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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Until Death Do Us Part

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Sea Warlock!Akaashi, Mermaid Reader, Non-Con/Rape, Mind Control, Body Modification

Summary: As a little girl you’ve always dreamed of marriage, but maybe you should have been more careful of who you decided to exchange eternal vows with.

This is for @terushimooo's Aquatic August collab. Happy swimming~

You love Itachiyama, love waking up and seeing the endless sea of blue, love waving down at all the sea creatures, sirens, mermaids, and so much more who cheerfully greet you. You love Itachiyama and Itachiyama loves you, the citizens of your kingdom eagerly calling your name and shoving free samples of tasty food and merchandise in your hand as you swim by the marketplace, excited to interact with their favorite (and only) princess.

But as much as you genuinely love your realm, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, your sheltered life forcing your imagination to go wild as you listen intently to merchants and travelers from out of town who tell you about corners of the ocean and sea creatures you’ve never even heard of.

There’s a limit to how much pretty words and mental images can satisfy you and your cousins Sakusa and Komori roll their eyes and sigh when you begin to repeatedly try sneaking out from their protective watch, eager to experience what lies beyond the borders of your safe haven.

It’s a comic joint effort between the citizens, your cousins, and the royal guards as they all work to keep you as safe as they can. It becomes a game of sorts, one that they all begrudgingly begin to enjoy, and laughter fills the kingdom when citizens take turns cheering for you or your cousins as Sakusa and Komori rapidly swim after you, leaving ripples and bubbles in your wakes as your tails flick back and forth.

They’re hesitant to let you wander off on your own at first, the creatures of your realm and the palace guards begging you to at least let them accompany you when you’re insistent about exploring the surrounding areas. Sakusa scolds you, always dragging you back to the palace when you do manage to escape, although you hide your smile when you see how he wordlessly takes all your new discoveries from you and carries them back for you. Komori also nudges you back when he’s the one sent to find you, although he always lets you wander around for a while longer when he does locate you, indulging your whims before finally enticing you back home with the promise of a new seashell necklace, his treat.

But over time they begin to relax, just wishing you safe travels and exploring when they do see you ready to slip past the border, Sakusa and Komori reminding you not to stray too far and not to stay out too late when their schedules don’t permit them to leave with you.

You love meeting new people, exploring new towns, seeing the sights outside of the bubble you’ve grown up in. But novelty wears off and even the surrounding territories begin to become familiar to you, an old itch beginning to creep inside of you once again, a desire to see even more churning inside of you. And it’s that yearning inside of you that has you secretly wandering in a different direction one day, going far further than you’ve ever been before, leading you to Akaashi’s lair.

Akaashi sees you long before you even realize you’re in his territory and he’s intrigued to say the least. He can’t even count the number of greedy, selfish, desperate souls who’ve sullied his grounds, disgustingly groveling at his feet, whining for their wishes and desires to be granted. But you? You’re different. He can tell just by how unaware and genuinely curious you are as your eyes flit about the unknown area, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the site of different coral and species of fish you’ve never seen.

You’re not here for him. He’s sure you don’t even know exactly whose lands you’ve naively fluttered upon. And before he even realizes what he’s doing, his legs have transitioned into a mass of swirling tentacles, rocketing him towards your direction.

When’s the last time he’s talked to someone outside of the lowlife scum who begged and pleaded for his help? When’s the last time he was able to enjoy another’s company? The warmth of another’s body entwined with his?

There’s a painful tug at his heart when he sees how you tense at his presence, fear lacing your gaze when you connect the mass of glossy black tentacles on his lower half and his piercing blue orbs to his true identity.

It’s not hard to understand exactly who you’re face to face with, the rumors of the sea warlock’s appearance and reputation having spread far and wide. You’ve always been horrified by the stories you’ve heard. Maybe it’s because you’re far too simple-minded, far too easily satisfied as both your cousins fondly tease you about. But you can’t imagine wanting anything enough to give up your voice, your tail, your ability to love and laugh.

You know Akaashi only takes from those who seek his help, that you technically have nothing to fear. But you still cower in front of him, folding your tail in front of you and clutching it to your chest, a small silly part of you scared that he’d snatch it away from you.

The gesture makes Akaashi laugh and you stare wide-eyed at the handsome creature in front of you, your tail slowly flopping from your arms and floating freely as you let the lovely tinkle of his laugh echo around you.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on taking your tail. Unless you’ve come here for me to grant a request?”

You furiously shake your head from side to side, still a little apprehensive as he sends a small amused smile your way. But as he continues talking, you can feel the tension ease from your body, your body matching Akaashi’s pace as he gives you a tour of his neck of the woods. He’s so well-spoken, a soothing tone to his voice that easily lulls you into a sense of peace as you eagerly listen to him tell you about the local wildlife and terrain.

He tells you stories of worlds and creatures you can’t even begin to fathom. He tells you of life above the waters and in the sky. And you find yourself returning back to him over and over again, although it would be a lie to say it’s purely out of a desire to learn more.

Your curiosity is as insatiable as always, but you get distracted more often than not when Akaashi speaks. You get lost staring at that striking face and into those gorgeous eyes. Your eyes glitter in awe as he effortlessly transitions between gracefully swimming upon a mass of tentacles to fluttering two human legs in the sea, appendages you’ve never seen before.

You’re falling fast and hard for the sea warlock and you don’t think there’s any going back.

Akaashi knows there’s no going back.

He’d fallen for you the second you had opened up to him, the moment you had seen him as just another creature to befriend instead of a wish given genie whose only purpose was to dole out wishes. And he’s not ignorant to the way your eyes wander across his figure, his face, how you badly try to hide your growing attraction to him.

So it only makes sense that he doesn’t resist temptation anymore now that he knows the feelings are mutual and he hungrily lets his tentacles wind around your waist, pulling you towards him so he can embrace you in his warms, closing his eyes in bliss as your barely covered torso presses against his own bare chest. One of his hands snakes to unclasp your seashell top while his lips devour yours, sighing at how sweet you taste.

But he grimaces in displeasure when your tail begins to wildly flail from side to side, your hands annoyingly pressing against his chest. And he pulls back, brows furrowed as he tries to understand what’s wrong, only to scowl when he sees hesitation tinged with fear in your pretty eyes.

He thought you were far beyond this point. What is there to be scared of? Why are you so skittish? But he hasn’t gotten as far as he has by blowing his fuse so he forces his tentacles to relinquish you, lightly replacing them with his hands as he brings you over to his bed, letting you sit on his lap and tuck your head under his chin as he gently rubs his thumbs soothingly over your waist.

It’s a good sign that you feel comfortable enough to bury your face in his chest and he lets you sit there silently, waiting for you to speak up. And his patience is rewarded when you nervously draw aimless partners on his skin as you begin to talk.

He bites back a laugh when you ramble on about how you’ve never even had a boyfriend before, never done more than platonically hug and kiss your family and friends. This is all so new to you and isn’t it too fast, too soon? What even are the two of you? Does he even like you? Love you? You don’t want to be just a notch in his bedpost. You want to date, get married, have a family. Only married people can do the things...the things that…

You trail off in embarrassment, unsure how to even phrase things you’ve only whispered about in hushed voices with your friends, that you’ve never experienced for yourself before. But your face heats when a low chuckle reverberates in your ears, gasping when one of Akaashi’s hands digs into your skin, the other traveling sensually up your spine before roughly grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss that’s all heady hunger that leaves you breathless.

It would be so easy to just give in, to melt and moan as his nails threaten to pierce your skin, his arms caging you against him until all you can feel, see, and smell is him. Your tongues entangle with each other and you gasp when his fingers begin to slip under a seashell, the other hand teasing the transition of skin to scale. But when he begins to tweak a nipple and palm your ass, you’re jolted back to reality, the morals of chastity and purity you’ve been raised with battling against the temptation of Akaashi’s touch.

“Wait, Keiji. Wait!”

This time there’s no hiding his irritation and you flinch at the annoyance in his eyes as he stares you down, a coldness in his face you’ve never seen before. But you press on, believing that if he truly cared for you, he’d understand. All your girlfriends had told you that if you found the right one, they’d be patient, they’d wait until you were ready.

“I- I really like you, but I don’t think I’m ready for this yet. I want to go on dates, get engaged, get married. And maybe it’s old-fashioned, but I want our first time to be our wedding night, after we’ve said our vows and promises to be together forever.”

“You want to be together forever?”

Akaashi can’t help but smile at the hopeful look in your eyes when you nod your head in affirmation.

“Then until death do us part.”

You’ve always wondered what magic would look or feel like and now you know. You whimper as you feel something powerful, something foreign surge through you, Akaashi’s eyes glowing far more than they should, the shadows of his cave seeming to grow and loom over the two of you. There’s a searing pain on your lower abdomen and the expanse of your chest and you scream as it fills like your tail is being torn into two.

And suddenly there’s a feeling of something wrapping around your heart, an ache between your legs-

Your legs?

You stare in horror, tears forming in your eyes when you see your beautiful tail replaced by two legs, strange black markings permanently engraved over your womb, the scrawl of Akaashi’s name taunting you from its loving placement above your heart.

“Don’t cry, my love. Look we can match now. Consider it a reminder of our new beginning together, the start of the rest of our lives.”

This is a mockery of everything you’ve believed a marriage to be and you only sob harder as Akaashi pins you on your back, his legs in between yours pushing them apart. But he tires of your pained and agonized cries and you gasp as the new markings decorating your skin begin to glow blue. Fear is replaced with lust and all you can think of is Akaashi, all you want is Akaashi, all you need is Akaashi.

