’ve imagined this moment many, many times. Of course, it’s always under different circumstances. Normally in your fantasies, he’d hold you like this after you fucked, or on those short trips between missions when you try to get as much rest as possible. In the deeper fantasies you wake in his arms in your quiet home, the early morning light shining through the window. You’d grind against him, teasing him until he slipped inside you, making sweet love to you as you have all the time in the world, and no cares whatsoever. 

Heat begins to bloom in your belly. You know it’s not just from the warmth beginning to return to you. You desperately fight it, trying to ignore the pulsing between your legs and instead focus on the roaring of the wind outside the cave, the painful throbbing in your toes, the scratchiness of the blanket, anything. 

Hunter shifts just slightly behind you, letting out a long breath. Kriff, he can probably smell it. He could probably smell it before your body even started reacting. He knows. He knows. 

You shift slightly, ignoring the way your thighs slide a little too easily against each other. “Sorry.” You breathe, nervously tugging on the edge of the blanket. 

He hums, his fingers trailing down your front. He presses his palm against your belly, causing your breath to hitch. He shifts his legs and suddenly there’s something pressing against your ass. Something hard. “Nothing to apologize for, mesh’la.” He murmurs in your ear, his voice so low and deep you can feel it vibrating through your back. 

"Hunter?" You ask, staring at the heat lamp. 

He hums, pressing closer to you, his breath fanning your ear. 

Your breath catches in your throat, your exhale shaky. "I'm still cold. Could you warm me up a little more?"

His arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you firmly against him as his lips meet the skin of your neck. He kisses a line from your ear to the junction of your shoulder, the hand that had been planted on your stomach slowly sliding lower. It slips between your thighs, grabbing one and lifting it over his hip. Your hands cling to the arm wrapped around you as he slides his fingers down your inner thigh. Your body is shivering for a different reason now. 

You gasp quietly as his fingers trail over your wet slit, hips pushing into his hand. It’s so much better than your fantasies, those dexterous fingers flicking over your clit. 

“All this just for me?” He murmurs in your ear, his voice low and rough. 

“Yes,” You gasp, nails biting into his skin as he works you up. “Been thinking of this for a long time.” 

“I know.” He says, sinking a finger into you. “I could sense it. At first I could smell it. I always wondered what you were thinking about.” He slips a second finger into you. “Didn’t take long to figure it out.” He kisses the side of your head. “Your heart rate would jump. Sometimes I’d smell it while you were looking at me. I was flattered. A gorgeous woman like you thinking about me like that.” 

You wiggle in his arms, just enough so you can see his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

He pauses his movements, his fingers stilling inside you. “Didn’t want to complicate things. Then everything happened with the Empire and I just haven’t had the right moment.” 

“Fair.” You say, eyes dropping to his lips. “Not a whole lot of places to do things like this in the ship.” 

He grins. “No, especially not with the others there.” His thumb brushes over your clit, fingers starting to thrust into you once more. “I’m going to find us a safe place to stay.” He says, words broken by kisses as he trails them up your neck. “Build us a home with lots of privacy.” He kisses across your face to the corner of your lips. “So we can do this whenever we want.” 

You hum, backing away from his lips before he can kiss you. “Usually I require a date first, but I’ll make an exception.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” He says, lips brushing yours as he speaks. “I promise.” 

You close the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his. He kisses you softly, lips slightly chapped from the cold. His fingers continue to move inside you, curling to find that spot that has your legs shaking. His thumb circles your clit, bringing you closer and closer to sweet release. 

You whine against his lips as you cum around his fingers, soaking his hand with your release. He pulls away from your lips, withdrawing his hand before he lifts his fingers, taking them into his mouth. You watch, slack-jawed as he sucks his fingers clean. 

“Fuck buying me dinner,” You say, rolling around to face him. “If you’re gonna act like that you can skip all those steps.” 

He laughs, rolling on top of you. It’s a mirror of the moment you first began to have feelings, when he’d saved your life. You suppose he also saved your life again in this situation. Perhaps he needs to save your life more often if it’s going to end with him on top of you. 

He lowers himself down, pressing his lips to yours once more. You kiss him hard, tangling a hand in his hair. You’ve always wanted to touch it, always wanted to run your fingers through it, pull on it to see if it makes him moan. You file that away for another day. 

He’s hard, pressed against your stomach. His hips rock against you, dragging his cock along your skin. You slide your hands down his back, grabbing a handful of his ass. You’ve always wanted to grab it, having spent way too much time memorizing the shape of his body. His broad shoulders and thin waist and round ass and thick thighs. 

He really is the perfect man. 

“Fuck,” He moans, pulling away from your lips to press himself up. 

He’s away just long enough to line his cock up, your legs parting even wider for him. You both moan as he sinks into you, your sensitive walls fluttering around the intrusion. You pull him back against you, securing him tightly to your chest. His lips find yours again, kissing and biting as he begins to move. 

His thrusts are slow, working you open for him. It feels better than you could ever imagine, better than your fantasies could come up with. You’re no longer cold, even your toes warmed by his body and his touch. The air in the cave even feels warm, the blizzard outside nothing compared to the fire ignited beneath your skin at Hunter’s touch. 

You move your hips as he picks up speed, your bodies moving fluidly together. You let go, moaning as loud as you can. You don’t care if you accidentally wake some beast deep in the mountains. You want the whole galaxy to know how good Hunter makes you feel. 

Hunter grunts and moans above you, snapping his hips into you. You cling onto him as you begin to feel the burning low in your stomach, the coil tightening more and more as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

“Cum for me.” Hunter growls, nipping at your lower lip. “Let me feel you.”

You cry out his name as you cum, back arching in pleasure. He’s not far behind you, his head falling back as he stutters to a stop, filling you with his cum. You let him fall on top of you, wrapping your arms around him. 

He lays there, both of you catching your breaths. He’s heavy, a solid weight, but you don’t complain. He’s warm, and he makes you feel safe. He kisses your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty skin. He groans, already starting to go hard inside you again. 

***

You wake to a bright light in your eyes. You squint, ducking your head down under the blanket. Hunter groans, shifting his arms around you. It’s quiet outside, far quieter than it had been last night. 

“Storms over.” Hunter rasps, not making any attempt to move. 

He’s still inside you, his softened cock tucked inside your pussy. You’d fallen asleep after the third round, the exhaustion finally taking over after you were thoroughly warmed. You don’t really want to get up. You don’t really want to move. You know the others have to be worried, after all you hadn’t been able to contact them after the storm blew in. You’re not even sure how far you are from the Marauder. 

It may be a bit selfish, but you wish you could stay here. Build yourselves a tiny home in this cave and never leave. Just the two of you, alone, like your fantasies had once consisted of. 

You know it’s not possible now. You couldn’t abandon the others like that, and you could never convince Hunter to abandon Omega, not that you would ever want to. You’ll just have to find a place to build a big enough house for all of you. 

“We should get up.” Hunter says, still not making any attempts to move. “The others will be worried.” 

You hum, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Five more minutes?” 

He chuckles, lifting your chin so he can kiss you. “I suppose five minutes won’t hurt anything.” 

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @clio3kantarella @eris-k @thorsterstrudle @idontgetanysleep @anxiouspineapple99 @clonemedickix @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @523rdrebel @thrawnspetgoose @originalcollectionartistry @gwalchmai2970 @maddiedrmr @sunshinesdaydream @mooncommlink @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator

[katyawriteswhump]

Steddie microfic: I got you

Steve loves it when Eddie rubs his chest.

Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pine,’ 508 words. Originally inspired by the ‘pining’ idea, then it evolved and some extra pine turned up elsewhere!

Rating: T. CW: A couple of sexual references. Tags: shameless hurt/comfort, sickfic, fluff.

***

Their first winter, Eddie got sick. Then Steve got sicker. He took to their bed with a cough that scoured his lungs, rattled his ribs. When Eddie arrived, Steve buried his damp face in the pillow. “I’m all gross. G-go away.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Eddie rolled Steve over, fingers skittering soothingly across his brow. “Kinda guilty here. You scored my germs.”

“Always g-got chest infections as a kid.” Steve shivered. “Ask my m-mom.”

“She won’t talk to me, remember?”

“Ugh. Why are my f-family shitheads?” The pang of irritation proved too much. Steve’s next breath jammed in his lungs. A coughing fit consumed him. Eddie helped him sit, rubbed his back till the worst passed. Then Eddie removed his rings—huh?—pulled the covers over them, and spooned Steve from behind.

His warm hand slid under Steve’s t-shirt. He rubbed Steve’s chest, so gently Steve hardly noticed at first.

“I gotcha, Sweetheart. I gothcha.”

Steve’s shuddering breaths fell in sync with Eddie’s caresses, beneath which painfully taut sinews softened. Steve’s chest still burned, his breaths wheezy, but… 

…Eddie’s touch got him, somewhere so deep it almost choked him again.

It became a regular thing, in sickness and health. Eddie’s guitar-string callused strokes across Steve’s chest—sometimes firm, sometimes soft—set Steve sighing, groaning, purring like a cat. He even adored the cool slide of Eddie’s rings, especially when they snagged in his hair.

One day, afterward, he littered Eddie’s agile fingers with kisses. “Wanna marry your hands.”

Eddie quirked a brow: “You got a mighty fine chest, Babe.”

Steve grinned, sent his own hands south on a far dirtier mission.

Next winter, Eddie scored a touring gig with a band who’d lost their guitarist. Steve missed him like crazy, ignored that tell-tale tickle in his throat, and went to work—peddling hotdogs in the snow. Eddie called daily around 3am, always losing track of time. Steve mainlined cough medicine and pretended so hard:

“I don’t miss your mess, man. I cleaned the shit out of this place—totally reeks of Pine-Sol.”

“Haha. Miss you too, Stevie.”

“Riiight. If you blow the drummer, I’ll repave the drive with your vinyl collection.”

Steve got sicker. The pine stench of the stupid polish caught on his chest. He coughed himself raw. That night, Eddie didn’t call.

Or, Steve didn’t hear.

When he woke, he tried to sit. Flopped back down. He was shivering, out of water, and coughed till tears streaked his face and blood spattered his hand. Scared now... He drifted, never quite sleeping, coughing less, instead struggling to drag whistling breaths. His bones ached. His head ached worse. Freakin’ terrified…

A gentle touch revived him: “Babe?”

He blinked. Eddie? 

“You didn’t answer last night. Caught the first flight home.” Seriously? “Do I need to take you to ER?”

“No,” wheezed Steve.

“Don’t be macho, dude.”

“Need c-cuddle.” That ‘not macho’ enough, Honeypie? 

Steve was too sick for decisions, so let Eddie make them. Much later, when Eddie slid into bed behind him and rested a warm hand on his chest, he knew he was mending already.

