#v; duck dazed.

[batsycline69]

Beneath Some Old Moon

Summary: After a close call with the Two Face Gang, you offer your savior--the mysterious Crusader--some hospitality.

(alternatively, save a horse...)

Pairing: Cowboy!Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 5.9k

Content/warnings: old west cowboy au, historical inaccuracies probably, threatening scenario, guns, p in v sex, cowgirl (get it?), sort of sub!bruce, unprotected sex, reader is not described, reader's horse is not named

Wind whips across your face as you ride as fast as your horse will take you.

The Two Face gang hoots and hollers behind you. At the front, Harvey ‘Two Face’ Dent, leading his group of men.

You’d stayed in town too long, caught up in the gossip of a stranger riding in. The rumors were he was the same guy who stopped some bandits down in the prairie. Of course, your current predicament doesn’t really seem worth the whispers, because wherever his Crusader stranger is, it’s not here. It’s just you attempting to outrun a gang of five as they quickly gain on you.

Your horse may be well trained, but she isn’t used to this speed the way the gangs’ likely are.

Shots ring out around the ground by your horse’s hooves, drowning the men’s laughter. Dirt kicks up into the air. Before you really know what’s happening, you’re flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs. Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon.

If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see.

The gang circles you on their horses. Yours runs off towards the ranch. You imagine it waiting by the stable for you, only for you to never arrive. You think of your cows, come morning waiting to be fed. You take what little solace you can knowing the widow nearby will notice when the animals begin to get rowdy from their hunger if the neighbor boy’s late to help as he often is.

Hooves trample around you as the men trap you. You feel something damp along your side, and for a moment, you think you might be bleeding. As you raise a trembling hand to your side, it takes you a second to realize it’s not blood at all. One of the jars of canned peaches you picked up in town shattered when you hit the ground. Shards of glass jostle in your satchel as you try to sit back up.

You’re still gasping for air, trying to fill your aching lungs with everything that had been knocked out of you. Thoughts race through your head as you try to think of any good way out of here, but you’re surrounded and unarmed.

A sudden yell snaps you from your oxygen-deprived daze. Dent is now on the ground with you, outside the ring of horses, and being dragged away.

Yelling and hooves trampling deafen you before you can process what’s happening. Shots ring out again, and you flinch, anticipating impact. Instead, powerful legs race by you as the horses charge towards a single man.

A full moon’s light illuminates the fight. You wheeze and stagger back. Two Face wriggles on the ground in the restraints of the lasso around his shoulders.

Though you can’t really be certain, you feel an innate sense of knowledge that this is the stranger people whispered about in town. You’d accidentally met his eyes this morning. They were bluer than the sky on a clear day. Like peering into a stream of crystal clear water.

Now he lures the gang away from you, his horse weaving to avoid their shots. You keep waiting for the moment he pulls his gun out on them, but the moment never comes. The stranger ducks as he guides the men between two boulders. Your vision still swims slightly as you squint to figure out why.

Your questions are answered when the first two men following the stranger hit something and spring back from their horses towards the other two men behind them. Dirt kicks up around them as the horses fall into disarray, bucking and crying out before running in all different directions.

The stranger turns his horse, dismounting before the pile of outlaws sprawled out onto the ground. You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men.

When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly.

He takes his horse and leads it over to you by its reins. He towers above you where you’re still on the ground. Embarrassment creeps up your spine as you think about the fact you should have stood up by now.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

After a moment’s hesitation, your hand wraps around his. He pulls you back up to your feet with ease. You nod and manage to breathe a thank you, finally beginning to catch your breath. Your eyes drift towards the gang tied up on the ground. The sound of the stranger’s voice pulls your gaze back up to him.

“Were you out walking at this time of night?” he asks. His voice makes it sound as if he’s accusing you of something.

You huff slightly. “No, I wasn’t walking out here,” you snap. Guilt quickly takes over for your short fuse, but the stranger doesn’t seem startled either way. You imagine he encounters far worse than the likes of you. “My horse ran off when they started chasing us. They were shooting at the ground. She threw me.”

The stranger nods. “Where were you going?” he asks.

You have half a mind to lie. It would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? All you know of this man comes from town gossip, and the incredible feat you’d just seen in front of you, neither of which give complete promise that you’re safe with him. What’s to say he isn’t going to want something in return for helping you? What good would giving this man your address do?

At the same time, however, you realize this really is no place for you to be wandering round at night, even with the moon so full and bright. The silvery light casts shadows over the man’s face, and you catch sight of a scar across his jawline.

“My ranch. Just that way,” you say, eyes flickering towards the small outline of the ranch at the top of the small slope ahead.

Wordlessly, the man mounts his horse again, gloved hand yet again out for you to take. What he expects of you is obvious.

“What about them?” you ask, looking back to the gang.

“Sheriff’ll pick ‘em up,” he replies. He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it.

You do.

He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso. You get the feeling that the display of skill you’d seen earlier is only a portion of what this strange man is capable of.

You catch yourself wondering what he must look like beneath the dust-coated clothes he wears. For your own sake, you write it off as being flustered from the whole ordeal.

You trot back to the ranch, your grip tight on the man. You realize he might be going slow for your sake. You could get there in half the time if you told him he could ride faster, but you don’t. The slower you go, the more time you have to digest everything that’s happened.

Silence falls between the two of you. You’re thankful he doesn’t ask questions. For a man of his reputation, you can only imagine what he must think of you getting thrown from your horse so easily.

Above head, thunder rolls, filling the lull. People in town talked plenty about the storm that was going to roll through. After the man your arms are wrapped around, that was the hot topic. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re relieved then to have gotten a ride with him. At least you wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

From a distance, you spot your horse trotting around in front of the stable at home. The man slides off the saddle before holding out his hands to help you off. His gentlemanly charm catches you by surprise. The gruffness of his voice had led you to expect something else.

“Thank you,” you say again.

He regards you carefully with his icy eyes for a moment. “You should be more careful,” he says.

Suddenly, being whisked away by a mysterious stranger loses the allure.

You cross your arms over your chest. “That’s awfully presumptuous for a man who just road in,” you reply. “How do you know I’m not careful?”

“Because I had to scare the Two Face Gang off of you.”

The scowl deepens on your face. “How do you know I’m not usually careful?”

He holds your gaze a second longer than is comfortable. “Two Face isn’t in the business of asking if you’re usually careful,” he replies.

Your eyes narrow to slits at him. His expression has never changed—always a carefully guarded, unreadable frown—but you imagine he’s being smug, or whatever his version of smug is. You don’t appreciate this man you don’t know telling you what to do, and you’re sure as hell not going to let him think otherwise.

You scoff. “You have been here all of a couple of hours. Forgive me if I take whatever it is you think I should or should not do with a grain of salt.”

He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure.

“What’s your name, anyway?” you ask. Your weight shifts into one of your hips.

“They call me the Crusader.”

You try not to roll your eyes. “I know that’s what they call you. But what’s your name?”

Silence. Your eyes narrow even more.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

“Nope.”

You curse under your breath. “Fine. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the ride home. You can leave.”

He doesn’t budge, nor do you. You want to scream in his face and ask him what he wants. If he’s not going to talk, why is he haunting your doorstep? You’re not sure what kind of response to expect from him with that kind of outburst, though, and you’ve pressed your luck enough as it is for the evening.

Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not...good at this sort of thing,” he says. His fist is clenched at his side, yet you’re not sure it’s meant as a threat.

“What sort of thing?”

He scowls at you like you’re supposed to understand someone you just met.

“What, talking to people?” you add when he doesn’t explain himself. “Yeah, I can kind of tell.” And everything starts to click. The silence isn’t that of a grumpy, worn cowboy—at least not exclusively—but of a man who spends so much time on his own, he no longer knows how to connect with anyone.

“What’s your name?” you ask again. This time, there’s more patience in your voice.

“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat.

His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away.

Thunder cracks in the sky again. A heavy drop falls from the sky, splattering on your shoulder. The stars are blocked out by the heavy clouds that had been collecting all day. “You aren’t thinking about going out in that, are you?” you ask.

“Just some rain. Never hurt anyone.”

You purse your lips together. There isn’t a single reason you should trust this man enough to invite him into your home while you sleep. But you can’t just let him wander off into the storm, can you?

You don’t want him wandering around soaking wet, shirt clinging to his broad chest, pants tight across his thick thighs He’d catch a cold. Plus, the man is lonely. You can imagine the isolation of the prairies are something that could wear on a person. He could use someone to talk to. He saved your life, after all.

“You should stay,” you say.

He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows.

“Your horse have a name?” you ask, turning back over your shoulder to look at him. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”

You laugh softly. “Why’s that?” you ask. Something about the name tempers your nerves. A name isn’t enough to totally give your trust over to Bruce, but you hear the fondness as he speaks of her. A man who has proven himself to be very gruff, with his reclusive nature, has a soft spot for his horse.

“Found her over in some canyons by a bunch of bats.” He rustles her dark mane. Your lips quirk up into a smile.

Bruce waits at the front of the stable as you stable your horse. You pretend like you aren’t unnerved by his staring.

“You’re welcome to keep her here,” you offer again.

A bright light flashes behind Bruce’s back. A few seconds later, a loud clap of thunder. Bats lets out a startled whinny.

“Alright,” Bruce says, though he makes no pains to sound happy about it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you ask. Your knees are pulled to your chest. You watch the flames from your fireplace flicker across Bruce’s face.

He took his hat off when he came inside like a gentleman. Despite his brusque attitude, he has manners. One that seem deeply ingrained in him. You have more questions you’d like to ask, but considering you have to wrestle every piece of information about himself out of him, you decide not to press your luck.

“Nope,” he replies. Flames flicker in his eyes.

“Where are you from?”

The fire crackles. Rain patters against your roof. Thunder rolls in the lull of the storm. Bruce says it’ll come back. You trust him on this.

“Out east.”

You nod. “Did you save people out there, too?”

“No.”

A thin scar runs through his thick, dark brow. He stares into the fireplace like he’s hoping to learn a secret. You feel like you’re interrupting something every time you say something, so this time you don’t.

With how unwilling he is to speak, you worry you’re bothering him. He said he’s not good at talking with people, but you wonder if it’s because he just doesn’t like it. Or maybe he doesn’t like you. So you let the storm and the fire fill the silence.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

“You get lonely out here on your own?” he asks. You hadn’t been expecting for him to ask you anything at all, let alone something so personal. Maybe you are a little lonely; you’d been pondering this man’s loneliness, hadn’t you? You’d guess he was something of an expert.

“I suppose I do.” A beat. “Do you get lonely out there?” You nod towards your rain-speckled window, though you mean the greater world outside of it.

“I’ve got Bats,” he says.

You nod again.

What’s he looking for doing the things he does? Despite your best attempts, he’s still a mystery to you. A hard shell with some sort of kindness buried inside, though what kind and for what reasons, you’re not sure. He helps people. You heard about his reputation in town. He’d helped you. He takes his hat off and helps people down from horses. That has to count for something.

Bruce doesn’t seem like the kind of man to get attached. Beyond that, you shouldn’t be so optimistic or naive to believe he’s the sort of man you want attachments to. A lifestyle like his isn’t one that lends itself to a long life.

“You’re welcome to wash up, if you’d like,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying I smell?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m just offering the accommodations I have.” But, truth be told, you were concerned about the dirt you’re sure he’s picked up traveling around. You’re the one who will have to wash the world out of your sheets once he leaves you behind.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there is a brief hesitation. You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough.

You were the first to turn in. After tossing and turning for a while, worrying about the unattended stranger in your home, you fell asleep.

Darkness still swallows you room when you next open your eyes. You’re not sure what rouses you. The once violent storm has subsided to just pattering rain on your window. The house is still. For a moment, you think Bruce may be asleep, but the stillness feels more firm than that. It’s not a house asleep; it’s a house emptied.

You get up, and slip your robe on. You carefully avoid the creaky floorboards you know by heart as you creep to your door. You turn the knob slowly, not wanting to alert your strange new friend. But as you sneak about your own home, you realize he’s not here. The bed he’d been laying in is empty, sheets turned over.

Your sleep-addled brain wants you to rummage through the house, make sure he didn’t sneak off with anything while you slept. But an unfamiliar worry knots your stomach for a reason you can’t seem to pinpoint. Almost like you’re disappointed he’s already gone.

As you run out into the rain, you decide you’ll blame this all on waking up in the middle of the night. You’re clearly not fully awake just yet. You stagger through the mist and into the stable, expecting to see an empty spot where Bats should be.

Instead, you see Bruce, back against the gate, chin slumped to his chest. His black hat covers his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe.