There’s just enough of your own will to know this isn’t right, this isn’t truly you. But you can’t do anything against your body and mind’s cravings, the way you instinctively lean into every kiss, every touch. Is this how it always feels? You can’t tell if the delirious pleasure you’re feeling is normal or if it’s being heightened by whatever incantation Akaashi has you under. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the details, not when your eyes are rolling back in your head, something slick leaking from between your new limbs as Akaashi makes his way down your body, mouth and fingers lapping at your new slit.

Your chest heaves, nipples standing at attention, gleaming with Akaashi’s saliva as your body contorts as he continuously pumps in and out of you, adding finger after finger until it feels like you’re going to burst. You don’t even recognize the wanton cries in the air as your own, lewd whines of “Keiji, Keiji, Keiji” filling the air. And then there’s a snap, your body going rigid as something coils tight inside of you before you’re wailing, body thrashing and convulsing around the four digits stuffed inside of you, your arousal coating Akaashi’s fingers and dripping down his wrist.

You hate how wrong it feels to be empty, a whine escaping your lips at the loss of his fingers as he pulls them out. But you flinch at the sight of Akaashi seductively licking his skin clean of your mess, desire making his eyes dark as he contently hums at your taste. You try to use his distraction as a chance to slowly crawl away, but you let out a surprised cry when strong hands drag you back in place, spreading your legs once again.

“We’re not done with our wedding night yet, darling.”

Something hard and thick nudges at your entrance and you struggle anew to no use as your markings glow blue once more. And suddenly you’re pliant and aroused all over again, overwhelmed tears streaming down your face as despair and lust mix together, only heightening the dizzying feeling of having Akaashi’s cock balls deep inside of you. It’s too much, too soon and yet it’s not enough, desire pulsing inside of you, need making you go mad.

But it doesn’t matter what you want or how you feel and Akaashi reminds you of that as he uses your body to chase his own end, hips thrusting in and out of you, cock dragging against your oversensitized walls. On and on he goes, following through with a relentless, brutal pace, spurred on by your lewd moans and the way your nails draw blood as you claw at him, body trying to ground itself in any way.

You’re tumbling over the edge once more and what husband would he be to not join his lovely new wife over that precipice of pleasure? So he follows you down, groaning and burying his face in your neck with a kiss as he thrusts one last time, sinking deep inside of you as he fills you to the brim with his seed.

Reality sinks in as the blue glow emblazoned on you begins to dim until only skin and dark markings are left and disgust makes your guts churn. All you want to do is curl up into a ball. All you want is to be back home with your cousins, joking with Komori, being a brat to Sakusa. All you want is to go back in time, go back to the carefree days of innocence and fluttering your tail when Akaashi was just a faceless name.

But there’s no going back and all you can do is lie there and accept your fate as Akaashi reverently kisses and caresses his marks on your body.

Until death do you part.

#yandere haikyuu #haikyuu smut #yandere akaashi #akaashi smut #akaashi x reader #tw: noncon #tw: mind control #tw: body modification #tw: yandere

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butwhyduh · 3 years

Note

Hi if you still do request could you do a There is only one bed with Tim maybe with some teasing?

Warning: smut

“So it’s not ideal,” you said with a little smile that you covered with your hand. Tim was exasperated. You could slum it. He was not used to this.

Admittedly the cabin was worse that what you remember. As a kid, your family had visited every fall to pick apples and hike. Marshmallows by the fireplace before telling ghost stories and all.

But that was over 10 years ago and not in midwinter. Now the windows were boarded and the fireplace was barely useable. Which was good, as it was literally freezing.

When Tim had said he needed a place to crash after a mission for you both, you offered this place. It was only a few miles north of your location. But it was also trash. The couch leg gave way as Tim sat down and he almost fell to the floor.

“So this is technically a cabin in the woods. But I’d rather burn it to the ground,” Tim said. “I’m going to the bathroom, unless it’s an outhouse or just a hole in the ground.”

“No no. Real bathroom,” you motioned to it. He went in the other room. You sat on the bed, the only functional piece of furniture besides a dodgy table. You were glad that you brought extra sheets and the plastic protector over the mattress. After scrubbing the cover and putting on the sheets, you sat down to pull off your boots. Ice was still clinging to the bottom. You put them near the front door and stood by the fire. Tim came out changed into thick sweats.

“You should change,” he said, motioning to your suit. You turned away from him.

“Can you?” You asked about the long zipper that went from the top of your neck to right above your ass.

“Oh, sure,” Tim said walking close. There had always been some kind of sexual tension between you both but neither had ever acted on it. He looked at your black leather suit lit up in the firelight. It clung perfectly to every curve.

He delicately pushed your hair from the back of your neck over your shoulder and grasped the zipper. Tim pulled it down almost painfully slowly. You felt your skin prickle as he slowly touched down your back. His fingers hesitated to move away from your back. Tim pulled away suddenly and cleared his throat.

“Done,” he said in a lower tone. You turned back to see him standing so close. He watched you. Tim wasn’t particularly tall, only a little more than you, or bulky, with lean muscles. But he was so pretty with thick dark eye lashes and silky hair.

“You should probably get dressed. You’re cold,” he said noting the way your forearms shivered as they held the front of your suit up. You nodded and grabbed your clothing before heading to the bathroom. It was even colder in there. Frost covered the window and you could see your breath. You quickly dressed into pajamas.

In the main room, Tim was sweeping the floor. “Not that it doesn’t need it or anything, but why are you sweeping?” You asked.

“One bed. The couch is shit. I’m sleeping on the floor,” Tim said. There was no way you’d let him. He’d freeze with the draft and limited blankets.

“No way. Just sleep in the bed,” you said. He gave you a look you couldn’t comprehend before shaking his head. “Tim, you could freeze to death down there. I won’t let you,” you said trying to sound authoritative.

“I’ll be fine,” he shrugged.

“I won’t bite. Get up here,” you said sitting on the bed.

“Sure about that?” He said with a sly smile.

“Only on Tuesdays,” you said with a little smirk. He chuckled. “I’m not letting you sleep down there. My house, my rules.”

“Ouch. I guess I can’t argue with that, hu?” Tim said putting the broom down. He carefully climbed in the other side of the bed without touching you despite being a small bed. Tim laid flat on his back with his arms tight to his body.

You slid under the covers shivering. “Okay, I hope you’re okay with me stealing body heat from you because I’m fucking freezing,” you said sliding your back against him. Tim shifted to his side and you pressed against his warm chest. “I don’t know how you aren’t cold.”

“I’m from Gotham. The weather is terrible year round,” he reminded you. Tim didn’t lay his arms across you or anything but let you spoon against him. He was carefully passive like a gentleman. After a few minutes, you shivering stopped and you finally warmed. The pull of sleep dragged you under and you slept for a few hours.

The crackle of fire and gentle rapping sound of snow falling was the only sounds you heard in the early morning. Tim’s breath on your neck and arms wrapped around you tightly were very distracting. You resisted the urge to shiver at the sensation. How many times had you wanted this?

You shifted a little to go back to sleep and Tim’s hands wrapped tighter. One hand snakes down to cup your breast in sleep, pulling you flush to his body. You inhaled quickly and was wide awake. How could you sleep when the guy you liked was holding your actual tit? You tried to stay still but your body made small adjustments.

Tim made a soft “hmmm” sound and you froze. That’s when you felt it, he was hard. You felt like you were going to burst. He was holding your tit and rubbing his dick against you in his sleep. It’s just biology. It means nothing, you told yourself.

But you needed to get out of his grip because your body was definitely reacting to him. You tried to scoot your hips forward but this arms around you were clinging too tightly. Tim groaned and rubbed his cheek in your hair.

“Tim,” you whispered a little too breathless. He hummed again. “Tim,” you said a little louder.

“Is too early. Go to sleep,” Tim mumbled. He didn’t moved. You thought about trying to sleep but Tim was very distracting.

“Tim,” you said in a regular voice. He huffed.

“What?”

“You... you’re, uh,” you said unsure how to tell him. Your penis is rubbing up against my ass? You’re feeling me up in your sleep? “Let me go, please.”

“I don’t have you,” he protested before waking up more. Tim moved his head and opened his eyes. You could feel him freeze as he took in the situation. Tim quickly let you go and pulled back to one side of the bed. His face was brick red and his hips were almost falling off the bed trying to make as much space as possible between you both.

“Sorry! Fuck, sorry! I didn’t mean- how long was I-“ he said halfway freaking out. You turned to face him.

“It’s okay. Relax,” you said calmly.

“I don’t control when it happens when I’m asleep, you know?” Tim said sitting up and clutching the sheets hiding his crotch. You sat up and grasped the sides of his face.

“It’s fine. I know how biology works,” you reassured him.

“And I didn’t mean to grab you. I was asleep,” he added. “I swear I didn’t-“

“Tim!” You said finally shutting him up. He stared at you and gulped. Your hands on his face didn’t exactly help his uhh... problem he was desperately trying to make go away.

“What?”

“You. Are. Fine. I cuddled with you, right? Not super surprising. It happens,” you said and he relaxed a little. “It was kinda nice laying with you,” you murmured. Tim glanced down at your lips before snapping back up to your eyes like he broke a rule. “You smell nice. And you’re warm,” you added. You stared at his lips obviously.

“I got to ask, are you hitting on me?” Tim asked warily.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, detective. I am. What are you gonna do about it?”

Tim smiled and grasped your face for a kiss. You pulled him down on top of you as you kissed. He inhaled quickly before adjusting to the change. His knees gently pushed between yours and you pressed your hips up against his and was rewarded with a groan.

You reached down to cup him in his pjs. Tim kissed down your neck and his hips pushed his cock in your hand with more pressure. His hand cupped your breast and squeezed.

“Do you want to?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Condoms are in the top zipper of my suitcase,” you said breathlessly. You’d be a fucking idiot to say no to the one chance to sleep with the guy you like.

“You came prepared?” He asked.