***

Thank you for reading :) Also posted on my AO3 here

[steddieas-shegoes]

i wanna be your slave

for @subeddieweek day six with the prompt public sex

rated e | 1,596 words | please check ao3 for tags

Day one:  ao3 | tumblr Day two: ao3 | tumblr Day three: ao3 | tumblr Day four: ao3 | tumblr  Day five: ao3 | tumblr

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Eddie should have taken the opportunity to run back inside and use the phone that he knew was sitting in the office backstage to call someone before the rain started coming down harder. He should have risked getting stuck inside the heated building instead of getting stuck inside his van that wouldn’t start in the middle of winter.

Rain storms shouldn’t even happen in December. Shouldn’t it all be snow or something?

He groaned and banged his head against the wheel.

The rain continued to pour down, louder and faster, to the point where Eddie could barely even hear himself think.

At least Steve would probably come check here when he realized he wasn’t at the trailer.

He just had to make it through the next 30 minutes or so. The rain might even stop by then.

Eddie hummed to himself, any song he could think of, even one of Corroded Coffin’s newest attempts at an original song. He played with his hair, braiding and unbraiding the same strands over and over to keep his hands busy.

He checked his watch more frequently than was helpful.

Eventually, headlights flashed in his side mirror and he heard the low rumble of another car.

He checked to see that it was Steve before unlocking the door and jumping out.

Steve barely had his car in park before he jumped out of, leaving the car running as he rushed over to pull Eddie against him.

“Shit, baby, I was so worried. What happened?”

For some reason, Eddie felt tears pooling in his eyes.

It was just an issue with the van, and probably a pretty easy repair for Wayne to do tomorrow. It’s not like he got stranded alone for hours getting soaked in the rain. It’s not like Steve forgot about him.

“Oh, baby boy.” Steve’s hands cupped his cheeks and Eddie couldn’t really tell if he had actually started crying or if the rain was falling down his face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“It won’t start,” Eddie shivered. It may have been a bit warmer than usual for December this week, but it was still barely 40 degrees, and with the ice cold rain falling on them, Eddie knew he’d get sick if he stayed out in it for much longer.

“C’mon, I have the heat on in my car. Let’s get you warm.”

Steve gently guided him into the backseat, surprising him by joining him instead of getting in the driver’s seat to take them home.

“Jacket and shirt off, c’mon,” Steve nudged his jacket off his shoulders and Eddie sniffed as he followed his instructions. “If you take everything off, you’ll get warmer faster.”

“You just want me naked in the backseat of your car, Harrington,” Eddie grumbled, but knew he was right. He managed to get his soaking wet jeans off and left everything in a pile on the floorboards. “Now what?”

Steve reached under his own body and pulled out a towel, unfolding it and gesturing for Eddie to move for a minute so he could lay it out across the seat.

“Were you a Boy Scout or something?” Eddie felt the warmth slowly seeping into his pores, though his hair was still dripping onto his bare shoulders and chest.

“Nah. Just learned to be prepared for anything.” Steve’s hand rested on his knee. “I’m gonna shut off the headlights while we sit here. Just hang tight.”

Eddie was naked in the backseat of Steve’s car in the parking lot of Hawkins High while lightning flashed directly across from them and rain beat the roof of the car.

If he wasn’t living this moment, he never would’ve believed it was possible.

Steve’s hands were warm when they circled Eddie’s wrists, pulling him into Steve’s lap. He’d removed his own clothes sometime in the last minute when Eddie was lost in thought.

“Just gonna stay here for a few minutes while you warm up, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

And then it actually hit him that they were both naked.

No one would be checking on them as long as this storm was happening.

No one would even see their cars in the parking lot with how heavy the rain was right now.

They could do anything they wanted.

As if he could read his mind, Steve huffed a laugh against Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re always so eager to get fucked, aren’t you sweet boy? Even if someone could see.”

“No one will see,” Eddie protested.

“Maybe I want people to see.”

Eddie felt himself getting hard at the thought of them being caught, of Steve Harrington having to explain to Officer Powell why they were both naked in the backseat of his car. Of how many people had probably been fucked in the back of this car, but how none of those people had gotten Steve like this.

“Maybe I wanna fuck you so good that you scream my name so loud the people in the neighborhood a mile away hear and call the cops. Maybe I hope someone stops by to check on the cars and sees me so deep inside you they couldn’t possibly separate us.”

Eddie whimpered.

Yeah, he needed Steve to fuck him. Now.

“You’re still wet from when I got my tongue in you earlier, baby,” Steve said as he ran his thumb across his hole, still slick with spit. “But I came prepared tonight.”

Steve held up a small bottle of lube. Was that travel size? Did they seriously make a travel size bottle of lube? And Steve bought it?

Eddie loved him so much.

“Relax for me, baby. Gonna open you up more so you can sit on my cock. Gonna be nice and warm after, okay?” Steve’s lips brushed against his neck, his collarbone, his nipple. His fingers, now coated with lube, rubbed at his entrance.

One finger pushed in, quickly followed by a second one. Steve was good at reading him, knew exactly what he could take and what he needed.

Eddie liked to feel full, even if it had just a hint of too much, just a tiny little twinge of pain.

“Gonna ride my fingers?” Steve cupped the back of his head with his free hand, scratching at his scalp.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it, didn’t notice the way he rose and fell naturally as Steve worked him open. He wasn’t even trying to get more from him, he never had to push really. Steve was eager to give him more before Eddie had to beg.

At least since they started referring to each other as boyfriends, anyway.

A third finger entered him, and Eddie groaned at the stretch.

“Feels good,” Eddie threw his head back, only getting a little frustrated at the way the top of his head brushed against the roof of the car. It wasn’t ideal to be doing this in such a small space, but it was hot.

“Gonna spread you out on my bed next time so I can watch. Love seeing you open up on my fingers,” Steve bit down on his shoulder, both of them moaning as Steve’s fingers worked faster.

“Need you, need you. Please.”

Okay, so maybe he still had to beg a little.

But the moment he asked, Steve’s fingers were being replaced by his leaking cock, pushing in slow enough for Eddie to tell him to stop if he needed a minute.

“Fuck,” Eddie’s head fell onto Steve’s shoulder, putting him at a somewhat awkward angle, but Steve’s cock brushed perfectly against his prostate. “Oh, fuck. Can I come?”

“Now? Already?” Eddie could hear the knowing smirk in Steve’s voice and he wasn’t a fan.

“Yes, now. Already. Please.”

“Come when you want. But I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you up,” Steve said as he moved his hips faster.

True to his word, when Eddie came not even a minute later, shaking apart in Steve’s lap, tears dripping onto his still slightly rain-damp skin, Steve kept thrusting in and out. He didn’t even slow down, just kept the pace that Eddie knew he needed to get off.

The constant pressure against his prostate after he came was almost too much, and definitely would be too much soon. He felt the haze of overstimulation washing over him, let his brain go a bit cloudy as Steve used him to get off.

They didn’t do this very often; Steve was very much against possibly actually hurting Eddie and fucking him after his orgasm usually led to him wincing in pain. But sometimes, when the timing was just right, Eddie would start to float into subspace just when things got a bit less comfortable.

“Color, baby.”

“Green. Feel good.”

“Yeah, you look like you feel good, sweet boy.”

The compliments always made him float faster, make him drift just that bit further away, where he could just be held by Steve and know that he was being taken care of.

The rain seemed to be quieter, but Eddie couldn’t be bothered to move his face from the safety of Steve’s neck right now.

Steve’s hands tightened against his back, pushing him down onto his cock.

Warmth filled him as Steve moaned against his ear.

“So good for me, baby,” Steve whispered, his hips slowing to a stop. “Wish I could stay inside you forever.”

“Stay.”

Steve laughed. “I can’t stay inside you, sweet boy. Gotta clean you up and get you home.”

“Later.”

Steve gave him a minute or two, maybe longer, it was hard to tell with his brain checked out.

Day seven: ao3 | tumblr

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Halo

Author: Gwenwifar

Artist: verobatto

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Cas

Sam/Eileen

Length: 22300

Warnings: Apparent major character death (character does not die)

Tags: Canon divergent, protective Cas, protective Dean, Castiel’s true form, BAMF Dean, dream walking, pagan rituals, very questionable history of pagan ritual,

Posting Date: October 8, 2024

Summary: As a last resort, an angel can choose to give a human their halo to protect them from harm. That's not in any of the lore. Neither is the fact that without their halo, an angel cannot hold a vessel. Now that that's established, all Dean has to do is figure out how to get Cas back, while he works out who he even is anymore, now that he's not quite fully human.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

Excerpt: He’d fallen asleep. 

It must have been close to a year since the last time he’d done that. He hadn’t meant to. He’d only meant to close his eyes to the glare of all that light bouncing off the snow. It didn’t hurt. Nothing ever really hurt anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt pain. At least of the physical kind. He could still feel tired, though. Exertion didn’t have to slow him down, but he felt it. It was reassuring. It made him feel - human. 

Which was why he’d started pushing himself. He wanted to know his limits, but mostly, he needed to feel tired muscles from time to time, reminding him that he was not, in fact, so far removed from who he had been. That however strong he might be now, however long he could go without food or rest, his muscles could still strain, would still go rubbery and unsteady after a while. He’d never imagined he’d long to feel weak, but here he was, making his way up Denali just to feel the burn. 

He hadn’t even stopped for gear, or waited for climbing season. He’d just - made sure Baby was parked in a safe place, and started walking up the mountain. He started feeling it after a couple of hours. The change in the air made his muscles strain, but they kept responding and he kept climbing. He wasn’t tired enough yet.

It was the light that finally made him stop. He had more or less just meandered up the nearest face of the mountain, going wherever his feet could get a solid hold, and he’d found himself coming out of the shadow of the mountain to blinding light, bouncing at him from every direction. He couldn’t see where he was going. He took a few steps anyway, felt himself slide as the snow gave way under his boots, and for the first time in a long time he felt - afraid. Carefully, he crouched down, felt for some kind of solid surface, and settled onto some kind of a ledge.  

It was probably habit more than anything that caused him to fall asleep. He was tired, and the ledge was warm (or warmer than the snow, in any case), and his eyes were closed. Drifting off must have been something akin to muscle memory.

The glare of the snow was replaced by a wide strip of light bouncing off the surface of a lake. He knew this place. He’d been here before. It was... peaceful.

[wolven91]

They're Good Boys

“Abigail, get away from it!”

The human made no attempt to move away from the obviously apex predator that they had found evidence of, only days before on the latest planet to be surveyed in the oddly unresearched system. The planet was an iceball relatively close to the canid home system Anul. This system had been largely ignored due to the dangerous gravity wells that peppered the whole system. It was only now that they were investigating due to the unusual amount of stranded ships becoming an issue. Mainly because these ships were beginning to contain humans. 