As quiet as you’d tried to be, the soft utterance is enough for Bruce’s head to snap up. His muscles tense, and he looks very suddenly ready for a fight.

His eyes land on you, standing in the frame of the stable in your night clothes, and he relaxes some. “Just you,” he says, laughing to himself. He takes off his hat, and his heavy-lidded eyes land on you. You realize he’s expecting you to say something for interrupting his sleep.

“The storm’s passed. I thought you might have…” You trail off. What would it matter if Bruce had gone off? What difference would that make, and why do you you care?

He looks at Bats’ sleeping form in the hay. “She’s not much used to being alone.” His deep voice is rough with sleep. Your mouth feels dry. “Didn’t want her skittish from the storm.”

A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless.

“Right.” Your gaze follows him as he stands up.

“Everything alright?” he asks. He takes a half step towards you.

You nod again, your feet deciding to move up a step in return. “Yeah. Just…”

Just what, you don’t know. This is another silence with Bruce you don’t know how to fill. You watched this man outride the Two Face Gang. You watched him best Two Face himself when you’ve heard the whole town talk about how fierce he was supposed to be. And he’s sleeping out in your stable because he doesn’t want his horse to be spooked.

He’s a few feet away from you. Too far. Even when you sat beside the fire together, you were still too far away from him. You can’t stand it anymore.

You cross the stable, stopping only a foot away from him. You could reach out and brush your fingertips along his jaw if you had the nerve to raise your hand. He doesn’t step any closer, but right now, his attention is only on you. You feel naked before him, stripped just from his survey. Your breathing grows heavy just from the way he looks at you.

His dark, heavy brows only add to the intensity of focus. His chest rises and falls; you realize now he’s down to his undershirt, the cotton thin and worn. You catch sight of the dark chest hair sprawling across his skin.

Finally, just when you feel like you’re going to explode, you wrap your arms around him, your face angled towards his lips, hovering just before them. He doesn’t look away. His gaze is fixed on you, but he never makes any sign he wants you to stop.

His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely.

His lips are dry as yours brush over them. Riding out in the sun and the cold is tough on the skin; you know that well. You wonder what the last real taste of tenderness this man has experienced is.

If Bruce needs another place to surrender, let your body be it. Let him find peace with you, even if for a fleeting moment.

Finally, you press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips to test the waters. His fingertips curl into your clothes as if that touch alone would reassure you’d kiss him again. He may not have much to say, but even buried beneath all the stoicism, you find he needs touch just as much as anyone else.

You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched someone else with tenderness.

Your drive comes from the eagerness of his response. You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by.

When you kiss him again, you’re more eager, more confident of your goal. Bruce responds in kind. He kisses you like a man starved. You know almost nothing about him, and yet, you feel as if you understand him. Maybe it’s just the close call with a bad crowd. Maybe it’s just the fact that a man so worn by the weather shouldn’t be that gorgeous, and you just want a reason for wanting him this badly. Whatever it is, you feel like he might understand you, too.

He leans against the stable, holding you to his chest as a hand cups the back of your head. Your fingers fold into his hair, wishing you could wrap yourself around him fully. Wishing there was a way to get rid of all of the space between the two of you.

Your teeth graze his lip, poking the boundaries again. His grip on you tightens even more. You take that as a positive reaction and gently bite down on his lower lip, pulling back some.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless and dizzy, drunk off his presence.

You grab him by the front of his shirt, tugging him out of the stable, still crowding in his space. If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright.

The security of his touch has you pulling him back to you, crashing into a kiss yet again as the brim of his hat keeps your lips sheltered from the rain. He keeps the both of you moving. You let him; he’s been inside the house now. You know he knows where he’s going.

And soon, you feel your back hit the door. You reach behind you, not bothering to look as you fumble for the door handle, one hand still gripping onto Bruce like you can’t stand to lose him. He has you pressed onto the door. When you finally find the handle, the door swings open. On a different day, you would have fallen flat on your back. Bruce catches you. Not even that, because he’s holding you, you don’t even begin to fall.

You manage to tear apart long enough for him to pull his shirt off over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred skin. Dipping in some parts, puckering in others. Carefully, you run a hand up the skin, fingertips brushing over the coarse hair on his chest.

There isn’t time for more observation before he’s working your clothes off as well. When you’re clothes are scattered all around the room, he pulls you back to him. Warm skin presses into warm skin. The feeling of him even just like this is intoxicating. You could bury yourself in him and be the most peaceful you’ve ever been in your life.

Bruce doesn’t resist as you turn him around, pushing him down onto the bed. It squeaks with his weight. He looks up at you, sitting off the end of the old mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap.

He holds you against his chest. His lips brush over the skin of your neck. You sigh, fingertips tangling in the ends of his hair yet again. You feel a growing bulge against your thigh that has the corners of your mouth pulling into a smirk.

You grind your hips down, breath hitching at the rise of pleasure. Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does.

Once more, your hips press down into his. Your head falls back as you let out a soft breathy moan. Bruce groans into your skin as his kiss trails down your chest. His calloused hands run up the exposed skin of your legs, gripping onto your hips. When you don’t move, he moves you himself. He grinds against you while rolling your hips towards his.

You let out another pleasured cry. Your nails bite into his shoulder, and his breath picks up. Figures he’s the kind of guy who wants it to hurt at least a little.

Bruce rocks you against him, but it’s just not enough. Not close enough, not full enough. You need more of him. You pull back slightly. The hand that isn’t clawing at his skin pulls his face back from your chest. Your nails drag across his back as you slide off his lap, bending down to undo his pants.

His cock springs up. The outline of it presses up against the thin cotton of his drawers. Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach. Your ache for him comes to a desperate mount.

When it’s nothing but the two of you stripped bare, you rest your hand back on his chest, pushing him down into the mattress. He smirks and goes down willingly, cock twitching as he stares up at you.

The mattress dips as you lean a knee onto the bed, moving to straddle him yet again. His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies.

You wrap your hand around his cock as you slowly sink down onto him. The weight of your head tips back yet again as you adjust to how very full he makes you feel. Burying him inside of you alone is enough to have you seeing stars; his cock hits a spot deep inside of you, something blinding you can’t quite reach on your own.

Bruce’s hands dig into your hips again like he wants to take charge, but he holds back.

When you get used to the sensation of him inside you, you pull his hands away from your hips, threading your fingers between his.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.” You lean down, so slick you slide up his cock with ease. You feel him jerk against your walls as you press a soft kiss just below his ear.

You’re positive it would take no effort for him to flip you over, take you exactly the way he wants to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even struggle against you. He’s at your mercy, but only because he’s allowing himself to be.

Oddly, you feel honored.

You sit back up, hands sliding down Bruce’s scarred arms, pussy engulfing his cock yet again. A breath catches in your throat as you hit that same spot deep inside. Your palms rest on his chest, fingers splayed out, and you begin to rock your hips against him. He doesn’t protest the weight of your hands. His palms ghost over the skin of your arms, sliding up your back to wrap into your hair. There’s no escaping his gaze except in the moments your eyelids flutter with bliss.

Grinding against him has a sweet warmth building in your stomach. You groan and sigh as you ride him, and he starts to smirk.

“You sound beautiful, darlin’,” he says, pulling you to his lips again. Your cunt is still wrapped around his tip as he cups your jaw with one hand, the other smoothing down the skin of your back. From this angle, you can’t sink back down onto him, and your pussy feels woefully empty,

But Bruce shifts suddenly, legs bent, and begins thrusting into you. His lips don’t dare to leave yours, muffling your gratified cry. He grips your ass, lowering you onto his cock as he thrusts up, getting deeper than even before.

You gasp, knowing you won’t be able to keep back your climax at this rate.

“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you.

“I told you earlier, Mr. Crusader,” you say, swatting his hands away. “I know how to take care of myself.” You lean back onto your knees again, bouncing on his cock. His hands run over your chest, your ass, whatever he can reach, but he doesn’t seem to be able to get enough.

You can relate.

“Sit up,” you order breathlessly.

“Yes ma’am,” he complies with a playful smirk. The contrast between the gruff man who’d swept you away from danger is staggering. Now, you would even go so far as to say he seems to be enjoying himself.

His chest presses up against yours. You crash your lips against his as you ride him. He winds one arm around your waist again, the other back in your hair. For leverage, you keep your palms onto his shoulders. Your teeth graze over his bottom lip again before biting down. His grip only tightens.

The pleasure is mounting. Your rhythm begins to get sloppier, less steady as you try to chase your orgasm.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme see you take care of yourself,” he teases as you pull away from the kiss, working him deep inside of you.

Your nails dig back into his skin at the words. Your breath catches again. You grind down onto him at just the right angle and everything seems to fall away.

You cry out. If Bruce wasn’t there, you’d fall just like before, but he catches you as you release. Your cunt squeezes around him, and he growls again.

“That’s right. You got one more for me?” he asks. As you ride out the afterglow of your orgasm, Bruce takes your hips again, using his strength to keep you sinking down onto his cock.

“Uh-huh…” you pant, nodding as you give the work over to him.

With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease.

Without a break between your first orgasm and the now furious pace at which Bruce fucks himself with your cunt, you feel another climax approaching. Bruce knows. His focus has never waned from your face, infatuated with the details of your expression as you ride him.

Now that he’s doing all the work, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, your lips finding his again in a messy kiss. You’re ravenous for him, wired off of your own bliss. If you don’t ground yourself with him, this seemingly endlessly grounded man, you’d fly away.

Bruce bites down on your lip now, a forceful grip that has you moaning.

His hips stutter. You feel it just as you’re teetering over the edge. One hand moves from his cheek, tugging onto his hair. He moans, and the sound alone pushes you until you’re throbbing around him yet again, body shivering with the force of your release.

Bruce marvels at your open mouthed cries, eyes pinched shut. He slams you down onto his cock, his grip almost bruising as you feel him twitch and cum inside of you.

There’s a beat as you both float on your high, still clinging to each other. Your heart hammers against his chest. Bruce breathes against you. It’s still not close enough, but it’s the closest you’d likely get.

You duck your head into his neck, resting your forehead against his sturdy shoulder. Half-moon indents linger on his skin from your nails. You just smile.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

AN: huge shout out to @janybabyy, @fic-over-cannon, and @youknowwhoiamperiod for helping me with brainstorming this 💛 i appreciate it big time

[violetflowerswrites]

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Three Here - “I’ll Be Here”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

9

freakin

AM

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

[druidwolf21]

Some soft fluff because what a day I've had and I need this lol

Roboute guilliman/F reader

fluffy

Very short but I needed this out

Dreaming

Guilliman swept a hand across his brow, wiping sweat and grim from his face as he looked up at the sky. The sun beat down heavy on him as he blinked and smiled, returning his gaze to his work.

His muscles worked and burned as he set about scything ears of corn, bringing them down with a long swing. The scythe felt heavy in his hands as he swept it back and forth, focusing only on the heat, the feel of the wood and the soft noise as the plant fell.

And he worked

And worked

Until the sun began to slow edge down.

Taking a long inhale he finally stood straight and stretched, his back cracking after hours of bending. He flexed his hands and smiled at the dull ache he felt.

Making his way through the raining stems, he headed towards the wooden cabin resting at the edge of the field, a soft warm glow flicking in the window and faint smoke spiraling from the chimmney.

His smile stretched further and he ducked through the door and was met by the smell of fresh warm bread the heat of a smokey wood fire and the faint bubbling from a large pot hanging over the flames.

You spun round, your dress twisting around your legs as you met his sapphire eyes and grinned, face still flush from the warm meal you had been cooking.

"roboute! Just in time my love, have a seat and I'll get you a drink" you patted your hands on your apron and collected up a glass and pitcher, setting it at the oaken table and pouring out a drink.

Guilliman sighed gently and sank into a chair, sipping from the glass. The wine was sweet in his tongue as he watched you flitted about the kitchen, filling a bowl with stew and gently placing it in front of him, along with a wedge of still warm bread.

You stood behind him, dropping your arms over his neck and nuzzling up to him, your hair tickled him as rested his head against yours.

"you work so hard, my love" you murmured "perhaps tomorrow the land can wait and we can go to the lake" a slender finger gently traced circles in his chest as you spoke. "I'll even wear that blue dress you like so much"

He twisted and caught your lips in a chaste kiss as your began to pull away.

"of course my lady, I could think of nothing I'd like more"

You gently ran a hand through his blonde hair before taking a seat at the table.

My love

My. Lo o v e

M y L o

My lord

Guilliman jolted slightly and scowled at the voice that dragged him so violently from his revere.

"what, sicarius?"

"The mechanicum have sent a serf to deliver some documents to you and an official from the high lords has also requested a moment of your time"

Guilliman rubbed his brown and gathered his thoughts.