“They just stay in there,” you answered and he nodded before getting up to grab one. Tim turned around to blink a little as you were completely nude and staring up at him predatorily. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t hot.

“Eager,” he breathed climbing back over you, pulling off clothing. You shrugged. You took the condom from him to put it on.

“Do we need to-“

“Penis in vagina. I don’t need a ton of prep. I super appreciate the offer. Seriously, next time go nuts. But it’s like 5 degrees in here and I’m ready as hell,” you said and he almost laughed.

“Can do,” he said pulling the blankets over you both. He sunk in and you breathed out quickly. Tim wrapped his arms around you behind your back to kiss your chest and neck as he moved. It has you breathless. It was so intimate. He was completely pressed against you.

His lips found yours and he kissed you in pace with his hips rocking against yours. You bent your knees and you gasped as he was now rocking against a spot that had you seeing stars.

“There,” you breathed and Tim simply nodded. Fuck, it wasn’t going to take long at this pace. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you whimpered before clenching around him with his name on your tongue. Tim groaned and thrust through your high before finishing himself. He kissed up your collarbone and neck to your lips before pulling out to throw away the condom and pull on his pjs. You did the same in the chill.

He climbed back in bed and snuggled close. “Okay, yeah. It’s cold as hell,” Tim said with a little laugh. You laid your head on his chest and entwined your legs together with the blanket pulled tight and the cold was more bearable.

#friday night smut #tim drake x reader #batboy smut #Red Robin x reader #Tim drake smut #Red Robin smut

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hotchseyebrows · 3 years

Text

thoughtfulness in little things

a derek morgan x penelope garcia fic

a/n: can you believe that is my first ever full length morcia fic? me? resident morcia nut? wow. what a world. anyway!! i hope yall like this (and if you noticed it was already on ao3 earlier today shhh this is a scheduled tumblr post im Sleeping rn) and hopefully i dont take 4 months in between posting fics again, but i make no promises!!! my brain is Evil

thank you @blkantigone for being my beta and thank you @derekmorqan for letting me barf 1k of this in our dms a while back, i love you both sm

they do kiss a fair bit in this (it is, in fact, a first kiss fic) and its a little steamy, but by no means explicit and is rated teens and up on ao3 :)

read it here on ao3!!

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?”

Everything changes during a late night in Penelope's batcave. But really, nothing changes at all.

word count: 3000

Friday nights without a case are a rare treasure for SSA Hotchner’s highly sought after team of profilers. Normally, Derek and Penelope would be taking advantage of the freedom by dancing all night, but sometimes the universe has other plans.

Penelope used this week’s case-free time to put the finishing touches on an antivirus and security software of her own creation. The personal information of her beloved BAU babies was a hot commodity well worth the additional protection, and she’s always looking for a reason to fiddle with Quantico’s servers. It ended up being a whole production, taking the entire afternoon and then some. Apparently, she still doesn’t have all of the permissions required to make certain adjustments which means that she’s fiddling and bending her way into all of the things she needs to do. If that wasn’t bad enough, the whole damn thing crashed around 4:00. She managed not to pull her hair out, but it was a close thing and it set her back at least an extra hour.

Derek stops by a little after 5, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Baby girl, I can hear the bottles of DC’s finest vodka and Hennessy calling our names, are you almost ready to leave for the day?” He pauses in the door, taking in her furious typing and furrowed brow. “Whoa, Mama, what’s the matter? You’ve got Hotch’s eyebrows.”

She throws her arms up. “The entirety of the FBI and also the world is getting on my nerves!” He walks over to her, leaning on the side of her chair and turning her away from her monitor. His hands gently grab both of hers and he rubs a soothing circle with one of his thumbs.

“Explain, baby girl.”

She does, eventually just ranting and raving about how annoying it is to still be put in metaphorical handcuffs by the FBI as if she can’t just do what she wants anyway. “I’m not even breaking any rules, technically, they’re just making things annoying and long winded.” She sighs, moving her hands to interlock their fingers. “But now that it’s started, it would be doubly annoying to stop it and come back later. So I’m stuck here until it’s done, which might take a while.”

He nods, thinking. Then he straightens up, grabs the extra rolling chair, and sits down.

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?” She blushes, turning away to hide it on instinct.

“You cheeseball.” She spins around to lightly push on his arm. He just smiles.

They sit together for 20 minutes in relative silence as she continues her work. It’s a comfortable silence; his occasional humming soothes her rising annoyance at how needlessly long this is taking. She can hear him playing with one of the fidget toys she keeps on her desk behind him. When she gets to another point of sitting and waiting, she turns towards him and asks him about his day. He tells her about how Prentiss helped him get Reid back for a prank by distracting him in the break room while he switched out the keyboard of Reid’s computer with an identical one with a grass garden planted inside. “It’s a long con for sure, but I’m hoping it sprouts this weekend.”

She laughs. “How long did it take you to set this up, dumpling?” She already knows the answer, but it’s nice to see his slightly sheepish but proud look about his dedication to his prank war. Her computer beeps at her, and she spins back around to begin working again.

He rolls closer, avoiding her question and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You getting hungry yet?”

She relaxes, leaning against him. As if on cue, her stomach grumbles. “Yes, I’d say so.”

He leans over and moves a strand of hair out of her face. “Okay baby girl, I’ll go grab us food and be right back.” She nods, lifting her cheek on instinct to meet the kiss she knows is coming. He stands and sure enough, leans down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be quick. Be good.”

“How can I do anything else if you’re not here?” She bats her eyes up at him.

He grins. “Oh, I’m sure you’d think of something.” He brushes his knuckles against her cheek. It makes her shiver.

She watches him leave, catching the kiss he blows at her from the door. Turning back to focus on her work, it feels like she blinks and he’s back. A glance at the clock tells her it’s been over a half hour. He puts the bag of food onto the table before coming to pull her away from the computer.

“One minute, I promise, I’m so close to just letting this thing run for a little.” He twirls her hair around his fingers before dropping his hands onto her shoulders, rubbing away the tension. A minute and a half later, she leans back in her chair with a sigh. She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out at him. He smiles at her.

"Come eat, baby girl. Don't think you're getting out of eating my hard won dinner." He moves to the table and pulls out her chair. She follows and sits.

"Hard won — mon cher, you didn't tackle a wild animal and lug it home to our log cabin in the woods, you drove your car 20 minutes."

He kisses her temple, handing her a pair of chopsticks. "Yeah, but I would lug home whatever you needed anytime, so the sentiment is the same."

She smiles and knocks their feet together under the table lightly. He moves his chair, so they are sitting right next to each other on the same side of the table. The heat from his arm is palpable.

Derek grabs a box from the bag and splits the vegan pad thai within onto two paper plates. He opens the box of spring rolls and places it in between them while she places napkins in front of them both. He pops the cap off of her bottle of lemonade without her asking, and sets that in front of her too. “Thank you, handsome.” He smiles in response. They start eating and the comfortable silence returns.

She talks him through what she still needs to do to fix everything in between bites, even though she knows he doesn't really understand her technobabble. But Penelope can feel his eyes on her, and without looking, she somehow knows that something has shifted in the air around them.

"What?" she asks, turning her attention away from gesturing at her computer with the chopsticks. "Do I have something on my face?"

He chuckles. "Actually, yes, c'mere." He brushes away a stray spot of sauce on the corner of her lips with a gentle swipe of his thumb. The rest of his hand stills on her cheek. She shivers. She can see him notice it, his attention focusing in on her. Penelope's blood is thundering in her ears as he glances in between her lips and her eyes.

She leans purposefully into his hand. His thumb brushes over her lips again and her mouth falls open a little.

"Penelope, I-" he cuts himself off with a hard swallow. "Penelope." His eyes flicker down to her lips and back up to her eyes quickly again.

She can only blink at him for a moment. "Yes, Derek?"

"I don't kn- um. Can I-" She's never seen him flustered and unsure like this. But they've never been out of sync before and they aren't about to start now, so she nods, bringing up a hand to rest on his. A smile grows on his face before he starts to lean in. His hand slides along her cheek to more firmly grip her face- it makes her gasp.

He pauses, thinking something is wrong. "Penelope, are y-" Her heart swells at how careful he is to take care of her always, and she meets him in the middle, pressing their lips together in a soft, purposeful kiss.

For a moment, all is still. The world boils down to just the place where their lips are touching. Their lips barely brush against one another, but already Penelope feels light headed. Derek separates their lips for a moment before kissing her again, a firmer touch this time. She sucks in a breath through her nose. His lips are incredibly kind- that’s the only word for it. He doesn’t seem to know the word “take” right now because all she can feel from him is “give.” As he presses into the kiss and gently cups the side of her face, her brain wildly spins through thoughts about how of course he’s like this even when kissing her and how good he smells and how she can’t believe they haven’t done this sooner.

He draws her closer against him, pressing into the kiss more insistently before bringing his other hand up to her face and holding her. His fingers move to cup the sides of her neck and she tilts her head to the left a touch, letting her mouth fall open in a sigh. He makes a soft noise before tentatively sliding their tongues together. A full body shiver runs down her spine and through her limbs. Another small noise falls from the back of his throat. Her stomach swoops like they've just dropped down the side of a huge arch in a roller coaster. She places both hands on his chest, pressing forward. He moves with her, chair squeaking underneath him as he presses closer, one arm snaking around her back. Penelope’s heart pounds even louder. His tongue is gentle even in its insistence as their kiss turns slightly desperate.

It feels like someone has lit a fire underneath Penelope’s chair, warmth washing over her whole body and radiating out from everywhere they touch. One of his hands tangles into her hair as he gently tilts her head back. If she wasn’t sitting her knees would have buckled so long ago, but now she would absolutely be on the floor. It’s no surprise that Derek Morgan is an incredible kisser, but knowing something and knowing something is so different.