Now the humans were seemingly desperate to get killed as the predator was a gigantic beast, the human barely came up to the top of its leg, its shoulders and back were only just reachable to the shorter human and even to the avian Guelex,  they barely reached its head. The poor avian was currently displaying his stress via extending his plumage to its maximum.

“He’s fine, see; he likes me!” The human shouted back, turning her head towards Faa breifly. The giant predator continued to lick and slather over the human’s ear instead of her face directly.

“It. Is. Tasting. You!!” He tried to penetrate the human’s exceptionally thick skull, but to no avail. The human turned back, reengaging her scratches to the sides of the monster’s face while using a strange voice, one reminiscent of the way one would speak to a young hatchling.

“Oooh, you’re just a big ‘ol space puppy aren’t you? Who’s a big space puppy? Who's a big scary six legged space puppy!?”

The creature collapsed to the ground and rolled onto its back partially, the human, not using this opportunity to flee, instead moved to rake her hands through the fluff that made up the creature’s belly. The set of hind legs began to kick in time to her attention.

Faa felt like he was going to moult at this rate.

“Human Abigail?!” Faa no longer cared for the Human Abigail who had the good sense not to climb on top of the predators. Human Max however, had appeared behind where Human Abigail was currently face deep into the belly of the beast, riding atop a different member of the behemoth’s pack.

“It’s like riding a horse! Only not really and completely different!” Human Max shouted from its back, his legs and stomach were completely obscured by the deep pelt of the creature. He reached down to scratch behind a massive ear, causing the creature to tilt its head and take several sideway steps in that direction.

“See! They’re good boys! It’s been years since I rode!”

“They- They’re not ‘good boys’! They’re dangerous!”

A large branch came flying from behind an ancient tree that had been growing on the ice planet for centuries. Moments later two more of the creatures came bursting from the undergrowth before growling and pulling at either end of the tree branch, fighting amongst themselves. Human Sarah appeared, pushing through the snow that reached her chest.

“Guys, they know ‘fetch’!”

“Awesome!” “Cool!” The group shouted.

Faa simply put a taloned hand on his face and shook his head. If Faa got eaten because of these Apes, he’s going to have words with the God of Challenges. 

This wasn’t fair.

“Faa, look, we can make it all the way back to the ship before nightfall if we take the Good Boys.”

Faa opened one eye at Human Abigail without removing his hand, Human Abigail was currently laying against the creature’s stomach on her back. She looked cosy and warm, ignoring the giant megafauna that was her ‘bed’.

“By riding them?”

“By riding them. We’ll have to give them treats though...”

The creature she was laying against, flinched, and sent her stumbling. It brought its muzzle all the way round towards Human Abigail and began to press it into her at different locations while the giant bellows of its lungs worked to sniff at her vigorously. The others that were in ear shot also took notice, as if understanding her meaning, if not her words. Human Abigail had the good sense to back up from the trio of predators that approached a few steps before falling over backwards into the snow bank.

Faa looked on in horror as he assumed the creatures began to eat Human Abigail, he didn’t even want to say ‘I told you so’, but before he could shout, run or even grumble, Human Abigail’s laughter broke out from below the muzzles that were pressing him into the snow.

“Stop it! Argh! I don’t have any on me ya daft things! Stop licking me! Let's go back and you can come with us! Pleh! Urgh! It got in my mouth! No!”

She had the decency to sound distressed now, but Faa knew she’d not learn from this experience, none of Faa’s team ever did. No wonder these humans didn’t travel in large groups; they hardly got any work done.

[boreal-sea]

Withholding your vote might feel powerful. It might feel like the only action you can take in a system that is designed to work against you.

But not everyone has the privilege to choose to abstain. A lot of people have had their vote stolen from them.

And not voting doesn't influence anyone. Our election system doesn't care how many people participate in it. Republicans will go to the polls come rain, shine, or snow. They will vote red. If every Democrat abstained from voting, Trump would win and that would be that.

I just can't see how that's a good outcome. I can't justify throwing away my vote when many don't have the right to choose.

If you want things like election reform, you HAVE to keep Democrats in power right now, because Republicans are 100% against election reform. Our broken system helps them win. In many cases, it's the ONLY reason they win. We the people cannot vote on laws if they don't end up on the ballot, and Republicans will never let things like ranked-choice voting get on a ballot if they are in power. Congress will never pass term limits with Republicans in power. We will never have enough votes for a constitutional amendment to remove the electoral college with Republicans in power.

People are dying right now - yes. But MORE people will die at a faster rate if Trump and the Republicans are in power.

Please, please think about that. Biden is harm-reduction. He is not the perfect candidate, but he has genuinely done a lot of good for marginalized people. His administration has helped us! He's not a do-nothing president. Anyone telling you that is lying to you.

[kybercrystals94]

Exposure

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 10 - Prompts: Blow to the Head / Slurred Words / "I can't think straight."

Rated: T | Words: 1566

A/N: I am not a medical profession. Do with that as you will 🫠

Fear takes root when Hunter stops shivering. 

The temperature in the shallow cave has not improved, Tech knows that much. He has been monitoring the weather conditions closely, hoping that the storm will pass, that the interference preventing their distress signal will clear. Unfortunately, the concept of hope has little effect on natural events. Hope, however, does prevent panic, so Tech clings to the fragile abstraction, metaphorically, with both hands. His actual hands are numb, even under his gloves, knuckles swollen and sore. His fingers struggle to do what should be the simple function of unclasping his armor. 

“What are you doing?” Hunter asks, syllables slurring together almost incomprehensibly. 

“Removing my armor,” Tech states simply. It is far too cold to elaborate further. 

The Sergeant glares up at him blearily, mismatched pupils blown wide with concussion. “Why?” 

Tech does not explain. It is taking all his focus just to remove pieces of plastoid with clumsy, uncooperative fingers. If Hunter would simply be patient, he would be able to see soon enough. Tech liberates himself from his cuirass and backplate and moves to the challenging bits of armor clinging to his arms, silently cursing their smaller latches. 

“Tech,” Hunter growls. If he is aiming for authoritative, it is undermined by the weak breathlessness of his voice. However, it does renew the fervor with which Tech fights with his armor pieces. 

At last, Tech drops the last segment of armor from his upper portion, leaving him in just his thermal blacks from the waist up. He kneels next to Hunter and begins to repeat the process on his barely conscious brother. 

“What are you doing?” Hunter demands again, trying to pull away. 

“We need to get your body temperature back up,” Tech explains. His voice trembles, teeth clacking together. At least he is still shivering. That is a bright side. 

Hunter makes an indignant sound, as though it is Tech who lost his helmet and received a blow to the head rappelling down the cliff face in ice and snow. “By taking off our armor?” 

“We must lend one another our warmth,” Tech continues patiently, “which cannot be achieved through amor. Please hold still. 

Hunter slumps back against the cave wall obediently. He watches Tech work, blinking slowly. “I’m not cold,” he says. “Not anymore.” 

“I understand you feel that way,” Tech says. “That is a sign of moderate hypothermia. We must work to raise your internal temperature as soon as possible.” 

“Not safe,” Hunter mumbles. 

“It is our only choice at this juncture. Unfortunately, we lost our emergency packs in the fall. They will be buried in the snowfall dozens of meters below us by now.” 

Hunter’s brow furrows. “’s my fault.” 

“It was an unfortunate accident,” Tech corrects him. 

Tech finds some small sense of triumph as Hunter’s upper armor is more easily removed. He stacks their cuirasses and backplates near where Hunter is situated, retrieves his data pad, then sits down next to his brother. He draws the wounded man to his side. Hunter does not produce any warmth to share, merely absorbing Tech’s limited supply. With his free hand, Tech haphazardly arranges the larger armor pieces in what he hopes will be a small barrier from the elements. 

It will not last long. They will die of exposure if help does not arrive soon. 

If the storm does not let up soon. 

If their brothers do not find them soon. 

Soon. 

Soon is not on their side. 

“You’re shaking,” Hunter mutters drowsily. 

Tech wants to explain that shivering is a preferable state to Hunter’s; however, he merely jostles the man a little too roughly. “You have to stay awake,” he orders. 

Hunter utters something that Tech cannot make out. 

Tech answers nonetheless. “No. I need to rest. You’ve got the watch. Do you understand? You need to keep watch for the others to find us.”

Hunter becomes heavier against his side, deadweight. 

Tech shakes him again. “You must stay awake, Hunter.” His voice breaks, only partially from the intense cold plaguing him. “Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.” 

Hunter doesn’t respond. 

Time slips by. 

Tech isn’t shivering anymore. 

**

The landscape is white, clean, and dangerous. Crosshair’s sharp eyes slice across it, searching for imperfections, disturbances. Signs that their missing brothers are out there. Waiting for Echo to pinpoint their location is taking too long. Every lost second carries a heavy cost they can’t afford. 

Wrecker crashes through the fresh snow, pacing. “Where are they?” he demands. 

Crosshair tips his head, expression shielded by his helmet. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be looking, would we?” he snarls. 

“Not helping,” Echo tells him through comms. He’s on the ship, trying to boost the signal. 

Crosshair bites out, “Neither is he. Neither are you. They’re probably already dead.” 

“Don’t say that!” Wrecker stops his pacing and looms over Crosshair. He looks like he might lash out physically. 

Crosshair shifts, squaring up, wordlessly daring Wrecker to try.

“Both of you, knock it off!” Echo orders, ARC voice bladed. 

Wrecker deflates immediately, but Crosshair holds his ground a moment longer, claiming a weak and idle victory. He can’t see Wrecker’s face, but his body language, like his voice, is loud. The drop of his shoulders, the angle of his helmet. Wrecker is scared, like the rest of them. They all know the likelihood of Hunter and Tech surviving the elements without proper gear. Crosshair voicing it doesn’t change the terrible facts. 

He cannot bring himself to apologize in so many words, so Crosshair bumps against Wrecker’s arm, hard, with his shoulder. “If anyone could figure out how to survive, it’d be those two.” 

Wrecker’s posture lifts. “I know they did.” 

“I got something!” Echo calls out, making their in-helmet comms hiss in protest. “Putting in coordinates now.” 

Crosshair and Wrecker clamber on board, and the ship is already off the ground before Crosshair punches the button to close the hatch. 

**

Hunter wakes feeling trapped. 

He can’t move his arms or legs, bound by a strange, encompassing weight. His first, mind-addled reaction is to panic, writhing frantically to free himself from the swaddling confines of whatever is holding him.

“Hey! They’re just blankets, di’kut, kriff,” Crosshair’s voice snaps at him. 

The familiar, waspish tone of his youngest brother makes Hunter stop, and Crosshair helps him disentangle enough fabric to free his arms. “How many blankets are there?” Hunter asks, voice rough from disuse, throat sore and parched. 