"your lady is also at the door, lord Primark"

Guillimans head shot up and he rose from his seat

"Send her in" he waved to the marine.

You entered through the massive doors, your dress, that blue dress he loved so much, sweeping the floor . Your hair speckled with small shining stones which caught the light as you moved towards his desk. A delicate necklace chain hung from your neck, depending to your cleavage, the ultramarine sigil bouncing on your skin.

"roboute, my sweet, don't you think it's time you took a break" you sighed gently, laying a hand on his as you finally reached the desk.

"the imperium waits for no man, love, not even me" he smiled grimly, eye darting from the necklace and where it hung, up to your face.

You caught the look and smiled

"perhaps we could go to the lake? It's been so long, things will run without you for an hour? You gently kissed his cheek and pressed your forehead to him.

The Primark returned your smile with a dazed look.

He couldn't tell if this was still a dream, but hopefully this one didn't end.

@cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty

[blue-slxt]

Tame Me - Chapter 2

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Here's the much anticipated Part 2 of my series. I hope it lives up to the hype. All characters are aged up.

Previous Part | Next Part

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Explicit Smut, P in V, Masturbation (F), Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Teasing, Creampie, Knotting, Heat, Dom!Neteyam, Praise Kink, Belly Bulge, Breeding Kink, I think that's it

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You're unexpectedly thrown into your heat and Neteyam comes to your rescue.

Your night is full of restless sleep. You are seemingly unable to find any comfortable position to sleep in. It also doesn’t help that your mind is still reeling from the night’s events. All you could think of was Neteyam. His face, his voice, his hand around your throat…

It’s not long before the first sun rays are starting to seep in. Your eyes flutter open, but your head still feels dazed. You try to focus your vision, but it’s no good. What’s going on? Why do you feel so dizzy and lightheaded? You try to stand, but you’re struck with an aching pain and you fall to the floor crouched over in pain. You touch your forehead and can feel how you’re burning up. ‘Oh no….’ realization dawns on you. You’re in heat.

But that can’t be. It’s too soon. It shouldn’t be coming for another week or so. Why now? Is it because of what happened? Did Neteyam trigger your heat? This is not good. Since you don’t have a mate, you would usually ride out your heat cycles in a cave deep in the forest. But since this time it came unexpectedly, you had no supplies or food ready to go retreat for the next few days.

What are you gonna do? You still need to gather food and water and supplies, but your pheromones will alert every male around you about your condition. The stares were already bad enough without your scent giving you away. And then there was the case of Neteyam’s scent still seeping deeper and deeper into your skin. And the giant purple bruise forming around where his teeth buried themselves. What would people think? Another twinge of pain pulls you out of your thoughts. You have to move fast. The pain is only going to get worse as the day passes.

You quickly pull on your longest shawl to cover yourself with and pray to Eywa that it’ll muffle your scent just enough to be able to go to grab some fruit to hold you for the next couple of days. Get in and get out.

You exit your home and quickly make your way over towards the communal breakfast spread. You pile the food as high as you can without dropping it and you can already feel the eyes on you. Whether it was because of your scent or the amount of food you were gathering, you weren’t sure, but there was no time to worry about it. Another pain is coming and your core is aching. You need to hurry.

Across the way, you spot Neteyam with some of his friends. You feel yourself desperately clench around nothing and you’re suddenly overly aware of how empty you feel. He catches you looking and he shoots you a look. You can’t quite read it. It’s like a half smile, but you can see his tail flicking in agitation. You duck your head down and practically sprint back to your home. You close the flap and collapse to the floor letting out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Your fingers find their way under your loincloth and to your sensitive bud. You start rubbing small circles with your middle finger and you use your free hand to cover your mouth and muffle your moans. It’s not enough, though. It never was. You need something to satisfy the ravenous hunger in your womb, but cycle after cycle, you were denied that satisfaction.

…

Hours have passed and it’s all a blur. Your fingers are pruned from being inside you so much and there are stains all over the floor from your juices. You took small breaks to eat when your body would allow, but it never allowed you long to rest. It didn’t help that you could still smell him on your skin. Still feel the stinging of your wound. Your senses were all heightened making these things even more alluring. Your fingertips would graze the bruise ever so lightly and the hairs on the back of your neck would stand on end. You can smell him, but it’s getting stronger. His scent is getting closer? He’s coming! Shit.

You quickly try to pull yourself together and mask your pitiful state. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he caused your body to react this way. He comes bursting in and his face is one of concern and agitation. “Why did you cover up so much today?”

“Nice to see you too, Neteyam.” You roll your eyes. “And if you must know, I didn’t want people to see this huge bruise you left me with and get the wrong idea.”

He kneels down in front of you and grabs your jaw bringing your face to his. “Wrong move sweetheart.”

His eyes are primal as he speaks and it lights you on fire. You’re too enthralled by his touch to pull away. He’s so close and his scent makes your mouth salivate.

“You do not cover my marks. It lets other men know you are spoken for.” His grip on your face tightens. “You think I can’t smell you? I know you’re in heat. Every man in the clan knows. It’s all they could talk about. And since you refused to wear your status proudly, they think they have a shot with you.”

Your breathing picks up feeling his aggression radiating off him. “Apparently, I need to remind them and you, who owns you.”

Your body feels too weak to fight back no matter how much your mind may want to. Instead, your body defied you at every turn. The more you wanted to pull away from him, the more your skin craved his touch. Your body needed this. Needed him.

He lightly shoves your chest so that you lay back on the ground. One of his hands keeps you in place while the other trails agonizingly slow down your body. He reaches your waist and rips your loincloth right off of you. Somehow, even after all the juice that flowed out of you already, you still had more to give. Goosebumps prick your body and your mind starts to slip into that hazy place again.

“Oh, yawne, it must have been torture for you”, he coos teasingly with his finger dragging itself up your slit. “You could have just asked me for help.”

“Shut up—” your words get caught in your throat as his fingers grip your neck.

He stops moving his fingers and glares at you. You can already start to feel the ache returning from the loss of friction.

Then, out of nowhere, he releases you. He takes his hands off you completely and holds them up in surrender. “Alright, well if you don’t want my help…” he turns to leave and your body moves before you tell it to.

You grab ahold of his hand and pull yourself up to your knees. He slowly turns back to you with a devilish grin on his face. He had you exactly where he wanted you. You hang your head in shame, but still hold on to his hand desperate for any contact you can get.

“Oh, syulang, you’re so pretty when you’re pitiful. It almost makes me want to have mercy on you…almost.”

Your thoughts wander around in your foggy brain and through the haze, one word comes through. “Please.”

“Please what? Use your words.”

This smug bastard.

“Please help me.” You say speaking up a little.

“Still not convinced.” He says about to tug his hand from your grasp.

You throw your head up to look at him, “For fuck’s sake Neteyam, would you just fucking help me?...Please?” you’re almost yelling. You need something, anything, to calm the thunder inside of you.

“Lie down.”

You quickly lie back down and open your legs without really meaning to.

“Someone is eager. What a greedy little cunt.” He says settling himself between your legs. He has a full view of you and you feel that same embarrassment as before, but you’re helpless to do anything about it. “Just as pretty as I remember.” He lays there for a minute just admiring you and spreading you open. His tongue finds its way to your clit and your body jumps. You want to jump away, but your instincts grind your hips more towards the sensation. It was unfamiliar and scary as all hell, but damn was it satisfying. Pleasure washes over you and any semblance of pride you had left is gone.

You let out moans and gasps relishing in every lick and suck you’re given. His ears twitch with each sound. “Fuck, you taste just as good as you look.” His tongue glides up between your folds and darts into your hole. His eyes stay trained on your face watching you lose yourself under his touch. You always held such a rough exterior, but now here you were completely exposed and bucking your hips up against his face while your expressions twist with eye-rolling pleasure. His tongue presses just the right amount of pressure on your clit. It’s toe-curling good yet, you still want more. “Neteyam…more…” you moan out. You can feel him smile against your skin before he uses two fingers and covers them in your slick and slides inside of you. His fingers were so much bigger than your own. It gave you a much better stretch than what you ever gave yourself. His fingers pump in and out of you at a steady pace reaching deeper than you’ve ever felt anything. He’s just grazing the spot that you need to feel him the most. It’s almost enough to scratch the itch. Almost.

“Neteyam, please…I need it. I need more.” You plea feeling tears swell in your eyes from the torturous need you still felt. The sound of your begging was like music to his ears. He could quite literally listen to it all night. Neteyam sits up showing off his glistening chin and quickly undoes the tie on his loincloth. His dick springs to life and you swear you’re drooling now. He swipes the tip up and down your pussy to cover himself in your slick. He teases you sliding up against your clit over and over.

“Don’t tease” you whine.

“I need you to do something for me first.” He taps the tip against you and it makes you jolt. “Call me yours. Do that, and I’ll give you everything that you need.”

The thought is deeply humiliating, but you were in such distress, you were in no state to fight him. But the words still don’t come easily. “Please M-Ma’Teyam”.

A huge smile plasters itself across his face, “Good girl” and he plunges himself into you slowly. He went slow to let you get acclimated to the feeling, no matter how badly he wanted to fuck you stupid. There would be plenty of time for that later.

He bottoms out inside of you and the tip of his dick is just kissing your cervix. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Fingers don’t do justice to the stretch that you’re actually feeling. A prominent bulge appears reaching up to your navel. It’s almost enough to make Neteyam lose his composure.

 The pain is quickly overcome with pleasure and a loud moan escapes your lips. You cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sounds you make and he gives you one hard thrust. “Let them hear. Let them hear how good only I can make you feel.”

He swats your hand away from your face and he holds your wrists on either side of your head rendering you motionless. He starts pounding into you at an unforgiving rate.

It doesn’t take much before your first orgasm builds up and rushes out of you. Your back arches and your legs quiver. This does nothing to stop his pace. “Let me hear you, yawne.”

“Mmh! F-Fuck! Ma’Teyam!”

He loved seeing you so fucked out and desperate for his dick. “Fuck baby, I love hearing you say my name.” His hips continue to snap into yours and he’s knocking right into your cervix at just the right angle. “You’re doing such a good job. Taking me so well.”

You can feel the bulge growing at his base and every time he ruts into you, it’s poking at your entrance begging to be let in. You want it. Your body is screaming for his knot. You open up your legs a little wider to try and hopefully accommodate the extra size.

“Fuck, such a needy little cunt. You trying to take my knot?” His hands let go of your wrists and he weaves them down behind your back to grab your ass for leverage. “You know if I do that, you could get pregnant.” His words were seeping desire like he wanted that more than anything.

“I want it! Please Ma’Teyam, give me your baby! I want it! Please!” you were no longer in control of your body or your thoughts. Your mind was completely covered in a blanket of hormones. There had been one clear thought: breed. Breed. Breed me.

“Shit, you can’t talk like that, because I’ll actually do it. Want me to put a baby in you?” the speed of his thrusts got faster the more that you both spoke.

“Yes! Yes Ma’Teyam! Do it. I want it.” Your heat spoke for you now. “Breed me.” You say losing your fingers in his braids.

“Fuck, yawne. I’m gonna make sure you get pregnant. I want everyone to see you carry my baby. Let them know you’re mine and only mine. You got that?” His thrusts start to get sloppy signaling that he’s close to his own high.

You frantically nod your head, “Yes! Haah…oh shit Ma’Teyam! Fuck!” the pressure is about to burst inside of you again. Neteyam pushes harder into you, finally fitting his knot in and the extra stretch takes you over the edge as you fall into your second orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back silently screaming. The fluttering of your walls around his dick make him finally release his seed into you and replace all your pink with white. His knot keeps every drop inside of you and, for right now, you’re grateful for that. Finally, it feels like the fire in your body has been extinguished and the itch has been scratched.

You both lie there unable to move since his knot was still in you so you both just stay there staring at each other trying to breathe.

Neteyam sits up and looks at you, “You realize that you are mine now right? Just like I said you’d be.” You look away from him feeling your face get hot. “Now, no other man will come near you with my cum dripping down your legs for the next week.”

The blush on your face deepens and you think on your next move carefully. You mentally come to an understanding with yourself and let out a deep sigh. You turn back to look at him and say, “Neteyam…I…want to be your mate.” You could no longer deny the desire you still felt for him despite your heat being satisfied. You still longed for him to have you. Completely and mercilessly.

His ears perk up and he stares at you wide eyed. His face totally shifted from the wild beast that was just ravishing you to his normal boyish charm that he’s known for. “Oh, thank Eywa. I wasn’t sure how much more I could push you.” He said breathing a big sigh of relief.

You blink up at him a little confused.