He pulls back, letting their foreheads rest together. Her eyes stay closed, tingles radiating from everywhere his fingers are tenderly holding her face. She tightens her grip on his shirt. He kisses the tip of her nose. "You still with me, baby girl?"

She nods, breathless. She slowly opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Hi." It's the first thing she thinks to say.

He laughs. "Hey you."

She has so many questions- how long have you wanted to do that, can we do that again right now, can we do so much more right now, right here- but before she can ask any of them, her computer beeps loudly. "Oh!" She jumps at the sudden noise. He drops his hands and leans back, looking far too much like the cat who got the cream. "I should- right, I should deal with that," she says, standing on shaky legs. Heels were never so precarious. Of course, there is no hiding from a profiler.

He grins up at her. "Need some assistance?" His eyes are shining like he's hiding a joke. She scrunches her nose at him, biting back a smile.

"Oh, hush you. I’m perfectly capable of walking 3 feet, thank you very much." Her tenacity is a little undercut from the way her hands are trembling a little as she smooths her skirt, but still. The point remains.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Alright baby girl, go on then."

She walks over to her computer and stays standing to fiddle with the wires behind it before bending over at the keyboard and reading the report on the screen. "It shouldn't be much longer now, it just needs to run the last new anti-virus- what?" He's leaning back in his seat and staring at her, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"What, Mama?" But he knows what, clearly evident from the way he is trying to school his expression into something innocent.

She blushes. "Derek Morgan, I don't know what I'm going to do if you keep looking at me like that."

"Oh, I don't know. I might have some ideas."

She sucks in a sharp inhale through her nose. Playing nonchalant, she turns back to her computer. "Well, I might have to hear your ideas out."

"Yeah?"

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and he's grinning.

"Yeah." she says, not trusting what will come out of her mouth if she elaborates (probably something along the lines of “I’d listen to all your ideas, do your ideas include any semblance of forever, if you keep grinning like that I'm gonna lock the door and do something reckless”).

They sit in relative silence, just the sounds of her typing filling the room. When she finishes, she spins her chair around. "Hi," she says again.

"Hi baby," he responds.

Her fingers twist and curl the hem of her skirt. "So, uh, well, that's gonna take at least another 30 minutes to finish running."

He raises one eyebrow. "30 minutes, huh?"

She nods. "Might be a good time for some of those ideas."

He stands and walks across the room to her. She takes his offered hand and stands as well. They stay there, inches apart and holding hands as the charged atmosphere around them seems to crackle. In the same breath, they lean in to kiss again. Both of her arms wrap around his neck as he tucks his around her waist. He pulls her against him, fully pressed together as the soft kiss deepens into something heated and desperate.

He bites her bottom lip gently before the kiss turns open mouthed and slick. She arches against him as they slide into a slow rhythm. She feels fluttery, like his arms are the only anchor point in the whole world and if he let her go, she’d simply float away. He tastes like lemonade, sweet and alive. She hums as he tracks his hands in a slow circle at the base of her spine. Her knees really do buckle a little as he attempts to tug her closer, but he holds her steady. She rests a hand on his cheek and grounds herself by using the other to grip the back of his neck. She’s utterly swallowed up by him, his arms and his mouth and just him surrounding her in their own little cocoon. He separates their mouths to kiss across her jaw and down her neck, hands flattening on her back. He places a line of long kisses down to the crook of her neck. She lets out a sigh, letting her head fall to the side to give him more room. He sinks his teeth into the same spot lightly, and she shudders.

"Derek," she whispers. She can feel his smile against his skin as he kisses the same place again.

They slow to a stop, tucked against each other. He rests his face against her neck and mumbles something against her skin. "Hmm honey?" she says, hand rubbing a circle on the nape of his neck.

"I got us that Talenti ice cream you like," he says, only moving enough to be heard. “Chocolate peanut butter cup, and the color changing spoons are still in the break room.”

"Oh Der, that's so sweet, you didn't have to do all of that." Her heart skips a beat.

He shrugs, kissing the side of her neck. "I wanted to."

She is half tempted to haul him in for another kiss, but as if on cue, her stomach grumbles. He picks his head up and smiles at her. "Come eat now," he says before giving her another quick peck.

She lets him pull her to the table, but before they sit, she pulls him in again. He chuckles into the kiss. "Eat, you menace." He mumbles against her lips. Pulling back, he plants a kiss on the apple of her cheek as he guides her into her seat.

She bites a retort about how she was trying to but he sees it on her face anyway.

"Later, baby girl. Dinner first."

“Then dessert?” She tilts her head and gives him a flirty smile.

He runs his thumb along her bottom lip. “All the dessert you want, Penelope.”

Much the same as before, they eat in comfortable silence. Except this time he rests a hand on her thigh, and traces a slow lazy circle with his thumb. The conversation picks back up and turns to unrelated things. Derek muses about possible retaliations from Spencer once he notices his new desk plants as he casually offers her a bite from his plate. She takes it, humming.

Something Penelope did not realize had lost its footing resettles in her chest. Nothing is different, not in any way that would scare her or be a loss. They are just the same as they've always been, but also more. (Though she'd be hard pressed to think of a time when this wasn't the way they were. Maybe things are just being unveiled, not changed.)

When they finish eating, he goes to get the ice cream and two of the fun spoons from the break room. They split the pint and laugh far too loudly for how late it is. The computer beeps for a final time, software finally fully uploaded and settled. She still has to run tests and double check that everything is working, but that can wait. Derek offers her a bite of ice cream, and if he kisses her again to remove the ice cream from her bottom lip, she can't say she minds.

#morcia #derek morgan #penelope garcia #cm #cj.txt #cjs fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

the hero’s shoulders

ch. 5 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x f!reader)

previous- ch. 4: “songbird”

next- ch. 6: “two suns”

rating: explicit

6.2k words

warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, oral sex f-receiving, unprotected PIV sex (don’t do that!!!), cum eating, slight choking, very soft, then rough, then soft again, both parties are not good at communicating

a/n: i feel so incredibly grateful for all the responses i’ve been seeing from you all--thank you all for being patient & i hope you enjoy !! chapter title inspired by “snow and dirty rain” by richard siken.

“Din.” The word sounds fresh and light coming off your tongue. And there it is, hanging between the two of you, his name. There’s a flurry of movement in the pit of your stomach. You take a breath and push forward. “Din Djarin, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

His hand quickly lowers to brace over the back of your neck again. He traces the corner of your jaw with his thumb. The song on the radio continues its lament of promises, the female vocalist releasing a breathy devotion that fills the space of the hull.

“I’ve,” he clears his throat. You’ve been around him long enough to recognize he does that when he’s nervous. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Is it against the rules?” You try to hide your surprise with a question, grateful for his hand still pressed against your skin. His need to still touch you, despite the topic, feels like a small reassurance.

“No, no it isn’t. Technically.”

“Okay,” the word leaves you quietly. At a loss for what to do after that, you stay exactly where you are, face tilted up towards his, lips slightly parted.

And then there are lips pressing against yours. Warm and hesitant at first, but when you begin to kiss him back—a part of you so shocked and thrilled you can barely process that it’s happening holy shit it’s happening—they quickly move against your own with a fervor unlike anything you’d ever been lucky enough to experience.

You break away, catching your breath. “Mando—I—Din, can I—your hair?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, impatiently leaning back down to capture your mouth against his once more. Your fingers eagerly tangle in his hair as his arms seal back around your body to crush you against his chest. It’s longer than you expected, slightly tangled with dried sweat but soft. You catch the edge of his bottom lip with your teeth, tugging at it in a small taunt. Din growls something low in his throat, pulling you impossibly closer.

He follows your lead, ever the good student, pressing his tongue into your mouth, tasting you before pulling back and coyly retracing your lips with his own. He’s far better at teasing than you are. Maybe his restraint shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you want him. You’ve chased enough, held back enough. You feel him smile against you, sensing your frustration.

The kiss eventually eases into something slow. Languid. You take your time with each other, until your breathing slows, until it no longer feels like your chest is about to burst.

Din pulls back, holding the back of your neck again as he curves to roll his forehead against yours in a lazy nuzzle. “Need you,” it’s a hoarse whisper. He audibly swallows, just the tips of his fingers tracing the edge where the makeshift blindfold meets the skin of your cheek. “Pel kar’ta. I’ve—” he cuts himself off, unable to continue for a reason you don’t know. “Please.”

You nod without hesitation. Then there is a hand against your ass, the other reaching for the back of your good knee. Once he gets the proper grip, Din lifts you up so your belly presses against his chest. Your squeak of surprise quickly transforms into a giggle as Din kisses you again, your legs immediately wrapping around his torso. You lock your ankles together to keep yourself in place.

Din is now the one to tilt his head back for you, holding you up with both arms as he carefully walks forward. You don’t think you’ve ever been in a situation where you’re the one looking down. It fills you with a feeling of power you aren’t expecting, snaking one of your hands over the crown of his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling, pulling his face back even further to deepen the kiss.

He only breaks from you when he stops walking, pressing two more kisses against the length of your neck before loosening his grip slightly. Taking the hint, you unwrap your legs from around his waist and allow him to ease you back onto the floor.

You blindly reach out a hand, trying to figure out where he’s carried you. He takes it, gently tugging you forward.

“In here,” he says. “Watch your step.”

It’s his quarters, you can tell by the smell of it alone. Sweat and musk and leather. The oil he uses to care for his armor. In all your months on board, you had only ever set foot inside his bunk to give him the new blanket you bought him. Besides that, all you’d seen of the room was captured in stolen glances when the he left the door cracked open.

His room held the same lingering objectivity of seeing his facial razors in the bathroom, a quiet reminder that he isn’t just a figure from some fearsome legend. Wasn’t just metal and blaster residue. There was something impossibly soft under it all. Defiantly human.