“Too many,” Crosshair admits. “I don’t know where Wrecker keeps finding them. Thirsty?” 

Hunter nods, and Crosshair hauls him up into a sitting position and hands him an open canteen. Hunter takes a sip of the tepid liquid, the taste of added electrolytes bitter on his tongue. He makes a face. “How long was I out?” 

“Two standard days,” Crosshair says. “Really did a number on yourself. Concussion and hypothermia. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hunter frowns. “The last thing I remember clearly was checking my cables before rappelling down the cliff face. We were going to hike to the rendezvous point.” 

Crosshair scoffs. “That’s it?” 

“I remember my head feeling like it got split open,” Hunter grumbles. 

“Not quite, but not for lack of trying,” Crosshair says. “Lost your helmet and your emergency packs. Tech is still annoyed about losing his favorite med scanner.” 

“Is Tech alright?” Hunter asks, turning to look at where the other cot is empty across the aisle. A faint recollection of panicked words filters into his muddled memories. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

“Hypothermia and exposure, but he’s recovering,” Crosshair says with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be resting still; however, he claims he heard a rattle in the ship’s console before the mission, and insisted he had to repair it now. Weak excuse, but Echo let him get away with it.”

Hunter chuckles, the remnants of his concussion protesting with a throb of his skull. 

Crosshair’s expression turns solemn. “We almost didn’t make it in time. When Wrecker and I got into that cave...we thought we were recovering corpses.” 

Another painful throb pulses, this time in Hunter’s throat as he imagines what that must have been like. He doesn’t want to imagine, doesn’t want to think of any two of his brothers lying so still that he thought they were dead. So, he pushes the horrifying thought away, reaching out and grabbing hold of Crosshair’s arm. “But you weren’t.” 

Crosshair scowls at the durasteel floor and gives one, tight nod. 

Tech comes into the hold, Wrecker right behind him. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Tech says, something akin to warm smile touching his lips. 

Hunter smiles. “Thanks to you, sounds like.” 

Tech waves away the comment, taking a seat on the opposite cot. “How are you feeling?” 

“Smothered with all these blankets,” Hunter says, tossing a good-natured glare in Wrecker’s direction. 

The giant gasps. “You should have seen yourself before the blankets! Have you ever seen blue clones before? ‘Cause it’s something I never want to see again.” 

“I agree,” Crosshair mutters. 

“I assure you; such is an event I hope none of us experience a second time. On either side of the equation,” Tech says firmly.

There is a haunted expression in his brothers’ eyes, a lingering look of hope snuffed out. 

That nearly transparent memory returns. Please. Stay awake. Help is coming.

Hunter thanks the maker Tech was right. 

For all their sakes. 

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[magicalbats]

Sanctuary

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,874

Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will

A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 

Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 

Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 

“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 

Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”

“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 

Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 

The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 

Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 

Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 

Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 

“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 

Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 

The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 

You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 

The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 

“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 

“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 

A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 

“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 

Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 

“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 

His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 

You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 

Was he really human? 

“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 

Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 

The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 

“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 

You lift your chin and tell him your name.

He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 

“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”

Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 

“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 

“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.

“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 

“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 

You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 

He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”

Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 

Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 

“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 

He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 

“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 

Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 

Just what was he? 

“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 

You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 

A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 

“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 

“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 

At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 

“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 

Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 

Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 

Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 

You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 

Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that��s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 

Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 

The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 

This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 

You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 

Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 

When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 

And then your eyes adjust. 

A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 

Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 

What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 

You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 

“You came.” 

Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 

All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 

“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 

Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 

The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 

“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 

“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …

Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 

If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …

“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 

“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 

The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 

“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 

You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 

It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 

You'd barely even seen it move … 

“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 

“W - what are you —“ 

The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 

“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 

It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 

“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”

“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 

“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 

You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 

But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 

You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 

Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 

“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 

“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 

“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 

Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 

Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 

“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 

It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 

“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 

“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 

You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”

“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 

Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 

“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 

“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.

Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 

“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 

“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 

Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 

Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 

“We shall see.” 

Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 

And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 

The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 

Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 

Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 

“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 

You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 

That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 

“Oh … that’s - -“ 

“Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 

You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 

But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 

“P - please … it’s too much!”

Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 

“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 

You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 

It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 

“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 

“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 

Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 

You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 

But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 

All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 

“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 

Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 

The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 

You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 

You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 

Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 

“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You remember everything, of course. 

And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 

What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 

Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 

Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 

You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 

“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 

It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 

Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 

Right? 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 

His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 

Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 

“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 

You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 

You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 

This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 

“W - what are you doing here?” 

Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 

“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 

You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 

Affection. 

Fidelity. 

Wedded love. 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 

“I did not ask for flowers.”

“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 

Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 

Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 

Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 

For him. 

For this. 

You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You and Mark have to punish your pup for disobeying Pairing: Samoyed!Jeno x fem Golden Retriever!reader x human!Mark Tropes: hybrid au, poly au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: hybrids, language Smut Warnings: collar & leash, voyeurism, scent play(?), grinding, unprotected sex, dirty talk, biting/marking, mxm content Word Count: 1,122 Note: continuation of this drabble for @raibebe Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Want by Taemin

“No, no, no,” Jeno whines, his hair moving with his motion, “I’ll be–”

“Dogs don’t fucking speak, do they?” Mark reminds him.

Jeno’s ears droop slightly. Mark pulls his leg away from Jeno’s tented sweatpants. You watch as Jeno forces a whine down his throat. His normally soft scent sharpens with desire. It affects your own to grow sweeter and sharper.

Mark moves you to lie back on the bed comfortably. Your blonde floppy ears splay out with your hair against the pillows. Jeno’s leash is still tight in Mark’s hold. He pulls the younger closer to the edge of the bed absent-mindedly as he focuses on kissing you. His free hand pulls your underwear down your legs. You help him by squirming your legs. He tosses the soaked material off the bed toward Jeno.

“That’s all you get. Understood?” He asks, still not looking at the Samoyed hybrid.

Jeno nods profusely and accepts the material. While he’s distracted, Mark lets the leash go slack for a moment as he removes his clothing. Mark drags his cock against your bare pussy. The feeling of that alone sends your body and mind into raw desperation for your human boyfriend.

“Mark,” you gasp when his cock catches on your clit, “Please, fuck me. Need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, “Want me to fuck you raw and leave a mess for our pup to clean up later?”

You whimper at his filthy words and the implications of them. Mark pushes into you, making you moan loudly and cling to him. Jeno makes a small noise, wanting some sort of release or attention. You let one of your hands fall down by his face. He nuzzles into your palm, happy that he got anything at all.

Mark thrusts into you at a brain-numbing pace. You’re seeing stars. You know your scent is sharp and sweet. It’s definitely taking a toll on Jeno’s state. When you look at him for a moment, you can tell his pupils are nearly engulfing his irises. His scent is extremely sharp out of pure desperation for any form of release from his aroused state. Leaning forward more, Jeno nudges against Mark’s arm.

“Do you want something, pup? Can’t you see I’m preoccupied fucking our precious girlfriend?”

“Markie,” you whine when he hits that perfect spot inside you.

“Hmm?” He hums, eyes refocusing on you.

“More, please, need more!” You beg.

Mark smirks before leaning down to kiss you. You moan into the kiss. If you were on your stomach, you know your tail would be twitching and wagging from the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. Mark’s free hand wanders into your hair, slotting his fingers around one of your ears. The touch to your puppy ear makes your body even more reactive. Mark tugs Jeno’s leash, pulling the Samoyed hybrid up onto his knees. His snow-white ears are pointed back in submission to the elder.

Pulling away from you slightly, Mark locks his lips with Jeno’s. Despite saying the other puppy hybrid would only get your underwear, he hungrily kisses him. Still, Mark keeps his brutal pace fucking you. He doesn’t kiss Jeno for very long. He keeps his word, not giving the other man a single bit of relief. 

“Mark, please,” Jeno whines, “I’m a good boy! I’m being good!” 

“Pup,” you moan, “Come here.”

“Darling,” Mark says with a warning tone, “He’s not getting anything.”

You moan when Mark places a kiss against a sensitive spot near your scent gland on your throat. He may not be able to smell your scent like Jeno can, but he loves kissing and marking your scent glands just as much as the other puppy hybrid does. 

“We can’t let our pretty puppy suffer, Markie.” You gasp, “It’s not fair to him.”

Mark continues to kiss your throat and leave pretty purple bruises behind each time. Jeno whimpers, wishing to be the one marking you up. He’s always been obsessed with the action. He never properly bites your throat where the mating mark would be placed. You’re all very careful of that, even if Mark can never properly mate you.

“Maybe he should’ve been a good pup and waited until I told him it was okay to get off on my leg.”

“Mark,” you moan as his fingers pull the hair around your puppy ears slightly, “He’s being so good right now. Look at him.”

Mark pulls away from your throat to look at your other boyfriend. The Samoyed hybrid is sitting beside the bed just as he was told. His eyes are wide and brimmed with tears, adding to his desperate puppy dog expression. The black collar around his throat stands out against his unmarked skin, and the leash only adds to the debauched sight.

Your human boyfriend stops his hips altogether, making you whine from the lack of stimulation. He sits up, still deep inside you, and tugs Jeno closer again. The puppy lets out a shaky breath, being held meer inches from his boyfriend’s face. You’re so desperate to just grind down against Mark’s cock as he calculates his next move on Jeno. 

“Please,” Jeno whines. 

“You’re out of your headspace?” Mark questions quietly.

The Samoyed nods, “Yeah, just need–”

Mark drops the leash and takes Jeno’s face in his hands, pressing his cheeks slightly. Again, Jeno’s scent spikes for a second then evens out to a still sharp yet smoother state. You finally cave and move your hips against Mark’s. He smirks while keeping his eyes locked on Jeno’s.

“I know you smell and see it, pup.” He says in a low voice, “You want to help her out too, yeah?”

“Mmm,” Jeno hums, trying his best to nod.

“That’s our good boy.” He muses, “Come on, come help me take care of our girlfriend.”

Jeno doesn’t need to be told twice. He climbs up on the bed and sits close to you. He desperately wants to nuzzle into your scent gland, but he knows it’ll only make him more needy than he already is. The leash still dangles from his neck, too eager to wait for Mark to help him take it off. It works as an advantage to your older boyfriend, though. He slips his hand around the chain of the leash again and guides Jeno back to him.

“Behave, or else you’ll be tied to the bed, unable to touch either of us. Understood?”

“Y-yes, may I…” he trails off.

“Pup,” you call him in a breathy tone, still fucking yourself on Mark’s cock, “Come help me out a bit. I’m sure Mark will be kind this time.”