He explains, “You wanted someone to prove that they could be your equal and challenge you. And that’s what I did. If it were up to me, though, I’d like to be more gentle with you and take my time.” He kisses your forehead lightly. “And I am sorry for slapping you before. I got a little carried away.”

“It’s okay. Wait so you did all this…for me?”

He chuckles to himself and brushes his fingers over your face, “Of course I did. Yawne, I’d hang every star in the sky by hand for you if you asked me to.” He smiled warmly at you and this is probably the first time that his genuine, loving smile made your heart skip a beat.

You found yourself at a loss for words for once. Neteyam has brought out a side of you that you didn’t know was there. “Well, it looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a minute.” You look down at where you both are still connected. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some rest. It’s been an exhausting day.”

Neteyam rolls over so that he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. He places a hand on your back to hold you close to his chest. He closes his eyes and purrs with content. The low rumbling sound in your ear and the light vibrations make you feel a sense of peace that was unfamiliar to you. You had never known such calm before. Is this what it meant to have a mate? A partner? Someone to hold you and make you feel safe and at peace? It was…nice. Nothing like the suffocation that you feared you would feel. Words sat in your heart and made their way past your lips, “Oel ngati kameie” you whisper to him. A smile creeps across his face and it feels like your words have squeezed his heart. “Oel ngati kameie” he whispers back. And you believe him. He does see you. He saw things in you that no one else could, not even yourself. It’s not long before the sound of his purring lulls you to sleep in his arms.

The sun rises on the next day, but you refuse to open your eyes hoping you can pretend that you’re still asleep and retreat into the comfortable warmth engulfing you right now. You notice the way that your whole body seems to be slowly rising and falling and when you finally relent and open your eyes, you find yourself still in Neteyam’s grasp. He held on to you the whole night. One of his hands is holding your waist while the other gently holds your head against his chest. Your brain still feels the slightest bit foggy, but you’re able to recall what happened when you feel him still inside of you. His knot had gone down hours ago, but the two of you were far gone by then. You carefully sit up and shift your hips so that he finally slides out of you and the emptiness makes you wince a little, but you don’t get off of him yet. You stay straddling his hips and look down at his sleeping figure under you.

His features are strong, but kind. It makes you feel a sense of ease. He’s disarming. You’d be a fool to say he wasn’t attractive. And he was a strong warrior, one of the best. He would be a good protector. Not that you felt you needed one. But above all else, he was a caring soul willing to do damn near anything for those he loves. All good characteristics to have in a mate.

You reach out your hand and caress his face running your fingers along his jawline. His head turns towards your touch and he places a kiss on your palm. He smiles to himself “Good morning, syulang” his groggy voice croaks out. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Thank you”, your heart picks up its pace with flashbacks playing in your mind.

He sits up keeping you in his lap and he folds his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into your chest. He takes a deep breath inhaling your scent hoping to burn it into his memory.

This whole dynamic was strange to you. How could the same man that had you immobilized on the ground and smacked you in the face be the same person clinging on to you like a security blanket? Your arms fall around his head and your hands play with his braids. You smile down at him and close your eyes letting the comfortable silence wash over you.

It was odd, but it was something you felt yourself enjoying.

[twst-beam]

I see you are in need of prompts, then I shall humbly bestow upon thee some a prompt.

Hmm, what about going to a farmer's market with *insert YOUR favourite character here*? I believe in shameless self-enjoyment when it comes to writing; be self-indulgent. Don't you want to go apeshit?

Also do give your hands a well deserved rest every so often ^v^

ohohohoho you're giving me a lot of power with the YOUR favorite character there dove dear, but alright let's go >:D

Gifts

??? words, featuring my THREE favorite boyos because self-indulgence ftw <3

Deuce Spade

Going to the farmer's market was his idea; the two of you needed groceries, and it just so happened that the farmer's market was convenient for you.

Early morning, it was decided, it would double as a date, and both of you were early risers anyway. It'd also boost the morale of the farmers, Deuce had reasoned, and you fell all over again.

A wicker basket, two, so that you could carry your purchases home, although Deuce insisted he'd carry all of them for you, and you laughed and told him no.

The morning sun shone brightly as you walked towards the farmer's market, feeding a few ducks along the way as you walked by the lake and watching as Deuce's expressions softened every time, it was cute, and he grinned sheepishly when he caught you staring.

The entrance to the farmer's market was marked by a decorated arc, and it was peaceful and fun as the two of you walked around, buying produce and chatting with the stall owners, at one point Deuce was given a comically large round of cheese to carry home when he fought off a bunch of menaces from an old lady's stall.

But the real highlight of that morning was when Deuce found the chicks.

One, two, three, more chicks than he could count properly waddled around in a pen, and with a joke, an exclamation of wonder, and a hopeful confirmation, the two of you brought home two very full wicker baskets and a baby chick that rested on Deuce's head.

Jade Leech

Though he thought foraging in the mountains would have been a better decision for both your budget and experience, he relented when he saw the eagerness in your eyes.

By midmorning, you were dragging him to the farmer's market, chattering about the crafts and produce that could be found, and he smiled despite himself.

He watched as you conversed eagerly with the merchants, calmly observing how you skilfully picked the best produce, and how you looked at the crafts with admiration.

You had just purchased a new scarf, wrapping it around your neck and grinning as you waved at him to come over.

"Jade, Jade, look at this one"

He leans over as you took a scarf from the layed out pile on the table, and widened his eyes slightly as he saw what made you wave him over.

"Mushroom print," you smiled as you showed it to him, "and with the coloration and teal ruffles it reminded me of you"

He took it gently from your hands, noticing how the fabric was smooth but thick enough to warm, and kissed your forehead.

"Thank you, my pearl"

You muttered a "you're welcome", dazed by the sudden display of affection as he thanked the stall owner and payed for the scarf, bringing you out of your reverie.

"Hey, wait a minute, I was the one supposed to pay for that, not you"

Jade grinned, displaying his sharp teeth, eyes glinting with mischief as he feigned innocence.

"You were?"

You huffed, "it was supposed to be my gift for you, for bringing me here."

He leaned closer, scarf now hanging from his neck as he tapped his lips in thought, smirk giving away his intentions.

"Then what about a different gift?"

Rook Hunt

Your expedition to the farmer's market was on a whim, a fancy, a spur of the moment thing, but who were you to complain? the moment his hand held yours you couldn't help but go anywhere he wanted.

So there you were, between the rows of stalls and booths, illuminated by the fairy lights as Rook marveled at each product, generously purchasing trinkets and produce and whatever caught his eye.

You couldn't help but smile as Rook's exclamations of fascination and wonder brought smiles to the farmers' faces, and as you sat he waxed poetic about all the beauties the market provided, and you looked at the moon, content to hear him speak amidst the chatter and bustle of the bazaars.

"...but you know what the most amazing thing is in this place, mon amour?"

You closed your eyes, tilting your head as you emitted a curious "hmm?"

He held your hand, looking into your eyes as he smiled in adoration.

"You."

[jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae]

Blinding Light Chapter Two

Hey guys! I just finished chapter two so I figured I might as well post it! I’m glad that you guys liked Chapter One. It has some formatting issues so I’ll try to fix those one I’m on my computer. I’m currently posting this from iPad at work, so it makes the formatting a bit odd. I hope you guys show this one as much love as chapter one! Thanks!

Hybrids: Munchkin Cat Y/N (Omega), Fox Jin (Omega), Panther Yoongi (Alpha), Golden Retriever J-Hope (Beta), Wolf RM (Alpha), Calico Cat Jimin (Omega), Tiger V (Beta), Bunny Jungkook (Beta)

Word Count: 4, 121

Masterlist

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

When I wake, I feel more rested than I ever have. Yoongi’s peppery scent wraps around me. I’m tucked into his side, my cheek resting on his chest. His breathing is calm and even. He seems to still be in a deep sleep. I gently try to disentangle myself.

“Where are you going?” His sleepy voice is a little deeper than his normal voice.

“Bathroom,” I whisper back. He lets me go, his arm lifting to point at a cracked door. When I emerge again, Yoongi sits up on the edge of the bed, blinking blearily at me. He holds out a hand to me, which I take quickly.

He pulls me toward him, his head nuzzling into my stomach. My hands go to his hair, my fingers running through is longish hair. He purrs, his hands resting on my hips. We stay like that for a while. He finally pulls back, after a while.

“We got you some clothes. We got a couple different sizes, so we’ll return whatever doesn’t fit,” He leans down and picks up a large shopping bag from beside the bed.

I cycle through a few clothes that are way too big before ending up in a pair of bicycle shorts and an oversized t-shirt. When I come out, Yoongi has also changed clothes.

“Lets go eat some breakfast,” He finally stands, taking my hand and leading me through the massive house, down the stairs, and into the dining room.

The table is overwhelming. It’s covered in food and surrounded by people. I end up seated between Yoongi and Hoseok. The pink haired Calico ends up seated across from me. I watch nervously as the boys load up their places. I recognize some of the, like Jungkook, Namjoon, and Jin, but I don’t know the name of the Omega Calico or the Tiger hybrid next to him.

“Y/N?” The voice pulls me from my daze. I look around to see everyone staring at me. I blush, ducking my head.

“Do you want me to make your plate?” Hoseok asks worriedly. I shake my head quickly and grab a few items near me. A waffled, a fried egg, and a few slices of bacon.

“Orange juice?” It’s the calico this time. I lift my glass and he pours some,” I’m Jimin, by the way.”

“Taehyung!” The tiger offers a boxy smile. I smile back shyly.

I eat as much as I can. This feels like a treat but I haven’t eaten consistently over the years. I don’t want to make myself sick. I finish about half the egg and waffle, but I also ate three slices of bacon.

“How are you feeling this morning?” This time, it’s Jin.

“I feel fine. No soreness or anything,” It feels eerie when everyone goes quiet when I speak.

“I have to ask you some questions after breakfast,” Namjoon, his gray wolf ears flicking.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi’s tone is warning,” She’s not ready.”

“It’s okay,” My voice is stronger than I thought it would be,” I-I want to talk.”

“I”m staying with her,” Yoongi grumbles, turning back to his breakfast. They all chatter through breakfast and then I’m in the library with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jungkook. I rub my hands together nervously.

“I’m going to show you some pictures. Tell me what you know about the people on them. Take your time. Anything you can tell us will help,” Namjoon has a stack of photos in front of him.

“I don’t know anyone’s names,” I chew on my bottom lip nervously.

“That’s okay!” Jungkook is cheerful,” We just need leverage.”

“Are you ready?” Namjoon gives me a comforting smile. I nod once and he lifts the first picture. Images flash through my mind. Blood, pain, fear. My hand curled into a fist, my breathing becoming shaky. A warm hand covers mine and I look up to see Jungkook, a worried look in his eyes. I take a deep breath.

“Brown bear hybrid. He’s not the bottom of the ladder but he’s not the top either. I think he’s a drug manufacturer. I could usually smell it on him. Had a preference for whips and choking,” While I speak, Jungkook’s hand stays on mine. I study his tattoos, ignoring the lump in my throat,” He was trying to work his way up.”

We proceed like this for a while. At some point, I end up in Yoongi’s lap as he scents me. I don’t know if it’s to calm me or him, but it soothed my trembling. Jungkook sits on the floor in front of us. I play with his hair, needing to keep my hands busy. His foot twitches every once in a while. The last picture causes my hands to still and my eyes to blur. My chest heaves.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jungkook is kneeling before but I didn’t see him move, his hands wiping tears I didn’t know were falling,” We can stop. This is enough. Lets stop.”

“I only met him once,” My voice is empty, hollow,” The day I almost escaped. He’s a bodyguard for the boss. He was supposed to teach me a lesson. He’s an Alpha with a dominance issue. He forcibly marked me. My punishment was to deal the mark rejection that followed. It took three months.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Yoongi’s voice is growled.

Mark rejection happens when an Omega is forcibly marked. Their body rejects the mark and they go through searing physical pain. Even breathing can feel like fire. The duration changes depending on the Omega and usually requires medical care.

“Lets finish up here. You need to take a breather,” Namjoon sets down his pen and walks over to us. His lips press to the top of my head,” No one will hurt you ever again.”

“I **need** to stay with her. If I go there now, no one will leave there alive,” Yoongi stands with me in his arms.

“Hyung, you know we won’t be able to get information out of them without you,” Jungkook whines,” Plus, she should spend time with all her mates. You’re hogging her.”

“Jimin and Tae are home. She’ll be safe with them,” Namjoon gives Yoongi a pointed look. He sighs, seeming resigned.