And now you were here. Now he has led you here.

Just the feeling of his hand holding yours in this space, in his space, felt like a new kind of intimacy. Like you were being invited into something with a depth you could not possibly understand. Where your feet would never touch the ground.

Was it all coming a bit fast? Yes. Were you worried about that? Also yes. But then his hands are snaking around your waist again and you couldn’t possibly care less. You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, bringing him back down to you.

His hands continue their drift over your body. You don’t dare interrupt his exploration, savoring the feeling of his skin against yours. Smoothing his hands over the sides of your torso, he slips his fingers under your shirt, pushing the worn fabric up to dance the tips of his fingers over your stomach. They continue up, over your ribs, just barely grazing your skin.

You think he’s teasing you, playing coy, until he breaks your kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing his hard, slightly pained. It feels like he’s reining something in, trying to talk himself down while tracing looping circles over the skin of your lower ribs.

“We can stop if you need to take it slow,” your eyebrows knit together, the movement only partially visible with the swath of fabric covering your eyes.

“No,” Din nuzzles his forehead against yours. “No I just…”

“You can touch me however you want,” your voice is low, a hoarse whisper. “I’m not fragile. You don’t have to worry about me.”

And he grabs you, crushing your body against his again, palms flat over the length of your bare back. It feels completely different without the barrier of fabric between the two of you. You sink into him again, gladly, as his hands slide down your body again, firm and assured this time. He pushes the waistband of your sleep shorts down a fraction of an inch, definitely teasing you this time.

His fingers trace the lines of the underwear you’re wearing. “What’s is this?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s the only undergarment that worked with the dress Febhana leant me. There would be,” suddenly his lips are scraping against your neck and you let out an unintentional sigh, head lolling back to give him better access. The next words are difficult to muster, “oh… lines in the fabric, otherwise. Something about…” you give a moan as he nips at your ear. The feeling of his hands sliding against your bare hips alone is enough to render you unintelligible.

And then he retreats. In the moment, it’s a loss so great you can’t help but give a quiet whimper. His mouth seals over yours, briefly, in assurance.

“Give me a second, pel kar’ta,” his voice is all gravel and honey. Dark liquor and the warmth of a hearth.

You nod, licking yours lips and keeping your back against the wall of the room. You hear him leave the quarters then return, the rustle of fabric tells you he’s doing something with the bunk.

You play with the edge of your nightshirt as you wait for him to finish adjusting the bed, grateful for the blindfold in concealing at least a little bit of the shyness you are certain is plainly evident, regardless if he could see your eyes or not. You try to say your next words as casually as possible, too curious not to ask. “Have you done this before?”

He pauses whatever he’s trying to fix. “What?”

“I just, um… since I was your first kiss I thought maybe…”

The gorgeous sound of his laugh almost makes up for the heat of embarrassment that has quickly spread from your face to your chest. The sound of it is small, but it’s something totally relaxed. You can picture him shaking his head in that amused way he does when his helm is on.

You feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you against him again in order to steal another kiss, despite the fact that his chest is still shaking slightly with amusement. You eventually can’t help but laugh against his mouth too.

“I’ve… you don’t have to worry about that, gentle girl,” he murmurs. You feel his fingers brushing alongside your cheek. There’s a low growl to his voice that gives a definitive answer to your original question. The dull pulse at your center quickly turns into an indescribable ache.

Din picks you up again, effortlessly placing you back on the edge of his bunk. You immediately recognize the blanket beneath you as one of your own. Your chest fills with a warmth when you realize how he is trying to make you as comfortable as possible. It was one of many small intimacies you would have never expected from the bounty hunter when you first found him.

Up on the bunk like this, the two of you are eye level. You wrap your legs back around him, kissing his neck as you pull his shirt up. He takes the hint, leaning away slightly to pull it off. You’ve stitched up enough of his cuts and bruises to know the territory well—you basically had it memorized at this point—but you’ve never had opportunity to take your time with it.

Your thumbs explore the lines of his abdomen, the light trail of hair leading down...

And oh.

Like, you had a feeling it would. There’s something about the domineering attitude of him in his suit that just radiates a kind of confidence of someone who does. But oh.

You palm the rigid length of him through his pants, gasping into his open mouth when he starts to lift your shirt, the pads of his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts. You quickly pull away to take it off, tossing it to the ground and reaching out to pull him back to you. He stops you with a hand at your bicep. You lower your arms slowly.

Taking the hint, you rest your hands on the mattress behind you, biting your lip as you let him look at you. Swallowing, you try to calm your breathing so your chest doesn’t move so rapidly with each inhale. It doesn’t work.

“Maker,” he breathes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands cup your waist as he presses his lips to your shoulder, his next words barely a whisper against your skin. “I’ve waited so long to tell you that.”

And he’s kissing your neck again, the scrape of his unshaven face against your pulse is enough for your eyes to roll back into your skull, a tingling feeling running through the column of your spine.

You grab the back of his head again, forcing his lips back to yours as you recline onto the bed behind you. He follows your lead, smoothly climbing onto the bunk to cover you with his body. The feeling of his bare chest pressed against you is at once grounding and surreal. It lasts for a fleeting moment, until his lips break from yours and begin to retrace what they had started not moments earlier, licking against the pulse in your neck, a gentle nip at the curve of your clavicle, another wet kiss where your heart is beating, all too fast, in your chest.

When his mouth envelopes your nipple, your back arches off the mattress with a gasp. He slides his tongue over its sharp peak, lazily sucking it before moving onto the other.

By the time Din has traced his patient trail down the length of your body, you’re literally panting, lifting your pelvis in desperate search for his hips—for something, anything, to move against. You feel him shift back, his fingers resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“Is this okay?” There’s a tinge of a warbling weakness to his voice. Like his slow process was just as taxing on him as it was for you. As if, asshole.

“Please, Din,” you’re so wound up you don’t even care that your words come out as an unabashed whine. His hands quickly remove the last pieces of clothing off your body, both the shorts and your underwear being rolled down your legs and thrown to the floor with a soft thump. He pauses for a moment, there. Now understanding his process, you let him.

Breathing just as hard as you are, Din fits the curve of his palm to the back of your good knee, pressing another kiss to your calf as he gently bends your knee towards your torso. The stretch of it only adds to the pulsing ache at your center, and you readily mirror his motion with your other leg. He kisses, licks, and nips his way up the length of your leg.

You’re genuinely shaking by the time you feel his lips against the soft space between your inner thigh and your cunt. He laps the skin of that small space as he guides both your legs to hook over his shoulders.

Desperate for contact, you try to shift your pelvis to find his mouth yourself. Din’s hands seal over the backs of your thighs, keeping them spread and immobile. You make a whimpering sound you can’t control. He might have just given a small smile against you. You couldn’t possibly process it if he did.

Din presses the tip of his tongue at your entrance, dragging it over the length of your slit in one fluid motion. To describe what you see behind your eyelids as sparks wouldn’t even begin to capture it. You’re practically incoherent, hands fisted in his hair, using your legs to press down on his back in order to beg him to continue.

Circling your clit with the flat of his tongue, he uses the tips of his fingers to tease your entrance, gathering your wetness at an agonizingly slow pace.

You press your cheek into the pillow—it’s one of yours, some far, detached part of your brain vaguely recognizes, the fabric soft and familiar against your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you give another moan, the barely coherent plead of “please, Din, please” leaving your lips without thought.

And he pushes a finger into you, first one and then two. Both are slightly hooked, dragging a devastatingly line of pure pleasure onto your inner wall. The sound it makes is so obscene you nearly come from that alone. The gasp you give is nearly a sob, grinding your cunt against his face to urge him to keep going.

Din fucks his fingers into you as his tongue increases its pace. For seconds or minutes you have no idea, it feels like you’d lost control of the ability to speak hours ago. Without warning, something deep in your stomach pulls painfully tight.

You’re barely able to recognize what’s about to happen before your orgasm snaps through your body. You can’t muffle the strangled sound that leaves you, reflexively trying to close your legs as you ride through it. He keeps them pressed open with both hands, gently lapping at your clit as you shake with what feels like your own muscles twisting around themselves.

He expertly draws the orgasm out, keeping the rhythm of his fingers and his tongue at a steady pace. You’re practically a puddle by the time the last pulses of it go through you, his tongue working at your raw bundle of nerves until you flinch away with a whimper. Din pulls away, gently kissing your inner thigh as he eases your legs back down.

Still panting, you impatiently pull him back up to you, shaky hands messily working to push his pants down. He pulls away for a fraction of a second to pull them off for you, then plants a forearm beside your head so he can hover over you again.

Your hand almost goes to cradle his face but you catch yourself before you can, quickly pushing it back through his hair to push his face back down to you. You take your time, tasting the wetness still coating his chin, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip before resuming the kiss. The moan he gives into your mouth is electric. A flock of birds takes flight in the confines of your ribcage.

Feeling down the length of his body, your fingertips trace over his collection of scars. You relearn him through touch alone, relishing in the poorly muffled moan he gives when you rediscover the trail of hair below his bellybutton.

You take his cock in your hand, jerking it off slowly as you adjust your hips to bring him closer to your pussy. It’s messy and impatient, but Din still stutters something unintelligible as you rub the tip of him up the length of your entrance.

“Is this…” he’s breathing so hard it sounds like he’s in physical pain. “Ngh, fuck you’re so wet.”

“Fuck me,” you breath into his ear, hooking your legs around him in order to urge his hips to forward.

He presses his nose into the crook of your neck, easing himself into you as soon as the words leave your mouth. You inhale sharply, relaxing into the near-painful stretch of him inside you. You think you might be cursing, or pleading, it feels too good to keep track of what’s leaving your mouth.