“For now, yes.” Mark chuckles, finally moving to meet your thrusts, “Go on, be a good boy.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[oscarseyebrow]

Enkindle

gif by the wonderful @nowritingonthewall 💖

Pairings: din djarin x female reader  Rating: explicit. 18+ Word count: 8k Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, dirty talk, friends to lovers, one bed, cursing, slight hint of din not being an experienced kisser.  Masterlist | Taglist

“What do you mean you only have one room left?” 

Din is not impressed, and despite the modulated tone of his voice, his frustration is as clear as the thawing snow trickling over his armor. He has been tested more than enough today, and you’re starting to fear that this could be the straw to break the bantha’s back.

The owner of the room in question–an elderly Lasat with half an ear missing–sighs out her annoyance at having to repeat herself again. Clearly Din had heard her the first time. 

Her gritty voice holds a tone that is almost less impressed than Din’s when she gives him her final reply: “One room. Take it or leave it, big guy.” 

A silence stretches in the dimly-lit reception area. The towering Mandalorin and broad-yet-stubby Lasat share a stubborn glare across the small desk, neither of them willing to look away first. Not many people would attempt to stare down a man dressed in full beskar, but it’s clear that she will not be intimidated by the armor. You’re sure a somewhat disgruntled Mandalorian isn’t the worst customer she’s ever had the displeasure of dealing with in this shady area of town. 

You stand to the side, dithering silently while rubbing at the arm of your damp jacket. It makes no difference at all to the wet fabric, the chill had settled into your bones hours ago while you trudged through the snow after a failed hunt.  

One room. It would be fine. Maker, at this point, you would take the damn barn if it meant not having to go back out into the cold again. 

Very slowly, Din’s head turns until he is able to see you. 

The look on your face says it all: you don’t care about the room. You’re too cold to give a shit. The only thing you want is to get out of your wet clothes and step into a hot shower. 

“Fine,” your hunting partner finally grumbles. “We’ll take it.” 

One room doesn’t necessarily mean one bed. You had stayed in plenty of dives where more than one bed was available in a shared room. Sometimes, places like this would often cram in as many bunks as possible to make money. 

This would most likely be a similar kind of set-up.

Not even a second after the door to the room slides open, you realise how wrong you are. 

This is not similar. It’s not similar at all. 

There is only one bed. 

One small, not-so-big, unable to comfortably share, tiny bed.

Fuck. 

“It’s okay,” you lie through your chattering teeth. “You take the bed. I’ll take a…” 

There’s no shower. There’s no fucking shower. 

One bed is something you could come around to, maybe, but the thought of not being able to step into the warmth of a shower and feel the water cascading over your frozen skin causes a disappointment to sit heavily in your stomach. It had been the only thing getting you through the miles of trudging across the snow with Din: cold, hungry, pissed off. 

“We can work the job together,” he had said before leaving Nevaro. “It will be quicker that way.” 

If it wouldn’t inflict too much pain on your cold hands, you would smack him right here and now for thinking anything involving this planet would be quick and simple. 

“You’re having the bed,” Din’s voice scrapes with a firm edge, the exhaustion notable as he begins the process of removing his weapons. 

“No, you take it. It’s fine.” 

“I’m not taking the bed.” 

“You’ve been complaining for hours about being tired,” you shoot back and prepare to continue, but Din cuts you off. 

“And you’ve been whining for hours about being cold, so take the bed, warm up and get some damn sleep.” 

A long silence follows Din’s words. His helmet fixes you in place, unmoving, unrelenting in his stubborn stand. It’s almost identical to the one you had seen him take up with the Lasat out front, and as a show of your own stubbornness, you fold your arms across your chest and tighten your jaw to fight your chattering teeth. 

“Don’t start,” Din warns you. 

You know each other well, having worked for Greef Karga for longer than either of you would care to admit. Din was always a lone hunter, much like yourself, but somehow a friendship had developed between the two of you a couple of years back. You liked to think that you had both come to a point in your lives where a little company wasn’t so bad. One hunt had turned into two, two into three, and before either of you had realised, you had spent more hunts together than apart. 

So yes, Din knew that you were standing your ground with him, just as he was with you. 

“You need it more…you’re older. Your back isn’t what it used to be.”

Din tilts his helmet slowly: “I’m going to let that one go.” 

“Like you let our bounty go?” 

“Hey,” his tone lacks any sort of playful edge now. “I said I would let that one comment go, don’t push it.” 

With a huff, you turn your back on him and walk across to what you assume is supposed to be the refresher. The door barely closes, and even when it does finally click into place, you’re able to touch each wall without fully extending your arms. 

“Wonderful,” you mutter under your breath. “Absolutely love this for me.” 

The light above the sink flickers and temporarily illuminates names that have been etched into the wall over the years: some have hearts around them, memories of nights spent in a cheap room together while others have dates and other little messages to accompany them. It holds your attention for longer than it should as you stand there, dripping and cold, wondering what their stories are.

Were they partners? Lovers? Had they come here for a secret affair? How many others had stood in front of this mirror reading those names, wondering the same thing? 

You make quick work of splashing water on your face—you’re not sure why you hoped it would be anything more than freezing cold—then groan when you realise there’s nothing that comes close to resembling a towel.

Of course. Of fucking course. 

You’re still grumbling to yourself when you slide out of the fresher, then pause to look at Din. His armor is gone, now set out neatly beside the bed where it glints in the limited light from the dusty window. It’s a strange thing to see in a place like this: something beautiful, laid out with precision on a carpet blotched with stains of varying colour and size. He has shown so much care toward something when nothing else in the room has ever been treated with that level of dignity and respect. 

But that’s not all he has removed. 

The thick, woven fabric of his flak vest is gone, laid out to dry alongside his cape and gloves. Din is clearly removing his cold, wet layers and you beg yourself to divert your eyes, offer him the same respect he often does for you. It’s almost impossible, though. 

“I had an idea,” Din breaks the silence in the room as he turns to face you. 

You want to listen to him, really, you do. But you’re distracted by the way the wet material of his black undershirt sticks to his body. He reaches to slide down the suspenders from his shoulders and you swallow thickly, now forcing your eyes to focus elsewhere in the room. 

This is Din. You should not be looking at him this way. Sure, you had often wondered what sex with him would be like—you were only human, after all. You had taken the risky glance here and there while travelling together, but only when you knew he was too busy to catch you staring. He was your hunting partner, your friend. There had never been any reason to complicate that and try to make it into something more. 

You both met your needs elsewhere, with other people. Din had never wanted that from you. There had been plenty of opportunities, moments where you found yourselves just a little too close, lingering touches and hands accidentally brushing while reaching for the same tool or controls on the ship. But nothing more. Never anything more. Din simply isn’t interested in you like that. 

“We can share.”

It seems like a perfectly acceptable solution to share a bed with a friend…just one night, sleeping back-to-back. 

When he gets no reply from you, he tries to bring you around to the idea: “And considering there’s no heating in this place, it would probably be beneficial to share. The temperature outside is going to drop further tonight and we need to try and stay warm.” 

His tone is so matter of fact. It’s clear that Din has thought this through. 

How does he make it sound so casual? 

You attempt to inhale slowly but all you can manage is another shiver as your teeth start chattering again. Din is right; there’s no heating in this room, and you need to warm up. It wouldn’t do either of you any good to spend the night freezing cold and wet. It was important to rest up and prepare to make another attempt at tracking the bounty in the morning.  

“F—fine,” you agree. “I’ll take that side.” 

You motion to the left side of the bed and watch as his helmet follows, taking note of your preference. Din doesn’t argue, he simply nods and accepts your terms. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeat and turn your attention to the bed again. 

Neither of you move. 

The whole situation suddenly feels awkward, as though you’re both reconsidering Din’s great idea and desperately trying to think of a better solution. It comes down to very simple facts: you suck it up and share a bed, or you freeze. 

“I’ll turn around,” Din offers after a moment. “You need to get those wet clothes off before you get in bed, so…just tell me when you’re ready.” 

True to his word, Din turns himself around so that his back is to you, giving you as much privacy as he can. You watch him for a moment and let a hint of a smile settle on your lips. How could you not? Din is caring and polite. He’d always done everything he could to ensure you were comfortable in his presence, especially when spending extended periods of time together in what little space the Crest had to offer.

You trust him not to look. You know that he won’t. His word is his promise, so you slowly peel the wet layers from your skin and hiss as the cold air causes another involuntary shiver to pass through your muscles. 

Nothing is dry. Every item of clothing you have is soaked through: your socks and pants, your jacket, shirt and tank top. There’s absolutely nothing left to salvage, nothing that you can sleep in…aside from your underwear. 

You have to warn him. 

“Din…” you murmur and look up just in time to see him starting to turn around. “No! Don’t look!” you shriek and throw your arms over yourself to cover your exposed body. 

That’s not why you called his name. It wasn’t confirmation that it was safe for him to turn around. You just wanted to tell him you were going to have to sleep in your underwear. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought—shit,” Din’s helmet whips around quicker than you’ve ever seen him move before. “I didn’t…I didn’t see anything, I promise.” 

He sounds truly mortified, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh. This whole situation is one long, hilarious fuck-up: losing the bounty, being too far away from the ship to make it back in one night, the shitty excuse of a room. One bed. It’s all fucked. 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh. “I just…I have nothing to wear and I didn’t want to surprise you by only wearing underwear so I wanted to warn you but then you started turning around and I panicked and…yeah.” 

There’s another long silence while you watch Din’s shoulders rise and fall with his steady breaths. Your eyes wander further, exploring the broadness of his back, the way his damp shirt defines the shape of his muscles and the softness of his body beneath the thin fabric. 

“Are all of your clothes wet?” Din asks after a moment. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

The silence returns. 

This time, he shifts his weight to his other foot and lowers his helmet slightly. Is this a bad idea? Should you put your wet clothes back on and insist that you’re fine with not having the bed? 

You shiver again, your body’s attempt to warm itself. 

“Okay,” he finally sighs. 

“Okay?” 

“Get under the blankets. You need to warm up. I can hear your teeth chattering from over here…just tell me when it’s actually safe to look,” Din explains with full sincerity. 

Your teeth find your bottom lip as you try to carry out the impossible task of suppressing your smile. He’s doing his best to make this situation as comfortable as possible. There’s very little dignity to be had in this dingy little room, but he’s trying to save yours. 

The bed creaks and groans in protest the second you lift a leg onto it. It whines as you shuffle down beneath the scratchy blankets. There are chings and clangs while you turn onto your side and scoot as close to the edge of the bed as you possibly can without falling out of it. 

Then finally, when you settle, you give Din the confirmation he has been waiting for: “It’s safe to look at me now.” 

You don’t know if he does look at you. Why would he? What you meant was that it was now safe for him to look around the room, not specifically at you. Should you correct what you meant by that? No…no, you just need to not say anything else. 