I can’t help but feel a surge of panic at the though of Yoongi being away from me. Our bond seems to have cemented itself. He had been my rock, my protector. Yoongi seems just as reluctant. He scents me throughly before the others can convince him to leave.

“Man, he really doesn’t trust us, does he?” Jimin rolls his eyes.

“We only set the kitchen on fire once! And no one was even hurt!” Taehyung whines.

“Well, we did set Jin’s hair on fire that one time. He wore a hat for two months,” Jimin lounges next to me on the couch. His cinnamon apple scent brings me comfort that can only be offered by a fellow Omega. Taehyung’s scent reminds me of snow. Cold, fresh, and oddly exhilarating.

“Okay, so, I know Yoongi told you about the whole mate thing, but do you have any questions? Hyung isn’t much of an explainer,” Taehyung sits in the chair diagonal to the couch.

“I don’t think so? Should I?” I chew on my bottom lip nervously.

I understand the basic concept of mates. A group of people whose animal counterparts draw them together. The groups usually range between five and ten people. I did hear about a pack of thirteen once but it’s rare. No one knows what draws them together or why. Mates bring you friendship, companionship, love, a support system. It depends on what you need. Most end up falling in love with each other. They patchwork themselves into the pieces of your heart. I never really expected to find mates, not really. Not everyone does.

“But?” Jimin prompts, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I just… wasn’t ever prepared for this option so I don’t know how to feel,” I feel like I’m staring holes in the carpet,” I don’t know how to be a mate.”

“Nobody does. You learn it through spending time with your mates. Every relationship is different. We have to learn about you too,” Jimin’s hand touches mine gently. I didn’t realize my fingers were digging into my thighs.

“Why don’t we just do something fun, instead. No need for everything to be so serious so quickly,” Taehyung gives me a cute, boxy smile,” I promised Chim I would teach him some pottery. I can teach you too.”

The clay splattered apron ends up being quite big. Taehyung’s hands engulf mine as he shows me how to shape and press my hands. Once I have the basics, he goes to help Jimin.

I quickly become absorbed. Keeping my hands busy makes everything else fade away. I forgot how much I loved to create, to use my hands to build something. For a while, nothing else matters. One of my nicer owners, a younger woman, was a potter. She had taught me once. Taught me how to create, carve, and glaze. I had nearly forgotten. It was so long ago.

When it was shaped how I wanted, I began to carve. I knew what I wanted. I don’t know how long I work but the finished product is perfect. The panther stares back at me, reminding me so much of Yoongi. I had decided on a coffee cup after watching him down multiple ups at breakfast this morning. Taehyung helps me place mine in the kiln alongside Jimin’s rose.

“It should be ready in the morning. You can come up and help me glaze them after dinner, if you want,” Taehyung’s tone is a little shy,” Where did you learn pottery?”

“One of my various owners. She was a potter. She passed in an accident and her mother sold me to a new owner,” I keep my voice casual,” She was my favorite.”

“He’ll love it, you know,” Jimin’s arm wraps around my shoulder,” He may pretend otherwise but he’ll love it.”

“Yeah, Yoongi is a big softie. He just looks tough,” Taehyung’s voice is teasing.

“Lets go watch a movie,” Jimin suggests suddenly,” I wanna cuddle.”

“I’m picking then,” Taehyung shoots off down the stairs.

Sitting on the couch nestled between Jimin and Taehyung is warm and comfortable. Jimin’s head is in my lap while I play with his hair. Taehyung’s arm is wrapped around my waist, his head on my shoulder. His ears tickle my jaw. Treasure Planet flashes on the tv.

Having an Omega near me brings me a comfort I’ve never known. I have never spent time around other Omegas. Before I was on suppressants, my heats were usually handled by Alphas or Betas. Or, sometimes, humans, but I hadn’t had a heat in years. I should probably talk to Jin about that at some point.

About halfway through the movie, it becomes obvious that Jimin has dozed off. Soft purrs leave him every so often and he’s rolled onto his back. Asleep, his face drops into an almost pouty expression. He’s much cuter like this, when he isn’t, seemingly, causing chaos with Taehyung.

“Can I scent you?” Taehyung’s voice is quiet and a little bit nervous. His nerves makes me shy.

“Y-yes,” I swallow, suddenly aware of everything happening around me. I hadn’t been scented by anyone but Yoongi so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

My head tilts to the side as his nose presses to my scent gland. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. We stay there for a while, him just taking in my scent. It suddenly makes me wonder what I smell like. You can’t smell your own scent, your brain filters it out before you even process it. Plus, your scent is more complex to your mates, something unique and satisfying to your senses. You even smell different to your different mates.

“Taehyung-“ I stop myself, a little embarrassed.

“You can call me Tae, you know,” I can feel his lips move against my neck, setting my nerve endings on fire.

“What do I smell like to you?” My teeth dig into my bottom lip nervously. This feels like an intimate conversation, but Jimin could wake up at any moment. I still don’t fully understand this whole mate thing. Not in a way that makes any rational sense. The concept of mates isn’t supposed to be rational, I suppose, but I feel like I’m not emotionally set up to be able to process it yet.

“Honeysuckle on a summer breeze,” His voice is almost nostalgic as he says it,” Combined with the scent Yoongi has left on you, it’s nearly enough to drive someone crazy.”

For a while, we sit like that, Taehyung scenting me while Jimin naps with his head in my lap. His version of scenting is different from Yoongi’s. Yoongi was gentle and soft while Taehyung is much more enthusiastic and forward. With Taehyung, I can feel how much my scent affects him. He’s much more open than Yoongi, at least when it comes to emotions. His teeth nip my scent gland, catching me off guard. All my breath leaves me in a rush.

“We’re home!” Taehyung pulls away with a huff, seemingly annoyed by our interruption. Hoseok comes around the corner, a couple bags in his hand. Yoongi trails in behind him, carrying more bags. They have brands from various clothing stores on them.

“Go help Jungkook unload. If you’re fast, it can be done before dinner,” Yoongi gives Taehyung a point look,” Wake Jimin up. He said he would help.”

“I’ll wake him up. You can go help Jungkook,” I give Taehyung a warm smile. He presses a quick kiss to my cheek, catching me off guard, before scrambling off to help Jungkook. I shake Jimin’s shoulder gently. He doesn’t stir,” Jiminie, it’s time to wake up.”

His eyes open at my words, his mouth forming a small, pouty circle. He just stares up at me for a minute, sleep still weighing heavily on his eyelids. We sit there for a few moments, his trying to wake up from his nap and me sitting captive under his head. He finally sits up, turning to face me for a moment.

“Say my name again,” His words are so forward, they catch me off guard.

“J-Jimin,” I answer without thinking. He offers me a sweet smile.

“Call me Jiminie,” With that, he’s gone, lopping off after Taehyung. It takes me a moment to clear my confusion and look over to see Yoongi and Hoseok still there. I blush, look away again, my hands knotting together.

“We got you some more clothes. I know Omega’s can be particular about clothing materials so I figured you could try them on and make sure there isn’t anything that needs to be returned or exchanged,” Hoseok holds up his hands, displaying the bags. I try not to look shocked at some of the brands I see on the bags. I had noticed that they seem to wear higher ends clothes but I didn’t think much of it at the time.

“Those are all for me?” I had never had any of my owners buy me clothes like this. I mean, they’re required to provide clothing but it was usually a week’s worth, at most.

“Lets just use the bathroom down here. I’m tired of carrying these bags,” Yoongi sets the bags at his feet.

“Hyung,” Hoseok whines,” We were gonna use my room because I have a full length mirror.”

“Then go get it,” Yoongi shrugs and sits next to me on the couch, pulling me into his arms. Hoseok rolls his eyes and heads up the stairs. I snuggle into his chest, letting out a content chirp.

“I missed you,” My words seem to catch us both off guard, Yoongi seeming to freeze. I blush again.

“I missed you too,” He says after a moment, humming and resting his head on top of mine. We separate, somewhat reluctantly, after Hoseok comes back downstairs lugging a tall mirror.

The next few hours make me feel like a doll playing dress up. Three piles are made: keep, exchange, and return. Yoongi seems very intune with my body language so I don’t have to verbalize if a certain material makes me uncomfortable. Most of the clothes are comfortable and the keep pile is by far the tallest. Dresses, jeans, shorts, t-shirts, button ups. Any kind of clothing imaginable. They had even thought to get me undergarments, though I chose not to question how they figured out my size.

The last dress takes my breath away. It’s a gorgeous emerald green dress with an open back, chains dangling between the shoulder blades. It feels much too nice for someone like me. Something for a fancy party, or a ball, or a fairytale. The silhouette is sleek and beautiful. No piece of clothing has ever made me feel this way. I’m almost nervous to show it to them. It doesn’t feel like I belong in this gown.

“Is everything okay?” Hoseok’s voice outside of the bathroom door wakes me from my stupor.

“I’m fine,” I say hastily, opening the door to see him standing right in front of me. One of my hands plays with the silky material,” I just-“

My words drop off at the expression on his face. He moves aside silently, allowing me space to walk to the mirror. Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin seem to have finished whatever task they were completing, as they have joined Yoongi on the couch. I feel nervous under all these eyes. I can’t look at any of them, my hands wringing together nervously. No one says anything.

“Do I look okay?” My words shake almost as much as I am. It almost feels like anxiety has burrowed into my chest. I didn’t realize until this moment that I wanted them to like me. Wanted to think I was pretty or beautiful or that I was important to them. Without realizing, I’m staring holes into the carpet again. Fingers gently close on my chin, lifting my head to meet a pair of dark eyes. They belong to Hoseok.

“You’re beautiful,” Hoseok’s voice is husky and sends my heart pounding, for some reason,” Don’t doubt yourself.”

“This feels like such a fancy dress. Doesn’t it seem a bit excessive? When would I have an occasion to wear it?” I decide that changing the subject would be best for saving my heart from beating right out of my chest.

“We have to go to dinner parties and the such sometimes,” Yoongi says casually, though his eyes haven’t left me once since I walked out.

“I’m sure we could make a reason if we need to,” Jungkook’s tone is joking,” You’re definitely keeping that one.”

My face bright with a blush, I return to the bathroom to change back into the clothes I started in. I bring the dress out to Hoseok, who quickly adds it to the keep pile. I help him bag up the rejects and exchanges, despite his protests. It doesn’t take long to organize it with two people. I hadn’t realized Yoongi had disappeared until I could smell food coming from the kitchen. By that point, Hoseok and I had finished and the four boys were in some debate about soccer that I couldn’t follow. I wander into the kitchen, following my nose, to find Yoongi at the counter, hard at work.

“Hi,” my voice disappears into his back as I softly wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek pressing to his back. He puts down his knife and turns in my arms, hugging me back for a moment before lifting me up and setting me on the counter next to him.

“Hi Kitten,” His voice is warm as he turns back to his chopping. I watch him for a while in comfortable silence. It’s easy to be around Yoongi. I don’t have to think about what I say. He’s a comfortable sort of person, seemingly happy to just let other people exist in his silence.

He obviously knows his way around the kitchen as he makes some sort of pasta dish. He makes a couple of sides as well. Occasionally, he would silently offer me bites of food, letting me be his taste tester. It wasn’t until I tried the first bite that I realized how hungry I was. Taehyung, Jimin, and I had ended up skipping lunch without realizing it. Too busy in our own little world to notice the passing time.

By the time he’s finished, Jin and Namjoon have also returned. We all sit down to dinner, in the same seats as before. I’m nestled between Hoseok and Yoongi, Jimin across from me. This time, before I can move, Yoongi makes my plate for me. He returns it to me before making his own. Yoongi seems to be the type to take care of you in quiet ways. He doesn’t boast that he doing it for you, he just does it without thinking.

“We have a surprise for you,” Jin is the first one to speak. My eyes widen, not prepared for that one. Yoongi takes my hand and I follow all the boys upstairs.

They lead me to a room. I try to remember the directions. Upstairs, left, then the last door on the left. When they open the door, it’s the colors that catch my attention first. The walls are white but the furniture is mahogany with dark green bedding and yellow accents throughout the room. The bed is a king, just as big as Yoongi’s massive bed. More space than one person will ever need on a bed. There’s a carpet spread across the floor, soft and warm on my toes. At some point, Hoseok must have brought the clothes upstairs and put them in the closet.

“We thought you might like to have a room of your own,” Jimin’s voice is bright and chipper. He runs over to a massive wardrobe,” There are tons of nesting blankets and stuffed animals in here. We found ones that look like us and scented them for you. Thought it might make you feel more comfortable since I know how hard it is for an Omega to settle in a new home.”

“This is…. All for me?” I can’t stop my eyes from welling with tears. I’ve never had a space that didn’t also belong to someone else.