Din steadily increases his pace the longer he’s inside you, every stroke chipping away at some resolve he was attempting to maintain. He seals a hand over the back of your thigh, pressing your leg back to reach somewhere deep inside you. This combined with the small sounds he makes as he fucks you—the sharp inhales, the restrained grunt of an exhale that eventually follows each one—are enough to have another pulsing wave of desire roll through you.

“Harder,” you’re able to gasp before his mouth is slamming against yours again.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach. You barely have time to prop yourself up on your knees before he’s snapping his hips back into you, one hand gripping your hip so tightly you think it might bruise, the other reaching around to rub your over-stimulated clit.

“Maker I—Din,” you’re incoherent, eyes in the back of your skull as his hand releases your hip to snake around your throat, forcing you to crane your head back towards him. Din’s teeth dig into the exposed, tender skin of your neck as he continues his ruthless attack on your clit. The rhythm of his cock pushing into you is unceasing, despite the way he’s twisted your body to accommodate his. You take it.

“Good girl,” he growls in your ear. The praise is taught with desire, razor-sharp. “Such a… fuck—such a good girl. Look so pretty with my cock in you. T—take it so well—”

You come a second time, unable to contain the ragged cry that leaves your already exhausted body. This one picks you up and slams you back down again, hard and fast and unexpected. Din releases his hand from your throat when the height of your orgasm passes. You’re barely able to hold yourself up by your forearms as his hips press into you for a few more hard strokes.

Din pulls out, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other jerking himself off with your slick. With a low moan, you feel his come spray over your back.

For a moment, there’s only the ragged sound of your joined panting. Din stays kneeling behind you like that for a second. You feel his come begin a slow drip down the concave arch of your spine. And then his tongue, warm and wet, presses against the small of your back, lapping at the length of it. Cleaning you off.

Finishing the job, he collapses against you, forehead rested against the back of your shoulder that’s beginning to ache again.

“Was…” he clears his throat, breathing fast. “Was that okay?”

It was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced and you’re so wrung out you can’t muster anything but a breathy, I can’t believe that just happened, laugh.

“Yeah, Din,” you huff through your giggle. You’re able to reach your arm back to give his thigh a reassuring pat with your bandaged hand. “I’d say a little more than just okay.”

Din joins you in exhausted laughter, kissing your shoulder to stifle the jerk of his chest before easing onto his back on the mattress beside you. You gladly collapse onto your stomach, head still shoved in the pillow below you.

You only rouse when his hand begins to run up and down your back, giving a little hum low in your throat. You turn your head to face him, closing your eyes under your blindfold out of an abundance of caution.

His hand lifts from your back and hesitantly—so, agonizingly hesitantly—brushes the pads of his fingertips against your cheek.

The motion is tiny and brief. But it quiets something within you—a sudden, sacred stillness that comes with an intimacy you’d never felt before. Your breathing goes low and shallow.

Din pulls his hand away, shifting up for a moment to pull one of the blankets he’d taken from your mattress around the two of you. You shift your body to face his as he does, resting your head on a bent arm. He gathers you back in his arms in order to press you tightly against his chest. It feels like a distraction. You readily play into it, even if it is. Especially if it is. You say the first thing that comes to mind, oddly desperate to fill the silence.

“Thank you for bringing this over,” you wiggle into the fabric he’s pulled around you.

“For someone who complains about how cold it is,” he says, propping his chin back at the top of your head. One of his fingernails traces a ticklish line where your hip meets your thigh. “You sure don’t wear a lot to bed, usually I mean.”

You grin against his chest, nipping his collarbone in joking reprimand. “I know you don’t do the whole ‘creature comforts’ thing, but being in a warm bed when it’s cold out is probably the best way to sleep. Highly recommend it.”

“I’ll have to give it a try, then,” he murmurs.

You nestle against, savoring the way his torso feels against yours. His hand continue to trail over your body as you settle, up and down the length of it. There’s something so innocent about the way he touches you, the soft nature of it, that’s hard to wrap your head around.

That isn’t to say he wasn’t gentle or kind. You knew he was more than capable of both of those things. He leads with kindness. That fact has become increasingly clear the longer you’ve been able to spend time with him. In any situation he can, he will. He’s just unafraid to correct that kindness whenever the recipient proves themselves unworthy. After that, Maker help them.

What you really mean is that his ability to be this gentle remains jarring in terms of where he comes from. What it has taken for him to get here, in this moment, with you. All that bloodshed and loss. When you start to consider that, his capacity for compassion becomes a marvel in its own right.

It’s the first time you’ve really noticed that, or at least thought the whole thing through. There’s the feeling as if something was opening somewhere in your chest. You gladly settle into it, relaxing your body fully as your eyes drift shut.

Din inhales deeply before speaking, voice low but casual.

“I saw your project, in the cockpit.” Your body is fitted so tightly to his that the low tenor of his voice reverberates through your chest. You can’t help but sink into the sound of it, an embarrassed smile inching its way up your lips. “You had one like it, at Am’ile’s, right?”

“Yeah,” you wrinkle your nose, stifling a yawn. It seems silly now. “It was something we would do at home. It’s like… a house warming gift, where I grew up. They’re supposed to be given to you but I made my own.”

“Have you ever considered going back?”

The question is so unexpected you half think you’ve misheard him. It pushes off the heavy droop to your eyelids a few moments longer, too intrigued not to stay awake longer. “Huh?”

“Have you ever considered going back, to your home planet?”

“I haven’t… really given it much thought,” you confess. “Honestly never really wanted to. I’m lucky enough that I don’t remember being captured, so it’s not like I have any real reason to be avoiding it. With my parents gone I just... I don’t want to accidentally ruin what little memories I have by chasing after them like that.”

“What do you remember?” As he asks, you feel his fingers trace the shell of your ear. There’s something relaxed about the way he questions you, slightly out of character with the ease in which he continues conversation. Maybe you’re only attuned to it now considering the circumstances. You decide that you like this version of him, whatever that implies.

You tilt your head up from where you’ve laid in on his chest, as if to look up at him. With the blindfold, it’s more of an act of presentation.

“You don’t have to say,” he clarifies, rubbing your earlobe between his thumb and index finger. “I just like the way you describe things.”

“How’s that?” You ask earnestly.

Din thinks for a moment, toying with your ear as he does so. “When you describe things you do it like you’re trying to get whoever you’re talking to right there in the memory with you. It’s generous.”

Your brow furrows. You think that might have been the best compliment anyone has ever given you, and you’re not exactly sure what to do with that fact.

So you tell him what you remember: the cold nights by the fire, trees so thick with moss and fog that the forest would remain a hazy, dull green color throughout the winter months. There were summer festivals, where your mother would braid your hair with long lengths of ribbons. You and the other kids would make a point to try and jump in the lake with all your traditional clothes on in retaliation for having to dress up in the first place. Your father’s joy was always something loud and boisterous enough to fill an entire room. You had long forgotten your mother’s face, but you knew she was beautiful.

Din’s breathing pattern changes slightly once those words leave your mouth. You can’t exactly determine from what, but you shift your stories away from your family after that.

You tell him how you think you needed your time with Am’ile because you understood her desire to retreat from it all. Her cabin reminded you of the one where you were raised, but there, with her, you were your own person. Living with her was a homecoming in its own right, you think.

A part of you knows that’s why you sought her out after escaping. You were arrested by Republic officers--for good reason, you clarified when Din bristles protectively at the idea of you in cuffs. You’d been caught as a stowaway, caked in blood that clearly wasn’t yours so they obviously weren’t going to hear you out until they got you under control. They took you to a med-bay after you were able to tell them what happened.

One of the officers mentioned serving with a Bardottan woman as they interviewed you. He told you how she’d made a name for herself helping those like you. How she now lived a solitary life in the mountains of some remote planet when it got to be too much.

You think he told you that to give you solace in the fact that there was still a life, even after being reduced to what you were reduced to: a shaking mess sitting on a hospital bed, barely able to stutter out a name for yourself, let alone any details of what happened. It was hard to imagine anything beyond the next few seconds, back then. But something in your brain locked onto that story. The promised hope in his voice.

When that soldier came by again to fill out more paperwork, you pressed him more about the healer he told you about. He looked at you strangely, but gave you the information you needed to begin your search for her. You escaped the hospital that night and left, hidden in the cargo of a ship, by that morning.

When you finish, there’s a few moments where you just match your breath to his, unwilling to fill the silence. You’ve never said it all out loud before. Din had stayed quiet the whole time, expect for the occasional squeeze of your shoulder when you plowed through the messier details.

Then, there are two fingers pressed to the underside of your chin, tilting your head upwards towards him. He kisses you, long and slow. It feels like he was thanking you, but it’s too weighted of a feeling for it to be just for the stories alone. You accept it, graciously, regardless.

And there’s a rapid sound of beeping coming from somewhere within the Crest. Din gives a frustrated grunt, pulling away.

“Sorry. Give me a second, we’re almost at Nevarro,” he speaks as he disentangles himself from you. You quickly wrap yourself up in blankets before the cold air of the cabin has the chance to reach you. There’s the soft sound of his bare feet hitting the ground, a pause while he dresses before opening the door and disappearing into the hull.

You dose until you feel the Crest rumble in descent, the ship jerking sharply once landed. A few minutes later, you hear Din enter the room again, sliding the door shut.

“Is the kid still asleep?” You speak through your yawn, propping yourself up on your forearm. You hear him drop something that sounds like fabric.

“Out cold. Febhana must have spiked his dinner with something,” he sighs with relief as he settles back beside you, naked. You giggle as you open the blankets for him, to which his face immediately presses into your neck. He scoops you up again, settling your chest against his again.

You take a deep breath before you open your mouth to ask what you know you have to. For some reason you think you’re going to need it.

“Din?”

“Hm?”

“What’s next?”