You shake your head to yourself and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly. You’re too cold. Your fingers and toes are still tingling, your muscles too tense, and the voices next door are much too loud through the thin walls. 

Eventually, the room plummets into darkness, and a few seconds later, the bed shifts under Din’s weight. You can tell he’s moving with caution, taking care not to disturb you as he attempts to fit himself into what little space is left. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs when his elbow accidentally catches you. 

You open your mouth to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to apologise, but you’re suddenly distracted by the warmth of a brief touch. It’s Din’s skin, meaning the black undershirt you were admiring is now gone. He’s shirtless. Din Djarin, intimidating Mandalorian, feared bounty hunter, shirtless, in bed with you. 

Okay, you need to think sensibly and logically about this. You have seen Din’s skin plenty of times before: you have patched him up countless times, unintentionally bumped into him while he has been changing. Maker, you have even accidentally walked in on him fucking someone on more than one occasion. His skin is nothing new—you have seen it and felt it before. 

But never in the same bed. Never anything more than what is necessary. No, this is necessary. This is your only option. Din suggested this because you need the warmth and he needs a place to sleep. 

That’s it. That’s all there is to it. 

So why does your mind keep coming back to the image of him standing before you, his wet long-sleeve sticking to his body… 

Before you can stop them, your teeth begin to chatter again and another shiver takes over your body. The blankets aren’t helping. The chill has settled deep within your bones and isn’t letting up. The hours of being out in the snow are taking their toll, and you already know that come morning, your clothes will still be damp and uncomfortable to put back on. 

The thought of dragging cold fabric over your skin has you shivering again. 

Din moves a little behind you, no doubt trying to get himself into more of a comfortable position, and you think he may have found one when you hear him sigh. 

“Come here,” he murmurs. 

The words are almost as unsure as you are—did you hear him correctly? Had he told you to go closer to him? 

“Excuse me?” 

“Look,” Din starts and then pauses with another small sigh. He’s trying to find the right words. “You’re freezing cold. You’re keeping us both awake. The quickest way you’re going to warm up is if you share some of my body heat.” 

A long silence falls between you. 

Again, he somehow manages to make it sound so normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. The words roll out like he’s explaining a hunting plan to you or giving you some information regarding the planet you’re going to be landing on. Despite the way your heart races and uncertainty sits heavily in your thoughts, Din makes a fair point. 

Should you ask if he’s sure? No, he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t sure. 

It’s strange, unfamiliar territory as you shuffle back a little on the bed until you’re met with the warmth of Din’s chest. Stars, he’s carrying enough heat to warm up the whole damn room. 

You find a comfortable position and then close your eyes when his arm rests against your side. He’s respectful in where he lays his hand: it doesn’t venture anywhere it’s not supposed to. He crosses no lines, and after a moment, you feel the front of his helmet touch the back of your head. 

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. “It’s easier to sleep at this angle, but I can move if y—”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. 

With Din’s head resting against yours, you listen to the rhythm of his soft breaths: slow and controlled, barely audible through the modulator if it wasn’t for him being so close behind you. There’s a comfortable warmth that radiates from him and easily seeps into your limbs. It cocoons you, thaws the deep chill that had latched onto your bones. 

It may have been the smallest bed, but you had never felt so settled. With each breath he takes, his chest brushes against your back and offers gentle encouragement to release some of the tension you’re still holding in your muscles. 

This doesn’t have to be anything more than what this moment is: two friends huddling together to share some warmth. The tightness in your shoulders begins to ease, allowing you to mould yourself more comfortably against Din. Eventually, your breathing finds a similar rhythm; slow, steady, relaxed. 

Until you reposition your legs and hear Din’s breath involuntarily hitch. 

Your eyes snap open in the darkness. During your adjustment, your hips press back a little too far, causing your ass to come into contact with Din’s crotch. There’s no mistaking the feeling of his hard cock pressing against you, restrained only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. 

Okay, you need to return to some sensible, logical thinking about the given situation and not react impulsively. 

Din has never been interested in you like that…has he? No, no. This is simply a natural reaction to being pressed close to someone after such a long time between intimate contact. This is nothing more than two friends sharing a bed, staying warm on a cold evening after a long day of hard work.

You’re suddenly aware of the deafening silence: not even your breathing helps to ease it as you hold it in your chest, unsure of what you’re supposed to do or say. You remain frozen, in all sense of the word, and acknowledge the building desire to grind back against Din in the darkness, to feel him take hold of you and fuck you open and—

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I can’t really—fuck. I didn’t mean…” Din’s frantic apology begins to tumble from him before he can fully form a coherent sentence. 

He’s panicking. He’s embarrassed and attempting to put some space between you but you quickly grab hold of his forearm to keep him in place. You don’t want him to go. You don’t want space. 

You want him to stay. 

“Are you attracted to me, Din?” The question is out before you can talk yourself down. You have to know. 

It takes a moment for any sort of response to arise, but you finally hear it, quiet yet confident as it scrapes through his modulator: “Yes.” 

Maybe, just like you, Din has never wanted to complicate things. The friendship and connection that you have works well as it is. There has never been any reason to change that or risk the embarrassment of finding out if any mutual feelings were shared. 

Until now. 

You swallow thickly, all too aware of the heat from his forearm radiating against your palm. His cock, thick and heavy, presses against the curve of your ass as you both take a moment to process the reality of the situation. Perhaps trying to process this isn’t the best thing to do. You know that you’ll end up overthinking everything, just as Din will, so before either of you have a chance to reason yourselves out of this, you slide your hand down over his arm and lace your fingers through his. 

“Have you ever thought about fucking me?” 

“All the time,” Din confesses without hesitation. 

With your hand closed over the top of his, you guide it up over your side so that he can feel your skin. You hear a noticeable change in his breathing: it becomes more shallow, a little heavier, while you take your time with smoothing his hand across your body. 

“What do you think about?” 

Din’s response is instant this time, a sense of relief evident in the one word he speaks: “Everything.”

You slide his hand up to cup your breast through your bra and squeeze, then with a somewhat innocent tone to your voice, you ask: “Why don’t you share some of those thoughts with me?”

Maybe this is simply a case of wanting what you’ve never been able to have: these unexpected circumstances have offered you both an opportunity you would have otherwise never taken. In the morning, it may be the worst decision either of you could have made…but for tonight, all you’re able to think about is the way his large hand squeezes at the supple flesh of your breast again.  

“I think about fucking that smart, pretty mouth of yours,” his tone is suddenly sinful, and gods, it catches you completely off guard as you exhale shakily. “I think about how good it would feel to fuck you right after a hunt while you’re all worked up and disheveled.” 

You’ve thought about that, too. On the nights you’ve spent with your fingers deep inside of your cunt, hips rolling while chasing your release to the thought of how Din would tear your pants down over your legs and sink his fingers into you. You’ve always imagined they would stretch you open and fill you perfectly, curl in just the right way until you were begging him to fuck you. 

“Keep going,” you urge him. 

“Sometimes, I think about how wet you would feel around my cock while you ride me in the pilot’s chair.”

Din’s hand releases your breast and slides upwards across your chest. You know he can feel the way your heart pounds with excitement beneath his touch, the way your body warms against him, flushed with desire. 

“I think about holding you while you tremble and cum around me, how beautiful you would look. I think about how you would moan my name, how good it would sound coming from you. Not Mando, not baby…you would moan my name.” 

“Din…” you speak it in a way that you never have before. It’s something so personal; breathier, softer. 

His hand smooths back down over your chest, pausing only to hook the tips of his fingers into the cup of your bra and tug it down to expose your breast completely. For a bounty hunter, you note how soft Din’s hands are. There’s no callouses as he traps your nipple between two fingers, no rough skin when he pinches the sensitive bud and tugs just enough to cause a spark of pleasure to pulse straight down to your core. 

“How long have you wanted me to touch you like this?” he asks. 

Despite the modulated tone of his voice, the sultry edge still washes over you like an exquisite silk, and you feel the effects of it everywhere. 

“For so long.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

It’s hard to focus when he squeezes your nipple again. You try to form the sentence in your head while his hand follows the curve of your ribs and you attempt to respond just as his fingers inch lower until they meet the edge of your underwear.

“I… I didn’t think you were interested,” you confess in a voice that’s barely louder than a whisper. 

“Weren’t you curious to find out?” 

“I didn’t want to look like an idiot if you weren’t attracted to me…” 

Din’s fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, but instead of settling where you ache for his touch, he traces them lightly over the curve of your hip. It causes the smallest shiver to dance through your muscles, and this time, it has nothing to do with the lingering chill from the snow. 

There’s a patience to Din’s touch, a restraint that you see him carry out on every hunt. He knows exactly how he wants to do this. He has thought about it, plotted his next steps while mapping out your skin with his hand. Stars, you can’t help but admire the way he controls his urges: he wants to take his time with this. He wants to show you that the attraction is mutual. 

“Do you want to find out now?” 

You nod eagerly. Maker, you want to find out more than anything in the galaxy. 

“Let me hear you say it,” Din encourages you. 

“Yes,” you nod again, still as eager as the first time. “I do.” 

Din readjusts behind you: only enough for his hand to slide down and take hold of your inner thigh before guiding your top leg over his own. Now that you’re adequately spread for him, his fingers smoothover the thin piece of fabric keeping him separated from you. 

You hear Din’s breath catch when his fingers discover the wetness that is entirely his doing. For a moment, he’s difficult to read. He lingers there, fingers flexing slowly against the damp material as though he’s admiring what he has done to you from a few confessions and light touches. 

“Fuck,” he hisses slowly while his fingers ease your underwear aside. “You’re so wet.” 

And before you can stop yourself, words come tumbling out of your mouth: “I always am when I think about you touching me.” 

You don’t need to see or hear Din to know that he’s smirking. You can sense  how smug he is to have this newfound knowledge of one of your best kept secrets. 

He traces the tip of one finger through the drenched slit of your cunt, collecting your arousal before drawing slow circles around your clit. Your whole body momentarily jerks and tenses at the sudden pleasure but his other arm slides beneath you and holds you tight to his broad chest. 

You’re trapped against him in the best possible way: leg hitched over his to spread you open, his hand pressing your upper body back against him. Your movement is limited when you attempt to roll your hips and moan in desperation when his finger stills against your clit with a lingering pressure. 

“Tell me how you imagine it,” Din encourages. 

Lust sears through your whole body, molten and unyielding. Of all the ways you have imagined confessing this in your fantasies, none of them come close to the real thing. The electrical flutter of excitement is ever present in your stomach, and it spurs you on to reach down and cover Din’s hand with your own, taking control of the pace. 

He’s just as surprised as you are when you press against his finger and cause it to flex slowly against your clit. You have the upper hand—quite literally—and Din is more than willing to see this play out. 