“We also have another room set aside for your that you can turn into whatever you want. It’s on the other end of the house,” Namjoon is the furthest away from me, behind the group.

“It’s like Taehyung’s art studio. Namjoon has a library. Jungkook has a gym,” Jimin ticks off his fingers,” Everyone’s room is different.”

“We wanted you to have your own space here. Somewhere that felt like home,” Hoseok offers me a bright smile,” It was Yoongi’s idea.”

Yoongi blushes and won’t meet my eyes, his ears red. It makes me warm that they want me to feel like I have a home. We talk and visit for a while but soon, everyone begins to disperse to get ready for the evening. I decide to build myself a quick nest, leaving the more advanced nest for the morning. When I turn around, I’m shocked to see Yoongi still there, leaning casually against the wall, two coffee cups in hand. He offers me one. Inside is some steaming hot chocolate.

“I just wanted to come say good night,” His ears are a little pink.

“Good night, Yoon,” The nickname slips out without much thought. His ears become even pinker.

“Want me to tuck you in?” His tone is a little more teasing this time, trying to cover up his own embarrassment.

“I think I can manage,” I blush a little,” Can I have a hug though?”

He opens his arms and I practically jump into them. I nuzzle my face into his chest, purring. His scent wraps around me, releasing any tension I might have had. His cheek rests on the top of my head. I try to build up my courage. It’s just a few words but they feel so hard.

“Yoongi, will you stay with me tonight?” The words are spoken into his chest, my arms wrapped around him tightly.

“Of course, Kitten,” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. We cuddle in bed together, my nest built around us. I’ve never felt so comfortable in another person’s presence. He feels like home. Not this room, not anything else. Just him.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Chapter Three coming soon!

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Friendly Sex - Chapter 7 - The Unknown Part II

This was going to be the beginning of Chapter 8 but it would have interrupted the overall flow. So, gentle reader, please accept this cutscene smutty offering.

Chapters warnings: MDI (18+ only), pwp, smoking, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, slightly mean!Eddie, doggystyle, rough sex, spanking, vaginal spanking, choking, use of the word slut, masturbation, overstimulation, explicit smut, explicit language, all sexual interaction is consensual.

________________________________________________________

You awake in a daze, feeling overly warm and confined, a heavy weight slung across your stomach. Eddie is wrapped around you like a Boa Constrictor, your back pressed snugly to his chest, light snores tickling your neck.

Lifting your head slightly you glance at the illuminated alarm clock 0245, so much for 5 minutes you snort internally.

You shift trying to get comfortable again, but now you're awake you realize how thirsty you are and that you definitely need a pee. You gingerly slip out from Eddie's arm, his snores continuing interrupted as you pull on your panties and what you think might be Eddie's shirt, your own lost to the recesses of the darkness. 

It's like navigating a field of landmines as you creep across the cluttered bedroom floor, stubbing your toe several times, silently cursing in pain.

Ducking into the bathroom you notice the rest of the trailer is still dimly lit, having left everything on in your haste to get to bed. After relieving yourself you splash some cold water on your face and neck, stealing a quick spray of Eddie's deodorant for good measure before moving back into the main living area.

It takes you three tries to find the right cupboard with the glasses, pouring yourself a large cup of water, leaning against the sink as you drink. 

You spy Eddie's pack of cigarettes and lighter in the key bowl by the front door, picking it up and slipping out to the awning covered porch, perching on a grubby broken down sofa.

It was a chilly night, but it felt refreshing after being stuck to the human torch, you light up blowing the smoke out in a long exhale, enjoying the silence. It was incredibly peaceful this far out of town, not that Hawkins was a central hub of activity, but even at home cars would pass every so often through the night, here at the trailer park though it was literal crickets. 

Soon you were lost in your thoughts, body exhausted but mind working overtime, you had never expected sex with Eddie to feel so intimate, so meaningful. It scares you more than you want to admit, so you resort to once again telling yourself that your feelings are borne out of lust, Eddie is simply fulfilling a need.

  "Can't sleep?" Eddie's drowsy croak cracking like a whip in the still air, making you jump. You shake your head, eyeing him guiltily as he reaches for the slowly burning down cigarette, sitting next to you clad only in his jeans.

"Someone stole my shirt." He says gesturing to his bare chest, casting a glance at the Hellfire club logo covering your own.

"Crime is such a problem these days." You say wryly, leaning back against him.

"You'll catch a cold out here." He mumbles taking a deep drag, hand chafing absentmindedly at your thigh.

"I was gonna come back in soon. Just needed some air." You say, rubbing at your tired eyes, suppressing a yawn.

"Ah yes, clean, fresh air." He hums sarcastically, stubbing out the butt of the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray.

"C'mon sleeping beauty." He hauls himself up, hand outstretched to you, leading you back into the trailer. You noticed he had turned off the television which was just showing static earlier, along with the various lamps, the only light now coming from the crack under his bedroom door.

You clamber back into bed shivering slightly at the change in temperatures, Eddie immediately brings you into his arms, your head pressed atop his chest listening to his heartbeat. 

"Is this ok?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah, it's nice." You say softly tracing over his spider tattoo.

"I knew under that tough exterior, you were a cuddler." He laughs, fingers tickling at your side.

"Fuck off Munson." You grumble, breath suddenly leaving you in a 'umph' sound as he flips you onto your back, lightly pinning you.

"You know, you tell me to fuck off a lot sweetheart, it's not very nice." He says seriously, but you see the mischievous glint in his eye.

"I never said I was nice." You challenge, experimentally lifting your hips, pelvis brushing against his steadily hardening cock.

"Mmm, no, but what was it you said princess? Oh I remember, 'you can punish me later'." He grins. "Do you want to be punished?" He asks and you can tell this is his red light, green light question.

"Yes." You whisper against his lips.

"Yes, what baby?"

"Yes please." You all but beg. 

His hand instantly moves down to land a firm slap against your cunt, making you produce a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan, back arching.

"Such a slut." He laughs, kissing you hard, fingers sliding through your wetness, before delivering another smack which has you crying out against his mouth. "Think you can handle another, you little brat?" He says hand hovering, you bite your lip nodding frantically, keening as his palm makes stinging contact once more.

"Good girl." He soothes, stroking gently at your throbbing clit, you grip at his shoulders, canting your hips desperately.

"Please." You whine.

"Please what baby?" He mutters infuriatingly, circling a little faster, teeth nipping at your jawline.

"I wanna cum." You whimper, tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to catch his lips in a kiss.

"Oh I know you do sweetheart, but you're going to have to work for it." He taunts, smirking cruelly as he withdraws his hand. "Get on your hands and knees for me princess."

You move on shaking limbs, until you're on all fours, Eddie moving behind you, his hands massaging your ass.

"Do you remember I promised I'd fuck you like this?" He murmurs, kissing along the small of your back where his t-shirt has ridden up.

"Yes." You breathe out, shivering in anticipation.

"You still want me to?" He asks, fingers tracing over your dripping slit.

"Yes please." You say, pressing back into his touch, giving him another green light.

You hear the tell-tale rip of a condom wrapper, Eddie's hand gripping you firmly about the hip as he slips in, both moaning in synchronicity. His thrusts are immediately hard and rough, pounding into your cunt, catching you off guard.

You scramble for purchase on the bedsheets, his hand pushing down on your back so your ass goes higher.

"Fuck baby, look at this pretty pussy, swallowing my cock." He pants, delivering a small swat to your ass.

"Ah - Ed's!" You cry out, shocks of pleasure sparking through your body

"You like that sweetheart, like having your perfect little ass spanked?" He coos, hitting you again, the slapping of your bodies filling the small room.

You slip your hand between your legs, rubbing insistently at your clit only to have Eddie pull it away, taking your wrists behind your back to rest above your ass using them as leverage.

"Not yet baby, you're still being punished, remember?" He jeers, using his free hand to spank you harder, the skin welting under his touch.

"Eddie, choke me please." You beg, shocking yourself.

"Jesus, you sure?" He asks breathlessly, still slamming into your wet cunt, you nod furiously tilting your head up from the bed. "Oh my god, you're something else, hit me if I hurt you sweetheart." He says frantically, ringed fingers grasping at your throat.

It's pure filthy bliss, you feel like you're imploding and exploding all at once, Eddie rhythmically squeezing and releasing every few seconds.

"Touch yourself for me princess." He groans, you do as you're told, rubbing frantically at your swollen clit, feeling him ram deeper. "Make yourself cum on my cock."

"Eddie, baby, fuck." You whine incoherently, sobbing as your orgasm hits like a freight train. He lets go of your throat, leaning over you, kissing you messily.

"Oh my god, you're so - fuck - tight around me, I'm gonna cum." Eddie grunts, hips stuttering to a halt, pulsing deep inside you. You're panting heavily, body wracked with shocks, heat blooming from your sore ass cheeks, you'd have bruises in the morning you were sure of it. 

Eddie pulls out as gently as possible, but you're completely unaware floating somewhere in a boneless puddle.

"You did so well sweetheart." He murmurs softly, hands running delicately over your back. "I'm so proud of you."

You want to say something nice to him but you're so tired you settle for sticking your hand out in a thumbs up, Eddie erupting in laughter. 

"Come on baby, we gotta get cleaned up and get some sleep."

"Leave me here, in my cocoon of filth." You huff into the pillow.

He responds by placing kiss after kiss to your half hidden cheek, you reluctantly turn your head to face him, so he can plant one on your lips.

"Shower, cuddle, sleep and I'll let you keep the shirt for the rest of the night." He mutters against you.

"Fine, but you might have to carry me."

Taglist: @avalon-wolf @mystars123 @lolalanaie @eddiemunsonsgf2 @eddieslildarling @bakugouswh0r3 @sidthedollface2 @81rain @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @winchester-angel @bimbobaggins69 @tuskjohnny @fckyeahlames @thecomfortgoth @alanamarie @miarosso @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @somespicystuff @eddiethesexy

Sorry if I missed anyone!

[sapphicsmaximoff]

the heir (pt. 3) - daenerys targaryen

a/n: it’s almost thanksgiving break so i’m posting the rest of the chapters I have to so far, and I might get to the rest of my wips before I go home. (ao3)

i ii iii iv v 

Daenerys had become much quieter in the few days leading up to when the Khal was to arrive, and although she was nervous and didn’t want to marry the Khal, she felt like doing it so that the woman she’d grown to care for would be free of her mental torment. 

She didn’t blame Carra despite the woman apologizing every chance she could find. She spent every waking moment with her, even now. Carra found her in the dressing room as the slave women rushed. Daenerys watched the bay of Pentos, and she was in silent thought. 

She didn’t flinch at Carra’s touch but only looked at her. “What are you thinking?” Other than the obvious, Carra couldn’t read the girl. Daenerys stayed silent with her thoughts, and the taller woman leaned back. “Daenerys!” The girl wakes from her daze, and Carra stands straight as Viserys excitedly walks in. 

“Daenerys!” Carra watches as the girl silently walks into the room and walks behind her. “There’s our bride-to-be.” The woman was almost disgusted at how ecstatic the prince seemed. He holds out a lilac gown for his sister. “Look, a gift from Illyrio.” The girl approaches him slowly. 

“Touch it.” He smiles. “Go on, feel the fabric.” His gaze catches Carra’s on his sister, but he ignores it. “Isn’t he a gracious host?” Daenerys looks up at him. “We’ve been his guests for over a year, and he has never asked us for anything.”

“Illyrio’s no fool. He knows I won’t forget my friends when I come to my throne.” He explains. He hands the dress to a slave. “You still slouch.” He moves her hair behind her shoulders and notices Carra looking down at the floor from further away. He opens her dress and begins to pull it off her shoulders. “Let them see. You have a woman’s body now.” He tosses it on the floor and stares at her. 

“Viserys.” He smirks, looking away from his sister’s body and over at Carra.”May I have a word?” She asks. Daenerys ducks her head, and her brother puts on a smile. “Yes. I’ll be out.” He and Carra stare for a few seconds, and she knows he won’t back down until she leaves, so she does reluctantly. 

After a minute, Viserys walks out with a smile and finds Carra with her hands on her belt. “Don’t tell me you’ve become soft and wish to change plans?” She looks over at him with a glare. “When you came here, Carra, I thought the Gods had sent an angel to save us. Give us back the life we deserve. But I never believed you to be a sap.”

“She is a child, my Prince.” 

“I don’t care. Daenerys is my way to my throne. That child is our way to glory. Do you wish to murder the man who took our families from us?” She nods. “This is the way. She will please him, and he will give us what we need and more. I will let you drive your sword through the fat man’s heart.” She didn’t argue and looked up at him. 

“Now, ease up. It is almost time.” 