“Drop the quarries off. Hide out somewhere remote for a bit. Karga might give me more fobs but I’m positive he’ll send us somewhere remote. Wait this out a bit.”

“I um… Didn’t mean in that way. I uh—I mean, what happens now…” you gesture at your entwinned naked bodies. “You know.”

The truth of the matter is that you don’t think you’d be able to keep this casual. You care about him and the kid too much to be able to corner this off as a meaningless fling in your head.

And that’s fucking terrifying. Genuinely fucking terrifying.

You feel him swallow. Something in the air shifts. You brace yourself.

“Could we talk about this in the morning?” He’s using his normal voice. You hadn’t realized the tone switch before, but now—contrasted against the gentle hum of his tone just seconds earlier—it’s jarring. Enough for you to physically stiffen.

“I’d like to get an overview,” you keep it short, steely.

Din waits for a long time before speaking again.

“I’m still figuring that part out,” he finally says. “Things were simpler, before the Mando’ade scattered. Before my covert was destroyed. So I don’t know, anymore. I really don’t.” He swallows. You feel it against your temple. “This life, the dedications that come with… with our faith, there’s so many ways you could be hurt--along with the danger you would be put in, if those I associate knew about you. About this. None of it affords room for relationships in the traditional sense. Not anymore.”

You take three deep breaths. You know because you count them, it’s the only thing that keeps you from screaming or weeping or both.

“Would have appreciated that little speech beforehand,” you do your best to keep your voice even, but it warbles slightly on your last word. You sit up to distract from the fact, clutching the blanket to your chest, suddenly mortified by your nakedness. To think you’d just spent the past… however long, giving him some longwinded story when all he wanted was to get his dick wet. Maker, that’s embarrassing.

“I’m sorry—hey! Hey, darling, I’m sorry,” his hand slides over where yours has made a fist in the bedsheets, you snatch it away. He has the balls to keep running his mouth. “I’m just as at a loss for what to do as you are. It happened. We can… we can figure something out. Deal with it later. Please.”

“Bold of you to call me darling and say some shit like that in the same breath,” you snatch your hand away. You deflect hurt with anger--it was the safest thing to do. The easiest. The most familiar. It hasn’t failed you once. Not once. “Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk me right now, asshole. It’s cheap and something you would never call me and you know that.”

He starts to say something. You ignore him, pushing yourself away from his body and sitting on the edge of the bunk. Your spine curves with exhaustion as you try to will away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, grateful for the blindfold that wipes them away as soon as they appear.

“Stars,” you scoff. You do a good job keeping the warble out of your voice this time. “You corrected that nursery worker when she mistook you for the kid’s father. Couldn’t even manage that when he’s your damn foundling. Why should I be surprised.”

He’s quiet. Because of course he fucking is.

“You know,” you’re babbling. You know you’re just talking to fill the silence but you can’t help it. “I wouldn’t have asked if—I… You don’t… Maker, you shouldn’t have been so kind if you…”

“Pel kar’ta.” His voice goes gravelly in a way you can’t place. You turn your head slightly as he runs his knuckles down the length of your spine. “Please don’t leave.”

“I—” the fire within you is extinguished almost as quickly as it appeared. You’re so tired. “Mando, I don’t want this to get complicated either, I just don’t think I should...”

“Don’t call me that anymore. Not when it’s only us.” You flinch with how sharply he corrects you. He seems to register your surprise, his next words more soft. If you didn’t know any better you’d say pleading. “Know that I care for you, deeply. Don’t ever think otherwise. I’m only trying to do what’s best.”

You pause, taking a few deep breaths. You know it would be best to just walk away, curl up in your own bed to lick your wounds. Yet, against all rational judgement, all you want is him. The raw comfort of his body against yours. His distinct kindness, though conditional.

His voice again. It’s a supplication, low and taut with some withheld emotion.

“Just… just this one time, stay. Please.”

Collapsing back into him is one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. Din seals both arms around you, pressing you so tightly against him that the pressure is almost uncomfortable. You bury your head back into the side of his jaw, breathing him in. If it were even possible, he curves further into you, a hand threaded through the hair at the back of your skull keeping your face against him. When you breathe, it feels like a shared act.

Closing your eyes, you’re met with a dreamless sleep.

taglist: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou @hotsforrob @pointy-sharp @ironbabey @mufflerfluffler @pedropascalownsmysoul @carbonite-cruncher @daddydjarinxx

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch5 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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tryingmyves · 3 years

Text

Sober

DENKI KAMINARI x Y/N

part two

A/N: A fic inspired by Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray (I swear they put crack in this song). You’ve been in love with Denki Kaminari for as long as you can remember and he only seems to think of you as more than a friend when he’s inebriated. Simple, right?

sorry this chapter got a bit long but things are getting ~spicy~

c/w: alcohol mention, smut (soon)

chapter 1

[FOUR MONTHS AGO]

Technically, classes wouldn’t start for three more days, so you weren’t quite a college student. But you and Kaminari came to the city early because the lease on his apartment was starting and you needed to meet someone from Craig’s List about the car you plan to buy. To be honest, the car was what you expected: a piece of shit. But it would get you to your part time job and back to campus, so what more could you ask for? You couldn’t move into your dorm until tomorrow, but Kaminari said you could stay with him for the night. His roommate Kirishima hadn't moved in yet, so he had extra space.

Aside from the brief meeting with the stranger you bought your car from, you and Kaminari spent the day hauling cheap furniture up four flights of stairs into his apartment. Both of you were utterly exhausted. You were both covered in the grime of your own sweat; countless trips up and down the stairs had left your legs burning and heavy. When you agreed to help Kaminari move in you didn’t expect that he'd have so much shit, or that his apartment would be on the top floor of a building with no elevator. But at the current juncture you were too fatigued to complain. The two of you are laying on your backs, sprawled out on the cold wooden floor of the living room, unpacked boxes surrounding you.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain, raising your head slightly off the ground and unsticking the mat of sweaty hair from the back of your neck. You push it upwards so it fans out above your head.

“Yeah, you smell kind of disgusting too,” Kaminari replies with a laugh that becomes a cough when your arm swings down to connect with his stomach.

“I think you mean, “gee Y/N, thanks so much for helping me move into my apartment! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kaminari raises himself up on his elbows, still recovering from your blow. “Hey - I have your thank you, it’s just in one of these boxes. Alcohol tends to be the universal thank you for helping a friend move - plus I don’t have wifi until tomorrow, so tonight we’re getting drunk and celebrating as college students!” he smiles.

You let out a sigh, “Well I hope you have ice. Find my thank you gift - I’m going to go break in your shower,” you say rising from the floor, “but not because you said I smell. Only because I want to!”

Kaminari laughs as you make your way to the bathroom, pulling himself off the floor as well to start rooting through the cardboard boxes full of his belongings. You lock the bathroom door behind you and spend a few moments deciphering how to use the unfamiliar shower. You start the water, a bit cooler than usual, still feeling balmy from all of today’s physical activity. After moving all of Denki’s belongings into the apartment you didn’t remember to grab anything of your own, so you would be using his toiletries to wash up. You throw a thin towel on the back of the toilet before stepping into the refreshing stream of water. The water cascades down your face, snaking down the curves of your body before disappearing down the drain. A sigh escapes your lips, thankful for a small moment of relaxation after a long day. You get to work washing your hair and scrubbing the day's sweat off of yourself, wrapped in the scent of cedarwood and lemon, something you’ve long associated with Kaminari. After roughly fifteen minutes you feel sufficiently clean and turn off the shower, stepping out to towel yourself off.

Not wanting to put your dirty clothes back on, you sneak out of the bathroom with your towel wrapped around you and down the hall to Kaminari’s room. You snatch a t-shirt and pair of sweats out of an opened box and creep back to the bathroom to get dressed and brush out your hair. You pull the over-sized shirt on, relishing the traces of Denki’s cologne that linger on the fabric and step into the sweats. You rake a comb through your wet tresses before re-emerging from the bathroom. You find Kaminari in his kitchen, haphazardly unpacking a box of cutlery with a mixed drink in his hand.

“Did you break into my thank you present without me, Denki?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, “Well maybe if you hadn’t taken so long -” He stops, registering you’re now in his clothes instead of your own. “Hah, nice threads,” he laughs.

You grab the hem of the shirt, holding it out from you a bit as if you're presenting it. “Yeah, well my shower wasn’t going to do much good if I got back into my sweaty clothes, so I helped myself.”

“Seems to be a recurring theme tonight. I don’t mind, you look cuter in it than I do anyway,” he winks at you. “Now,” he slides a second cup across the counter towards you, “thanks for helping me move in. Let’s get drunk!”`

You smile as you place the cup to your lips for a drink, your mind buzzing even without the alcohol. You’ve been friends with Denki long enough to know that he is always flirting, even if he doesn’t mean anything by it. Usually you just brush off his comments or turn the tables with a line of your own, hoping to get him flustered. But lately you haven’t been able to ignore the flutters in your chest at his words. The pair of you have been friends since middle school and you’ve grown accustomed to people assuming you’re more than that. But in reality, things between you and Denki have always been platonic, despite the incessant flirting. However, you want there to be more. His golden eyes draw you into him and he can so effortlessly make you laugh. For you, home isn’t a static location but wherever Denki happens to be.

“Woah Y/N, I didn’t mean you had to chug it!”

Denki’s comment snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve drunk nearly half of your drink while lost in silent longing. You lower the cup, “Well you have a headstart on me!” you reason, not wanting to tell Denki he’s the reason you got lost in your cups.

“Fair enough, but head start or not, I’m drinking you under the table tonight,” he challenges. “Let’s play some Mario Kart! I set up the switch while you were in the shower.”

“Fine, but if you’re wanting to get drunk we’re playing Beer-i-o Kart.”