“Sometimes, I think about us not being able to make it back to the ship before you have me pressed up against something, out of view of any passers-by but still close enough that I would have to keep my moans quiet.” You fight to keep your voice steady while Din’s finger continues to rub slowly against you. “You’d barely get my pants down all the way, but it would be enough for you to bury your fingers into me.” 

“How many?” 

“One to begin with…but this is after a hunt and all of your patience has been spent. All of that composure and restraint would be at breaking point so you would waste little time before sinking a second finger in and moaning about how good it feels.” 

Din’s next breath falls unevenly through his modulator, creating a momentary crackle of static before he groans: “Go on…tell me what I’d do next.” 

“I’d ask for a third one,” you continue. 

“Do you think you could take it?” 

You’re already smirking to yourself as you nod and give him a simple response: “Yes.”

Your words have Din shifting behind you, and you know that he’s close to snapping. He’s strong and resilient, but he’s only human, and it’s clear that his needs are starting to cause cracks in his composure. You can hear it in his laboured breathing, in the strain in his voice.

“It would feel amazing…that stretch. It would be enough to open me up and prepare me for your big cock, but when—” you stumble and pause on your words when Din seeks out your opening. 

Fucking stars, you hear the obscene sounds of your drenched cunt when his finger presses into you: one to begin with, just as you had described. 

“You feel amazing,” Din groans out his praise. “What would happen next?” 

You moan at the feel of his finger pressing deeply into you, at the thought of him wanting to hear you describe your fantasy to him. Din is enjoying this: his neglected cock twitches against you in anticipation while he hangs on your every word. 

You draw in a breath, attempting to continue while a warmth radiates throughout your body, right from your core. Then right on cue, Din adds a second finger. He works them slowly to begin with, enjoying the feel of you opening up and welcoming him into your tight heat. 

“I’d try so hard to keep…to keep,” your words bleed into a loud moan when Din adjusts his hand and strokes his fingers up against a spot that has you trembling. Fuck. You draw in a shaky breath, attempting to continue. “To—to keep my composure,” you finally manage to rush through your words and then smile at Din’s breathy laugh. 

“More than you are now?” 

“I said I’d try,” you remind him. “Never said I’d do it successfully.” 

At this, you both laugh, his a lower rumble in comparison to the breatheir tone that passes through your lips. Any lingering nervousness or doubt seems to melt away in the moment: there’s something surreal about laughing at the easy banter you share while Din has two fingers buried inside of you. 

There’s an undeniable charge in the air, a shift in the connection you share. You think it’s the excitement and fear of the unknown that comes with crossing the line from friends and into something more. Is this something more? You don’t want to get ahead of yourself here, but it already feels different to so many others you’ve been with. 

There’s a mutual trust that you share with Din, an understanding of each other that nobody else has. You’ve given up your years of travelling alone and traded them in for his companionship. It has always felt so right to be with Din, despite the fleeting doubts in the beginning. There’s been hours spent talking and laughing in the cockpit, learning who he is beneath his armor and allowing an authentic friendship to blossom. Maybe that’s why even now, while stuck in a freezing-cold room, there’s nowhere else you would rather be if it means being there without him.

Much to your disappointment, his fingers withdraw. Din makes no big adjustments to his position, reluctant to put any space between your bodies. At first, you’re unsure of his intentions, unable to work out what he’s doing, until he draws his other arm from under you. 

A few seconds later, there’s a familiar hiss, one you have only ever heard from behind closed doors. Then, a thud. The unmistakable sound of beskar hitting carpet: Din’s helmet, dropping with much less care than he had taken when setting out the rest of his armor. 

A sudden excitement bubbles up from deep within your stomach at the realisation: he’s helmetless, for you. You know this isn’t his usual method of fucking people—you have witnessed that yourself. Din rarely removes any pieces of armor when seeing to his needs with another. But not with you. 

When his hands return to your body, you feel a new sensation; his breath, hot and steady against the back of your neck. Every fine hair rises to the caress of his exhales, and when his nose traces over the skin behind your ear, the weakest gasp escapes you. Din has facial hair. It tickles against your skin right before his lips find the sensitive spot below your earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice enchantingly smooth without the distortion of the helmet. 

“Y—yes,” you gasp. 

This is more than okay. You tilt your head in silent encouragement for him to continue, willing those lips to explore more of your neck.

“I know this wasn’t part of your fantasy…but I’ve always wanted to know how it feels to kiss your skin.” 

Stars, you have thought about this often; how could you not? You have always found yourself wondering how Din’s lips would feel–would they be chapped and rough? Does he chew on his lower one when tense or nervous? Does he know how it feels to brush them gently against another’s or feel someone smile into a kiss? Knowing how little he removes his helmet, you doubt he does. 

He takes his time exploring your skin with his mouth: nose brushing against the curve of your breast, lips sealing around the sensitive bud of your nipple while guiding you onto your back. You move with him easily, as though this is a well rehearsed dance that has been practised over many weeks together: it comes with knowing each other, working together, learning how the other moves and thinks. 

One of Din’s large hands glides over the curve of your thigh when you arch against him and bury your fingers into his hair without thinking. The action is rewarded with a surprised moan that gets caught in Din’s throat. He likes it. He enjoys the feel of your fingers tangling into the thick strands while you use them to hold his face close to yours. 

The warmth of Din’s breath caresses your cheek with a delicate intimacy. He’s close enough to kiss, if only you were to turn your head slightly to seek out his lips. 

Has he ever kissed anyone before? From his hesitation, you assume not. 

You want to ask him. You want to check if this is okay, if he’s comfortable with how quickly this is moving for him…but you don’t know how. This affection is beyond what you’re used to, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn your head just enough to find his eyes in the darkness—the years of staring into a visor have taught you how to hold his gaze without seeing him—and slowly, a soft smile curls onto your lips. 

“I think… I think I was better at this while we were doing all the dirty talk,” you admit with a soft laugh. 

When you hear Din’s chuckle accompany it, your smile grows a little more. He’s still at ease, and that settles you—until he leans in to kiss you while you’re still smiling, resulting in him awkwardly catching more of your teeth than your lips. 

“Shit,” he half laughs, a little embarrassed. “I thought your lips were there.” 

Clearly he’s not as well-trained without his helmet.

“Come here,” you whisper through your smile and guide him in again until your lips press gently to his. 

The kisses are slow to begin with: each one lingers as you take in the feel of his lips, the softness of them, the way his moustache unintentionally tickles your upper lip and nose while you melt into him. Eventually, your lips part against Din’s to take the lead. He follows, learning from your knowledge and experience in the same way you so often learn from his. 

It takes him no time at all to deepen it, and much to your surprise, his tongue licks confidently into your mouth. Maker, you could kiss him for hours, just like this. His warmth and taste are better than you could have ever imagined, and as each kiss becomes more assured than the last, you’re lost to him. 

Din devours you, kissing you like a man starved of affection, and when he reaches down to ease your underwear aside again, your moan muffles against his mouth. He starts slowly, sliding in one finger while kissing down your neck. He adds a second when his teeth graze over your collar bone, and just as his fingers curl inside of you, the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple. 

You arch into the pleasure while his name slips from your mouth in a desperate whine. You like the way it sounds, and from Din’s groan of approval, you know he likes it, too. 

He takes his time pleasuring you, working you open with his fingers until he finally gives you what you want and adds a third. Stars, you feel yourself stretch around him in the most satisfying way. 

“Is that what you needed?” Din almost purrs against your ear. 

His unmodulated voice should be illegal in this situation: he shouldn’t be allowed to use it so casually—at the very least, it should come with some sort of warning. 

“Yes,” you manage, your breaths short and shallow while your hips rock against his fingers, enjoying the way those strong, thick digits feel inside of you. 

His mouth does nothing short of worshipping your body; the kisses are feather-light brushes before switching to something more calculated: mouth open, his teeth and tongue teasing and exploring in a way that has you arching against him. 

Your whole body feels ignited by his touch: a heat radiates slowly from somewhere deep within your lower stomach and spreads through each limb as Din’s fingers withdraw from the wet heat of your cunt and move to focus on your clit again. 

Coated generously in your arousal, the pad of Din’s finger moves with ease in slow, circular motions. He’s enjoying this. He’s taking his time, savouring the sounds you make as your own fingers grip at the sheet when the heat begins to lick up your lower spine. 

“Din—” you breathe out his name while he breathes you in, mouth at the base of your neck again. 

There’s an unexpected intimacy to the way his lips map out your skin, exploring, learning. He memorises you, the way you feel and sound as his fingers continue to pleasure you. You don’t need to say a single word to him; it’s almost as though he feels the molten desire pulsing through your veins, burning with enough fever to thaw the snow in a six mile radius of the bed.

You turn your head to seek him out and sigh softly when your lips find his temple. His hair is soft against your nose and holds the lingering scent of the soap on the Crest: it smells so perfectly Din. You can’t help but wonder if he has found an intimacy like this with anyone before, if he has been touched with a tenderness that comes from knowing him, caring for him. It’s easy to assume that he hasn’t from the way he exhales when you kiss his temple and then brush the tip of your nose against the side of his cheek. 

Din leans into you, as though he finally has a touch that he has craved for longer than he’s willing to admit, and you’re more than happy to give him as much as he needs. Your lips drag slowly over the side of his face, dropping lingering kisses and breaking them up with small nudges of your nose. These needs, these soft displays of affection, are some that Din was unable to satisfy with the simple pleasure he found in a stranger’s body.

Together, you remove the final items of clothing–your underwear, Din’s boxers–before you’re captured by his lips again and lost to the welcoming heat of his mouth. It’s only when you feel the head of his cock teasing at your entrance that you stop him: one hand against his warm chest, the other holding his shoulder as you pull back just enough from the kiss. 

“Wait,” you whisper against his lips. “I want to be on top.” 

There’s a pause, seconds of Din holding himself still while considering your words. 

“Yeah?” he finally asks, unable to mask the interest at the edge of his tone. 

“Yeah,” you smile and then nip his lower lip lightly. 

Who knows if there will be another time after this, so if this is your only night with Din, you want to fulfil the fantasy of being the one in control. And to your delight, Din is not opposed to the idea. 

With some manoeuvring–and some very close calls with the edge of the bed–you find yourself braced on top of him: knees pressed into the uncomfortable springs of the mattress which pop and groan beneath you both while you sit back on his hips. 

You can barely see him. The limited moonlight from the window offers a sliver of illumination across his chest which rises in a steady rhythm. Maker, it’s broad. He’s broad. On his back, you note that he fills most of the small bed. The sight has your cunt throbbing with need.  

Din’s hands find their way to your thighs, smoothing over your skin and touching whatever part of you he can reach. His palms are still warm, a stark contrast to the cold bite of the room as you lift your hips just enough to nestle his thick cock inside the soaked slit of your cunt. 