After Daenerys dresses, they stand at the front, waiting for the Khal. Carra stood off to the side, wanting to watch. “Where  is  he?” Viserys mumbles. “The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality.” Illyrio answers. It doesn’t take long for the men to arrive on horseback, and Carra looks on. 

She spots the Khal ahead of the others, and the Magister goes to greet him in Dothraki tongue.  “May I present to you, my honored guests? Viserys of House Targaryen, the third of his name, the rightful king of the Andals and the First Men, and his sister, Daenerys of House Targaryen.” Daenerys moves forward, but Viserys grabs her arm and begins to whisper in her ear. 

Carra moves forward beside Daenerys as she watches the Khal. “Come forward, my dear.” Daenerys nervously walks toward the Magister. She reaches the bottom of the steps, and Carra feels Viserys look over at her in confusion. 

After a few seconds, Drogo turns around and rides off. Viserys runs down the steps to the Magister. “Where is he going?!” He asks with worry. “The ceremony is over.”

“But he didn’t say anything. Did he like her?”

“Trust me, Your Grace, if he didn’t like her, we’d know.” Viserys watches after them and hums before walking back up the steps. “Come.” He says as he looks at Carra. Daenerys and the Magister trail behind them. 

“How well do you know the Khal, Carra?” 

“We’ve done battle. I have saved his life, and he has mine. I have the scars to prove it.” Viserys chuckles. “You have plenty of those. But, tell me, will he fail me?”

“He is a man of his word, Your Grace. If anyone fails him, I hope it wouldn’t be you.” Viserys raises an eyebrow and raises his hand, but Carra catches it. “I’m only advising you. You’d be a fool not to repay him.”

“When I rule, you will be highly rewarded.” He smiles darkly and she removes his hand from her grasp. He walks away, and the Magister follows after him, but Daenerys trails behind. Carra looks down at her, and the shorter woman gives her a small smile before walking after the men.

[merge-conflict]

first of two of the smut prompts cos self-control? never heard of her

❛ now, i'll ask again, are you going to be good for me? ❜ - your choice of characters :3c

heheheheheh >:3 prompts are here, i'm all caught up now so if any of you want to request more smut feel free!

Susan Abernathy/V

[ This snippet from when Valentine is about 22, still an egg, and filled with enough youthful irreverence and powerful stimulants to believe she will live forever. :3 ]

The inside of the supply closet was cramped and smelled strongly of toner, and yet at that moment it was the best room in the entire Arasaka tower– because it was where Birdy had her hand up the inside of V’s shirt, unhooking the front clasp of her bra with something approaching reverence. There was something incredibly debauched about being bared without being completely undressed. Something secret, something sacred. Normally she hated too much attention being paid to her tits, but the way Birdy handled her, cautious and intimate– it turned V inside out. Made her feel like the delicate feathered thing even though Birdy barely had to duck her head to kiss the outline of her nipple through her shirt.

“Are you ready?” she asked, raising her eyes. V tipped her head back to avoid having to see her smile, which made her feel even more undone than if she had actually been naked.

“I’m ready.” She made a face at the smoke stain in the ceiling. “Although I’d prefer to bash his stupid head in.”

Birdy caught her jaw in one hand, forcing her to make eye contact. In the right light they were almost red, but here they were a deep, warm, brown. “Are you going to be good?”

“I said I’d prefer to bash his head in, I didn’t say I was going to.”

“Subtlety is always better than force.” The hand Birdy had under her shirt went roaming. “Now I’ll ask you again, are you going to be good? For me?” As emphasis she pinched one nipple gently, rolling it between her fingers. V felt the breath knocked out of her, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of anxiety and want.

“Yes.” She couldn’t entirely suppress her smile and watched a little of Birdy’s consummately professional mask crack in response. “I’ll be good.”

“Good.” Birdy went up on her toes to meet V in a kiss, leaning against her where she had pushed her against the wall. “You’re always so good. I think you deserve a treat. Don’t you?”

“A treat?” V echoed, a little dazed. The word hit like a little ping on the inside of her skull, but she was still recovering from the taste of Birdy, and the smell of her skin. The incredible softness of the hair at the nape of her neck, where she arched into V’s hand like a cat.

“A reward,” Birdy said, her voice dropping half an octave. She grinned as V’s other hand found her ass. “A gift.” She stole another kiss, soft and possessive. “An indulgence.”

Birdy would have objected to being called generous, but the word stuck in V’s mind, summoned by the look in her eyes when she’d pronounced the word indulgence like it was something holy and not just a whim. There was something in the way she’d called her good as though she meant it. No matter how many times Birdy touched V, she still felt like a starving woman sitting down to a feast.

Even if Birdy was the one getting down on her knees, as though V was a meal she was dying to eat. Now she was really, exceptionally, exposed, and yet the vulnerability felt just as good as the soft press of Birdy’s lips against her clit. Generous was what you called someone too stupid to cut a better deal. Generous was what you had to be when your boss asked you a favor. Generous wasn’t the right word for a beautiful woman on her knees giving you the best head of your life while she teased at your cunt with her fingers.

That had to be something truly divine.

By the time Birdy had two fingers inside her, fluttering in just the right spot, V could think of nothing but how to keep upright with her legs trembling. The loss of Birdy’s tongue flicking the hood of her clit felt like losing access to oxygen, and her husky laughter was almost as unendurable.

“You always look so surprised.” Birdy kissed her again, followed by the broad lap of her tongue. “I see you, V.” Another kiss, like a shock that forced a noise out of V. Her sense of control was dissolving. “Don’t forget it.” One last kiss, and then it shattered completely, until V was unconscious of anything but bright, white release, and Birdy’s gentle ministrations carrying her through it.

Later, when she was finished bugging Jenkins’ office and was about to slip out to the elevators, she heard Birdy’s name mentioned by another member of his team on a call with his door open. He failed to notice her, dressed as she was in her technician’s uniform. She restrained herself from the vivid daydream of knocking him in the back of the skull with her wire cutters, but four weeks later she gave Birdy a little datashard filled with dirty secrets. As a treat.

[sassmar]

wip game

ahhh tysm @pancakehouse for the tag !! mwah xx <3<3 imma copy yr abbreviated version & just post a snippet bc 1) lets be real i have like THREE wip docs total and i have written so little lately/already whorishly posted so much content from them i cant even remember what's new to anyone at this point ??? and 2) lazy :)

so yea here's something i'm pretty sure will be new to most everyone from the weird darkish snape-pov wolfstar prankfic that is like. just this side of crack & v low priority like honestly i cannot promise it will ever see the light of ao3 so !! at least we can air some juicy paragraphs here lol

“I want,” said Black, low and into his ear, hot breath hitting Severus’s cheek, “to tell you something.  Because I don’t trust Dumbledore to have properly gagged you, the old man’s too bloody nice by half.  I want to warn you that if you tell a soul—if you so much as breathe a word about Remus’s condition, if you even think it too loudly—I will kill you.  Do you understand?  I will kill you, and I will not need anyone else’s help.  You ruin his life and I will ruin yours, I will have nothing to lose and I will stop at nothing until I have destroyed you.”

Severus forced out a laugh.  “You’re all bluster and bravado, Black.  You couldn’t kill me the first time, even with your pet wolf, and I dare you to try again.”

A slow, strange smile crept over Black’s face.  “I thought you might say something like that,” he murmured.  And then, without warning—Black kissed him.

Black was a sloppy, rough sort of kisser; he mashed their lips together wetly and shoved his tongue into Severus’s mouth, lapping it around indiscriminately and conferring what felt like actual spoonfuls of saliva.  Severus tried to duck and pull away but Black grabbed him by the face with both hands, held firm.  When it was finally over, his lips felt swollen, slick.  Severus wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, grimaced and swallowed.  He felt slightly dazed and shook his head as if to clear it.

“What’s your name,” said Black.

“Severus Snape.”  But he hadn’t meant to reply so quickly, he hadn’t meant—

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked with a wicked little smirk.

“Yes.”

umm tagging @shipsnsails @heart-axe @pomegranate-pill @broomsticks @squidgilator @billsfangearring (cause i know you are a full fledged fic writer now okurr !!) would love to see wip snippets :) :) umm i feel like half of yall have already been tagged maybe so feel free to ignore but the pressure of tagging has made me suddenly forget the existence of like ... everyone ... my apologies <3<3<3

[le-amewzing]

A Tail of Shadows

Another old Johnlock drabble, also set during the 2nd GR movie.

Fic: "A Tail of Shadows" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: onesided?Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, James Moriarty

Rating: K+

Words: ~460

Additional info: angst, romance, 3rd person POV

Summary: Sherlock knew what he was doing before Moriarty voiced Sherlock's musings.

      It was annoying, watching John walk with Mary from afar. Sherlock had been only too happy to depart from there. And of course Moriarty's henchman just happened to be by the car with the message that Sherlock and the professor meet. That was fine; Sherlock had been planning on that.

      Arriving at the school and claiming an "impromptu" audience with Moriarty had been bound to happen. There was simply no way Moriarty could have denied playing with his food before taking a bite…meeting Sherlock before truly setting the game in motion. But if the events from the previous night showed any taste of what was to come, then Sherlock had to try asking for one thing, for but one handicap.

      "Keep the doctor and his wife out of the game?" Moriarty repeated Sherlock's words incredulously.

      It was a chance, a hope—but Sherlock never did well with hope. Logic was his friend, not luck.

      And luck surely was not his friend as Moriarty finally replied with a "I think not."

      Sherlock…saw red. So, Moriarty had him figured out. Indeed, Watson was Holmes' weak point, but Sherlock felt compelled to make sure Moriarty never played that card. So what could the sleuth do? Surely the professor wouldn't expect a surprise attack here and now, would he? Sherlock's mind whirred and whizzed.

      Moriarty was sitting down. At least a one second delay would slow him from getting up behind the desk in his academic robes. Seventeen small items were within reach to throw at Sherlock, but Sherlock had a few projectiles close by, as well. If Moriarty threw first, Sherlock could duck, throw one of the heavier books, possibly connect with either his shoulder or head—the head would be preferable, as the stars in his eyes would have him dazed and provide Sherlock with a second attempt at crashing something into his cranium in order to distort his memory. If Sherlock threw first, Moriarty might duck and subsequently throw one of two too-sharp letter openers at his adversary, a blow which Sherlock would have a hard time dodging in the partially cluttered room. Injured, Sherlock's escape would seem highly improbable. This was, of course, all highly conjectural. Either of them had to have a good arm, see.

      Instead, the sleuth and the professor ended their discussion and Sherlock left without physical harm. But the damage to his psyche had been done. If Moriarty should harm one hair on John's head, then Sherlock would throw all caution to the wind. As long as John was safe, so was Moriarty—for now.

      The only question was why did Sherlock bother to care so much?

Sherlock snickered to himself. "Obviously I'd be nothing without Watson in my arms—adventures," he thought aloud, catching himself.

      Yes. Quite. Indeed.

XD I just wanted to write this for two reasons: I got the feeling that Sherlock would've loved to incapacitate Moriarty in that scene where they met in the school and I wanted Sherlock to try to "reason" why his doctor had to be safe. B) Emphasis on "his doctor"! :3

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2023 note: Same as with "A Wisp of Shadows," returning to this 2012 fic meant v little cleaning up in prepping it to be cross-posted to AO3 and to tumblr. I actually, sad to say, forgot this had a fun bit where I wrote Sherlock analyzing a possible mode of attack, *lol* (ngl, one of my fav things in Ritchie's movies). Srsly, tho, RDJ and Law have some of the best chemistry as the detective and doctor…truly one of my favorite pairs to play the pair! :')

[mayhemproduces]

Bayley v. Riho

The bell rings thrice, indicating the start of the match between the two women. Bayley is quick to go from her corner to attack Riho with a large pump kick that Riho ducks under, moving quickly to get behind Bayley for a German suplex that she bridges into a cover.

1…

Kickout!

Riho can hope to get the early win, but she hasn’t done enough to secure it. Bayley rolls back to get up on her feet, charging Riho again. Riho is running at her and Bayley lifts the arm up for the lariat, knocking Riho off her feet.

Bayley then immediately jumps up the ropes, steadying herself before kicking off for the moonsault, but Riho rolls out of the way quickly, leaving Bayley to land on her stomach with a thud against the mat before rolling over. Quickly Riho jumps up onto the corner ropes and hops off to go for the double foot stomp, but is unable to connect as Bayley rolls out of the way this time.

Bayley is up on her feet quickly as Riho rolls through her landing, and locks arms with Riho for the armdrag, pulling her down onto the mat. From there she’s getting on top of Riho, trying to pin her with both her legs up.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Frustrated that Riho won’t go down so easily, Bayley gets Riho up by the arm and Irish whips her into the far corner turnbuckle. She goes from the opposite corner and builds up a head of steam, turning just before making contact with Riho for the running back elbow against Riho. She does this again, running from post to post. And another time, but this time Riho is ready and quickly moves against the ropes out of the way, leaving Bayley to crash into them. She’s left dazed for a moment against the ropes, and Riho decides to capitalize.

She gets up on the middle ropes, and then the top ropes, before squeezing Bayley’s head between her legs and flipping over, landing Bayley’s head on the mat and laying her out.

Riho goes for the quick cover.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Bayley thrusts her hips up, pushing Riho off of her. Riho falls back and pushes her hair out of her face, before getting up as Bayley did as well. Riho offers her hand up for the grapple, but Bayley slaps it away, instead kicking Riho in the midsection and doubling her over. She then switches behind Riho and lifts her up from her legs for the leglock suplex, throwing Riho over her shoulders with ease. Riho lands on the mat behind Bayley, who’s quick to run up to the ropes. 

She faces Riho, steading herself for a moment before going for the elbow drop. It connects! Riho tries to roll away but Bayley is quicker and lands across Riho’s chest, before going for the pin, hooking Riho’s leg.

1…

2…

Riho manages to get her shoulder up, and the ref stops the count. Frustrated, Bayley rolls Riho over and climbs up the ropes again. But this time Riho is on her feet and climbs up after Bayley. The two fight, precariously on the top rope, exchanging blows to each other before Riho quickly grabs Bayley around the midsection. Bayley tries to remove her grip but it’s too late, and Riho is pulling her up and over for the superplex off the top rope.

Both women land against the mat, Bayley’s back arching in pain as she rolls onto her side, legs kicking as she tries to handle it.

Riho is only fairing slightly better, but she’s unable to capitalize after her move, still laying in pain on the mat. Her face is scrunched up in pain as she lays on the mat flat.

The ref starts the 10 count.

1…

Neither woman stirs.

2…

3…

4…

Riho begins to get up slowly, at the same time as Bayley. Quickly, Bayley crawls over to RIho and gets up on her knees, taking Riho with her. She grabs Riho around the waist, but Riho is able to fight out of it, delivering elbows to the side of Bayley’s face and neck.

Bayley is forced to let go, and Riho pushes her away, getting some distance between the two of them.

Riho tries to run at Bayley, who ducks out of the way and rolls to the outside. She taunts Riho, before trying to walk off the assault and get some distance. Unfortunately for Bayley, Riho isn’t one to give up so easily, and she’s getting up on the corner. While Bayley’s back is turned to her, she jumps off for the flying crossbody, Bayley barely turning in time to catch her before being brought down to the ground. The two ladies tumble onto the padding around the ring, laying there for a moment.

Riho gets up, and pulls Bayley up by the gear and throws her back into the ring before getting back in herself.

Bayley gets up, and runs towards the ropes, pushing herself off. She grabs Riho around the shoulder and takes her down with a DDT before getting the cover on her.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Riho pushes Bayley off. She takes to rolling Bayley up herself, hoping for a quick pin.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Bayley keeps it down to the mat, scrambling over and getting Riho in a crossface chicken wing, that Riho tries to struggle out of. Bayley keeps it locked in, but Riho inches over to the ropes slowly. Bayley tries to pull her back, but Riho is able to get her ankle up on the rope, and the ref calls for the break. Bayley doesn’t budge until the ref starts to count down, and she lets go at 4 to get up and argue with the ref.

Riho takes advantage of Bayley’s little tirade by hooking her arm up and around Bayley’s leg and pulling her over for a pin.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Riho is flung off of Bayley. She stumbles away as she gets on her feet, Bayley taking after her. She tries to grab at her, but Riho ducks. As quickly as she can, she dropkicks her opponent into the ropes, before running and grabbing onto the ropes as she swung around for a tiger feint kick. From there, she got back into the ring, watching as Bayley stumbled back before landing on her knees. Riho goes for the running knees, but Bayley falls onto her front and dodges the attack. She pulls Bayley up again, but Bayley just falls forward once more.

This prompts Riho to go for the pin, rolling Bayley over.

1…

2…

Kickout!

Bayley pushes Riho off, who’s clearly now frustrated. Bayley’s still dazed and on the mat, so Riho grabs her ankle and positions her near the corner of the ring.

Riho gets up the corner and jumps down for the diving footstomp, but as she’s in the air, Bayley quickly gets up and catches her legs. Riho quickly bends over, shifting the momentum and squeezing her calves around Bayley’s head to bring her up and over with a hurricanrana, landing her on her head. Bayley rolls through and is on her knees once again, dazed. Riho gains some momentum by running to the opposite side, bouncing off the ropes and landing the knees against Bayley’s head. From there, she rolls Bayley onto her front.

Riho climbs the ropes, in the corner. She turns and faces Bayley, before jumping off and landing the footstomp across Bayley’s torso. From there she rolls forward, and gets up on her feet before sliding over to Bayley and hooking her leg up for the pin.

1…

2…

3…

The bell rings three times, as Riho’s music plays. She gets up, the referee lifting her arm up by her wrist and pointing at her, indicating she was the winner of this match.

[eviiltriiplet-archive]

qp!louie, climbing into donald’s car: uncle d, uncle d they’re following me uncle d

donald, dropping his keys: !!!!! WHO?? WHO’S FOLLOWING YOU??

qp!louie: the bugs

donald: ...the bugs?!

[tarydarrington]

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

-

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath. 

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

[pasteljeon]

core pride (m)

❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.

❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin

❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff

❥ length: 6.6k

❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3

.

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Winter, Year 20XX

The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.

It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.

“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.

“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”

“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.

Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.

One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.

Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.

The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.

Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.

“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.

“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.

“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.

“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.

“Kitten.”

Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.

“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.

“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.

They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.

When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.

Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.

“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.

His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.

An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.

He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.

Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.

Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.

You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”

Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.

The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.

By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.

“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.

“Sweet dreams.”

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“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.

“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.

“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”

“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.

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Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.

You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.

“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.

He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.

“Good night, Namjoon.”

“Good night, owner.”

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“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.

“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.

“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

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“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.

Hoseok simply rolls over.

You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.

Tonight, you just want to sleep.

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“Good morning, noona!”

You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.

“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.

Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.

Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.

“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.

Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.

“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.

Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.

“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.

“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 

“What?”

“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”

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Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.

It was not entirely true.

“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.

“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”

There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.

Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.

“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.

Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.

“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.

“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.

Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.

They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.

“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.

“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.

“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”

Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.

You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.

You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.

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“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”

“She’s the one. I know it.”

“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.

He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”

Yoongi grunts, rolling over.

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You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.

“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.

“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.

Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.

“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”

You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.

“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.

Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.

So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.

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It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.

He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.

“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”

Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.

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It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.

With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.

He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.

Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.

He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”

You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”

“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.

He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.

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“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”

They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.

“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.

Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.

You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”

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Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.

Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.

“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.

“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.

“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”

“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.

“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.

You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.

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“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.

So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.

And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.

He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.

“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.

“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.

“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.

It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.

“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”

“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.

“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.

“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”

“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”

His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”

“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.

The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.

The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.

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Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.

He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.

“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.

“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.

“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.

“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.

“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.

“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”

“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.

“What?” The words taste like ash.

“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.

“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.

Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?

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“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.

“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.

“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.

“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.

You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.

The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.

.

.

.

When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.

And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.

“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.

“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”

“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.

“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.

He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.

.

.

.

“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.

Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.

“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.

“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.

“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”

“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.

Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.

“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.

“Promise?”

Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”

[keyboardink]

“infuriating” [vii]

[i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] [vi] [vii]

Kairi hates Loba’s guts, but that doesn’t stop them from flirting (or fucking).

pairing: kairi “valkyrie” imahara x loba andrade / media: apex legends

genre: angst, fluff and SMUT!!, enemies to lovers / word count: 1k / rating: mature / warnings: sexual content, mentions of wounds

a/n: this is the finale, folks! thank you to everyone who has shown support for this story - it means so much to me that you like my work :) hopefully you all enjoy this ending!

Kairi's eyes fluttered open, welcomed by what looked like a centerpiece of stars. It took a moment for her vision to adjust, recognizing the stars as glittering light reflecting off the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Another moment passed as she tried to place the familiarity of the chandelier, along with the plush bed she was resting on.

Oh.

As if on cue, Loba gently opened the door, two cups of tea in hand. Her hair was in a single braid instead of her usual two, and she was dressed in a casual white tank top and leggings. She really can make anything look good, Kairi thought to herself.

"Good morning, little bird," she said with a smile as she sat on the edge of the bed. She placed one cup on the bedside table, then fixed Kairi's messy bedhead, moving hair out of her face. The soft touch left her skin tingling. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm a fast healer, so I should be all right," Kairi responded as she shifted on her elbows, propping herself up to take a sip of tea. She grimaced as she misjudged herself, an aching pain resonating through her waist. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had initially been, now feeling more like a bruise than a bullet wound.

As the blanket fell to her hips, Kairi noticed she was wearing a shirt that wasn't hers. "Wait, did you change my clothes for me?"

"Staying in your pilot suit would be an inefficient and uncomfortable way to rest, would it not?" Loba replied. "But no, I didn't. I was going to, but you babbled something about not wanting to show me your breasts."

"Seriously? Wow, I don't remember that." Kairi let out a small chuckle. "Guess I must be a little bit more busted up than I thought."

Loba laughed quietly with her, then her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The pilot thought over it for a second, trying to recall any recent memories of her in this bedroom, but the only occurrences coming to mind had happened before the games. "Us winning in the Arena. You saved me, I mean- us, our team. You carried."

"That's all?"

Kairi was silent for a beat, then nodded.

Loba bit down on her lip, her gaze on the floor. Kairi could read the sadness in her eyes.

"Did something else happen?" Kairi asked.

"Oh, it's nothing. I suppose you were just too dazed to remember what you said."

"Other than me being shy over my boobs?" Kairi chuckled at her own joke, trying to lighten the mood, trying to fix whatever had made her upset.

A quiet giggle slipped past Loba's lips, but it wasn't enough to replace the disappointment she felt.

"Seriously, though. What happened?" The pilot put her cup on the bedside table and leaned forward, placing a hand on Loba's thigh. She looked up at the touch, their gazes meeting.

Loba took a deep breath in, stabilizing her emotions before speaking. "You told me I was beautiful, but I could tell you weren't feeling like your usual self."

Kairi's eyes flickered down to her hand on her thigh. She was surprised, although the shock had more to do with why this had such an effect on Loba. She knew how she got when she was drunk or weak, and there wasn't much difference. She should've expected to confess something like that in her post-battle haze.

She had two options: continue the hateful game and make an excuse to brush off the comment like she didn't know what she was saying, or confess the thing that had been on her mind since they met.

Kairi scooted forward, her hand moving from Loba's thigh to her face, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She chose the second option.

"You are beautiful," she whispered, keeping her hand against her cheek. "I don't remember saying it, but I must've meant it, because I think the same thing now."

Loba looked up, searching Kairi's face for any sign of deceit or distaste. Her face was soft and sweet. She reminded Loba of a fireplace, warm and comforting, even in the worst times.

"But what about your dislike for me, hm?" Loba asked, still doubtful of this new version of her.

"Looking back on it," Kairi said, "I can't tell you why I hated you so much. I know it's super sexist, but maybe it's the whole 'bullying you because I have a crush on you' thing."

Loba laughed at that, the tense air in the room disappearing. "Oh, so you are infatuated with me, little bird?" She leaned in slightly, putting her tea on the table, enough to hint what she wanted without forcing it upon the pilot.

"I guess you could say that," Kairi replied, meeting her in the middle. Their lips connected, tasting like tea and longing, a sweet kiss that was long overdue. They weren't drawn to each other by magnetic, hate-fueled tension, but by romantic desire that warmed their cheeks.

They parted just to reconnect again, this time stronger, as if they were starving for each other's touch. Loba wrapped one arm around her, careful to avoid the wound, as her other hand ran through the short, silver hairs at the back of her head. Kairi's hands remained around her cheeks, cupping them, pulling her closer. They fell backwards on the bed, Loba hovering over the pilot.

"I should let you rest," Loba said, pulling away.

"No," Kairi argued, keeping her hands looped around Loba's neck. "I need you like this. Please."

She weighed the idea in her mind, scanning the girl under her for any signs of hesitancy. "Fine, but I'll be gentle with you."

"There's no need to be gentle," Kairi replied as Loba ducked under the covers, kissing her way down to her thighs. Kairi let out a small gasp as Loba's lips softly brushed against her core. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."