The sound you’re rewarded with is unexpected, yet not unwelcome. It seems to take Din by surprise when he gasps and moans: his fingers unintentionally gripping at your skin at the pleasure you offer. It’s a sound you feel in the depths of your core, a sound that’s so personal, just for you. 

You know that his eyes are glued to your form in the darkness, watching you with a lustful gaze as you rub yourself against the underside of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Din praises in the softest tone. “You’re soaked.”  

This time, it’s you who finds yourself moaning out louder than intended at the praise he gives you. 

His hands roam upwards over your body, exploring every dip and curve while you sufficiently coat him in your arousal. You know that you should guide him into you—it’s what you both want, but it feels so good to grind against him as his hands find your breasts. There’s no hesitation when his fingers find the stiff peak of your nipple and squeeze: the boardline roughness creates a delicious jolt of pleasure through your body as you moan again, encouraging him to repeat the action. 

Din is more than happy to comply. He moves his attention to your other nipple, offering the same rough treatment as you roll your hips. Lost in the moment, it’s easy to forget where you are and just how thin the walls are between the rooms. 

You’re flying too close to the sun. The coiling heat ignites in warning, pulling tight in your lower stomach as you force yourself to stop and catch a breath. 

“You’re incredible,” Din compliments from the safety of the darkness. 

He has never been forthcoming with compliments: everything is usually ‘good’, or ‘okay’ to him. Maybe that’s why they drive you wild, offering a taste of how it sounds to hear him enjoy something—that something being you. 

With a coy smile, you lower yourself over his body to seek out his lips again and murmur, “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

Leaned over and spread open for him, you grant him the opportunity to guide himself to your entrance. Din takes his cue as his lips meet yours for a kiss: it’s not as controlled as the last—he’s distracted, lost to the sensation of his cock slowly stretching you open. 

Stars, he’s thick. 

His free hand moves to the back of your head when you press your forehead gently against his cheek and close your eyes. Your body is quick to adjust to him, your inner muscles sheathing him inside of your heat until he stills and lets out a heavy breath. 

That’s when you clench teasingly around him and smirk to yourself. 

“Don’t do that,” he warns you in a murmur. “It’s already difficult enough to fight this urge to fuck you senseless right now.” 

“Yeah?” you ask as you do it again. 

“Yeah.”

Din’s fingers tighten their grip on you: his composure is close to snapping. You’ve worked him hard enough with your teasing so you finally give him what he wants. 

You begin slowly, drawing your hips up and sliding yourself down over his cock again in a steady rhythm. It’s not a pace that lasts for long, though. You move to sit back up on Din’s hips, hands bracing against his chest to give yourself some leverage as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

A slur of incoherent curses fall from your lips when Din’s thighs tense to thrust up and meet your hips. He learns your movements quickly, finds your rhythm and compliments it with his own. The bed protests with its squeaks and groans, but you’re sure it’s barely audible over the way you moan for the man beneath you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when Din grabs handfuls of the flesh on your ass. 

He guides you up and pulls you back down, creating the most delicious sounds of skin against skin as you lean back even further. The change in position has Din’s cock rubbing up against just the right spot as you gasp. You repeat the action, switching to rock your hips as you control the pace and moan at the way tingles of electrical pleasure pulse across your body.

Maker, it’s amazing, albeit borderline overwhelming.

“I don’t–I don’t want to cum,” you whine breathlessly. “Don’t want this…to end.” 

“Sweetheart, this is just getting started,” Din assures you. 

Your eyes snap open to catch sight of a grin on his full lips—stars, that does nothing to help you hold onto what little composure you have left. It’s already slipping through your fingers when you drop a hand to rub at your clit. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms. 

Din makes it sound like a promise. The simplicity of knowing he wants more serves as the assurance you need: you feel wanted, but not by just anyone. You feel wanted by Din. The thought of that has everything beginning to pull tighter and tighter until finally, something snaps. You descend into the pleasure of your climax with a loud moan of his name as your body switches to autopilot, hips rocking to ride out your orgasm.

There’s barely time for you to fully comprehend what’s going on when Din tenses with a groan and urges you to move. His thick cock is gone, no longer filling you as he quickly reaches down to wrap a hand around his glistening length while he spills his release against your thigh with a moan. 

A moment of stillness fills the room as you keep yourself propped up with your hands against Din’s firm chest. His heart thunders beneath your palm, just as your own does: you hear the rhythmic thumps of it,  loud in your ears against the silence. 

Din hands find their way to your body again, smoothing affectionately over your skin before he pulls you down and wraps an arm around you. With barely any room on the bed, you find yourself settling onto the side of his chest with a small, lazy smile. 

“I’d say we should get cleaned up,” Din mumbles quietly now that he has caught his breath. “But there’s no shower.” 

“There’s no shower,” you remember with a quiet laugh. 

“And I’d prefer to keep you right where you are…” 

The way Din trails off leaves it open for you to decline: he’s unsure if you want to stay here with him. You get the feeling he’s offering you a chance to leave, if this isn’t what you want. 

“I’d prefer to stay right where I am,” you reassure him as you tilt your head a little to brush the tip of your nose against his jaw. “Besides, I’m interested to see what you have planned for the rest of the night.” 

Din huffs a small laugh at your recall of his words, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

—-----

The small, not-so-big, unable-to-comfortably-share, tiny bed proved useful for many things…but sleep wasn’t one of them. 

You fasten your damp jacket, standing in front of the window, noting the fresh layer of snow that had settled overnight. You already know how cold it is out there, how wet your clothes are going to get while you freeze down to your bones. 

The thought of that brings a hint of a smile to your lips as you look over your shoulder to see Din fixing the last of his weapons back into place. To look at him, nothing seems different this morning as he goes about his normal routine, yet, everything has changed overnight. 

Daylight had crept into the room far too soon this morning after hours of losing yourself in the pleasure Din could offer. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were both on a job, you would have insisted on staying longer so that you could fall back down onto the bed again and have him bury his face between your thighs to worship your taste. 

You blink yourself out of your thoughts and notice that he’s watching you, helmet tilted slightly to the side. You can’t be certain, but you like to think he’s smiling under his helmet, having caught you staring at him now that you no longer have to hide it. 

“You ready?” he asks as he motions to the door. 

“Actually…give me a second,” you quickly request and make your way into the fresher. 

The light above the mirror continues to flicker, and with an amused grin, you pull the small blade from your jacket. It seems only right to add your initials to the wall after spending a night here with Din. The sound isn’t a pleasant one as the blade scrapes over the metal, and within seconds, you feel his presence in the doorway. 

“Should I ask?” 

“Nope,” you reply and take a small step back to admire your work. 

No date, no full names, simply your and Din’s initials etched into the wall. Just like all the other names on there, you have plenty of stories to tell about your time spent in this room. 

But they would have to wait for another time. 

You turn to look at him, doing your utmost not to beam as you offer him a small smile. 

“Okay, let’s get going, big guy,” you tease him, using the Lasat’s words from the night before. 

“Don’t,” he sighs, still annoyed about that. 

You step out of the fresher and reach to touch the edge of his helmet with your finger, as if it were his chin: “Don’t forget to thank her on the way out. Seems like one bed wasn’t so bad, after all.” 

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Bark For Me

Sometimes @turbulentscrawl has to hear me be silly lol (a lot) with one brain cell active when in matches with Fool's Gold

Rated: Mature | Warnings: pet play (in horny jail again)

It was a joke! You told him that, repeatedly, what you said was a joke! You should have known he would take to the next step and further.

“Norton, I was kidding!” Nervous as the hunter removes his belt.

“And so am I. Let's play a little while longer.” Using to his advantage your inability to fight back from being downed by his attack. Even if he is your partner, both of him, he will still do his job. Norton will make sure it is quick.

You make a gagging sound as he wraps the belt around your neck and pulls before locking it in place by the buckle, a sadistic grin on his face as you grab the belt and are dragged closer to him while on your knees.

“Bark.” He says with a sudden serious face.

“What!?” Shocked yet you should not given he loves degrading you before fucking you. Hunter Norton likes to see you in tears and sucks at aftercare.

“Bark or I can chair you.”

You glare at him, “...” Going on all fours and glaring at him, “Woof.”

He laughs, long and hard, even hitting his knee as if that was the greatest joke of all time! “God, you are something else, sparky.” Oh, fuck him for taking this too far. “Now bark with some enthusiasm!”

You do it, and you do it louder too, you swear to never joke around him again! The alarm goes off singling the ciphers are done but you know Norton won't let you live just yet.

“Hmm, I can see the appeal.” Walking with you crawling on your hands and knees towards the dungeon, “Think about it, you can either behave and get rewarded. Or you can be a bitch and get muzzled.”

You say nothing nor do you move after that statement.

“Maybe this will get you to start behaving with me, sparky.”

You roll your eyes.

“Give me your paw.” Gesturing as he presents his broken hand, “Come on, come on, pup.” Talking to you as if you are a dog.

It was risky your reaction but you attacked him, pushing him forward and growling at him before hopping into the dungeon.

“Oh, come on! I was teasing!”

“No, fuck you! Fuck you my knees and palm hurt!”

“That sounds like the usual— I was kidding! Don't ignore me. Come on, sparky.” You refuse to acknowledge him as you are about to leave the room you both went to in order to meet after the match. Norton is sorry but you are not pleased nor forgiving at the moment.

“Maybe if you get on your knees and crawl around in the fucking snow, I might look at you.” Huffing, you are at the door but not opening it, he tugs on your shirt with his good hand; you move with him until he has you sitting down on the old couch. It took a lot of work to make the attic both comfortable and breathable. Both Nortons had to for once put something above themselves and worked together to make this space. Greed can be useful! Especially when that greed is towards you.

It is not a five-star luxury hotel level but you loved it, adding your touch to their work.

A pocket of peace.

“(Name).” Soft-toned, “I am very sorry.” Your foot bounces your leg. “I didn't mean it. You looked really good and you know I can't help myself around you.”

“Pft, sounds like a you problem, goldie.”

“Please forgive me.” Resting his head on your lap. His chest pressed against your legs, “So sorry.” Look up at you with a sweet smile. The height difference is humorous yet endearing given this Fool's Gold who often is an ass.

“Hmm,” Norton picks his head up to kiss where the belt left its mark, the mark is not too bad but you had removed it after coming out of the dungeon and you swore you going to burn his damn belt! “Fine. God, I hate when you use begging against me.” Because you do and are very weak to how his voice lowers, his eyes half shut, and the way he just submits. 

Awful man, terrible man, and you love him so much. Norton knows it, both of them do! 

Pushing buttons because you are their ‘spark’ and they love that fire of yours roar with life. May you never change.

The hunter laughs as you pet his hair while grumbling about him being nice or something.