Kaminari huffs, “well, obviously.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey in addition to his own cup and heads to the couch, you following close behind.

The rules of the game are simple: you win if you’re the first person to cross the finish line but you have to finish your drink before the end of the race. Even in the world of Mario Kart, drinking and driving is a no go, so there’s a few different options on how to play. You can either chug your drink at the start, put your controller down mid race to slam your drink, or stop just before the finish line on lap three to empty your cup. You can also drink while you’re put back on the track if you somehow manage to drive off the course. Both you and Denki are highly competitive, and while he might think he has the monopoly on video games, your skills rival his.

Unsurprisingly, Denki picks the Lightning Cup as it’s both a nod to his quirk and he’s a sadist who actually enjoys rainbow road. He beats you handily in the first two races, able to finish his drink slightly quicker than you, but you manage to win the Grumble Volcano race. He hits pause before the final race can start so he can mix two more drinks. You laugh as he nearly drops his own cup, his cheeks pink from all the liquor.

“Oh shut it, Y/N, or you can make your own drink.”

“Aw, don’t be bitter just because you lost that one Denki!” you tease.

He hands your now full cup back to you, “Yeah well this next one’s all mine. You’re going down!”

You just stick your tongue out in response and ready yourself for the last race. Once you’ve both situated yourself, Denki unpauses the game and the countdown begins. He immediately starts chugging his drink but you peel out from the starting line. You know you’ll fall off the map several times, so you might as well use that time effectively by drinking then. Denki finishes the freshly poured drink in under 30 seconds and is already in hot pursuit. He manages to pass you on the first lap and despite the multiple red shells you send his way, you can’t catch up. You’re not sure if it’s your competitive nature or the copious amounts of alcohol that influence your next move, but you shift from your seat on the couch and plant yourself directly in Denki's lap, blocking his view of the screen and making him drive off the road.

“Y/N, you cheater!!” Denki squirms beneath you, trying to dislodge you from your new position.

You laugh, “We never said this was against the rules!”

You zip past his character as he’s being lowered back onto the track, a triumphant hah! announcing you’ve overtaken him.

“Well in that case, neither is this!” Denki’s hands grip at your sides, his fingers poking at all your most ticklish spots. You shriek in surprise and jump from his lap, desperate to get away from the sudden assault. You land on the couch, laying on your back, but Denki doesn’t relent. He crawls between your legs and bares over you with a wicked grin on his face before bringing his hands to your sides once more.

Now you’re squirming beneath him, a breathless ball of laughter, your game forgotten in the background. When Denki finally stops tickling you his face is no more than a foot from your own. Your better judgement goes out the window, forced out by the haze of your laughter and half a bottle of alcohol. You wrap an arm around the back of Denki’s neck and pull his lips to yours. You can feel the smile on his face as he opens his mouth, tracing at your lips with the tip of his tongue. You part your lips, allowing him inside. His lips are soft and you're not sure whether or not he activated his quirk but you’re feeling sparks.

He separates from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he does. His forehead resting on your own he whispers, “I’ve always wondered what that would be like. It’s better than I thought.”

The low hush in his voice makes your breath catch. “What else have you wondered about?”

“Well if kissing you is this good, I can only wonder what you’re like in bed.”

You press your lips to his again, “one way to find out,” you say through the kiss.

At that, Kaminari grabs your thighs and stands from the couch, hoisting you to his waist. He carries you down the hallway towards his bedroom, kissing you the whole way. As you cross the threshold of his room he separates from you, “say less.”

#denki kaminari x y/n #denki kaminari x reader #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #denki kaminari #by ves #fan fic writing #fan fic blog

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

“Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

Like right now.

“I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

“Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

“I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

“I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

“What do you want?”

Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

“I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

“Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

“He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

“And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

“Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

“You owe me, toy man.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

“Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

“Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

“Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

__________________________________________________

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

Text

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt.5)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon.

Tags: hurt/comfort, panic attacks, past abuse, food-related anxiety, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, Jimin has self-esteem issues, internalized victim-blaming, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, but don't be fooled- this is equal parts angst and fluff

W/c: 13k

Song Rec: Talos - to each his own

SERIES MASTERLIST (5/10 parts complete)

A brief interlude on hybrids pack behaviors, romantic attachment between hybrids, hybrid polyamory:

Though pack forming behavior is the strongest in canine type hybrids- pack behavior (also known as grouping behavior) is seen in every species of hybrid. It doesn’t seem that species has much of an influence on which hybrids will choose to form a pack either- as interspecies groups are incredibly common accounting for around 50% of all hybrid packs.

Though polyamorous behavior might seem strange to human owners; to hybrids, it’s a natural extension of the pack dynamic. It’s what keeps pack bonds strong and reinforces existing dominance structures within the group. That doesn’t mean that love between hybrids within a pack is any different than the love that hybrids might have with their owners or love between humans.

Packs that are decided in juvenile periods of development more mobile and eventually break apart as hybrids age, and then re-solidify in adulthood. In many cases, hybrids without packs tend to be better adoptees as removal of one or more hybrids from a pack can result in many of the same markers associated with removing an imprinted hybrid from it’s imprintee. for that reason, the modal age from 16-22 is the best age to adopt hybrids.

Though one might assume that because of imprinting- that humans would exempt from being apart of hybrid social structure; this is untrue. humans usually seem to be on the more alpha side of the dominance structure, however evidence of this is anecdotal at best and will further statistical significant results in order to be proven.

When packs are settling and a new member is being admitted, this can often result in a period of turmoil in the group dynamic where stereotypically alpha members may act more submissive, or vise versa, where the new pack member is being admitted into the social structure and dominance is questioned.

- Yoongi tilts his head at your words staring Jimin down, before he juts his chin out at him, glancing back at you. “Oh I forgot! you probably haven’t been introduced. Yoongi this is Jimin, Jimin this is Yoongi. If you haven’t guessed Yoongi is a snake hybrid- one of the very few of his kind.”

- Jimin tries to recoup some of his politeness and struggles to smile at the hybrid; Jimin holds his hand out for Yoongi to shake, “it’s nice to meet you.” Yoongi stares at Jimin’s hand for a moment and makes no move to take it. It hangs there for a palpably awkward moment before you grip Jimin’s hand and pull it down to hang in between the two of you. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, not letting go of it.

- Jimin feels flustered as Yoongi lifts the bag of gardening equipment that Jimin had missed by his side and gestures towards a field. You must have some sort of established language because you answer his question. “Yes, we will be doing the veggie garden today Yoon,” Yoongi makes a huffing noise in agreement, and heads down the path. You tug Jimin after him.

- Jimin is perplexed at the lingering silence, even as they reach the far vegetable garden (and Jimin realizes you haven’t let go of his hand with a flush and makes to detangle it or risk feeling like a creep). You’re not trying to feed the whole of the farm with the produce, but that’s certainly an eventual goal of yours.

- It’s large, probably 30 by 50 feet at the very least. You have rows of tomatoes, potatos, carrots, and a half plot of butternut squash and tiny watermelons nothing more that flowers. You start to instruct Jimin on how to tie up The tomato’s that have started to sag with the rain and their continuing growth away from their circular cages. Instructing Jimin how to do the same with the green twine.

- “Gardening is easy,” you tell Jimin, “You have to have some patience, nothing grows overnight.”

- The smell of the wet earth seems to lul the three of you into a hazy silence, He purses his lips, brain running full of information before you turn to him, “got any questions?”

- he has a lot, so many, they spill out. “How many different types of plants do you try to grow? Which one is your favorite? Do you grow any flowers or do you only have your garden for those? What about like seasonings and stuff? those are plants right?”

- Jimin asks a lot of questions, but you seem happy to answer them. Especially once you start harvesting the tomatoes. “You mean you’ve never had one fresh?” Jimin shakes his head “no, most of the food I ate was like, chips and other dried stuff- if he ever bothered to feed me at all” Behind you Yoongi snips through some twine angrily, the older hybrid huffs, shaking his head at that, but still dosent say anything.

- It’s the most communicative that he’s been the whole day, but his displeasure at that is clear. Yours too, Jimin hadn’t even realized he’d said something concerning until he hears your dismayed noise and looks up from what he’s doing to see your jaw tight, that familiar anger in your eyes.

- Before he starts to feel like he’s done something wrong, messed up another job just like he’d done with all the others, you smooth away his worry. “Here, you can try one if you want” you hand him a half dozen tomatoes that are so dark they’re almost purple, then add a few more for good measure until they’re almost spilling out of Jimin’s hands. They’re still warm from the sun Jimin can tell, you give him an encouraging nod “go on- they’re sweet I promise” he slowly lifts one to his lips and bites down.

- The tangy fruitfulness explodes on his tongue- He actually yips, his floppy ears lifting up in his sun hat and his tail wagging so quickly you think he might just take off. By the time he’s done with the first, he’s already reaching for the second, and then looking at the other unripened ones around them hungrily.

- You and Yoongi laugh, though for Yoongi it’s only the twitch of his shoulders and a strange hissing sound as he opens his mouth, gums on display as well as his slightly elongated incisors (and they look sharp, Jimin feels ghoosebumps erupt on his arms). Jimin shyly hides his blush under the brim of his sunhat. “They’re so good! I didn’t think they’d be so tasty- it doesn’t taste anything like ketchup at all!”

- You wince when you think that he’s never had anything other than ketchup to compare what a real tomato tastes like. You and Jimin lapse into a comfortable companionable silence and you don’t say anything when Jimin sneaks a cherry tomato here and there. Though you do hide your smile when he makes a sound of disgust when he decides to try a green one after he’s eaten all of the ripe ones in his area. You catch his cheeks puffed up more than once when you turn to ask him to do something, and your heart melts a little at his chubby cheeks.

- When Yoongi leaves soon after to grab some fresh seedlings for the herb garden you’re quick to explain to Jimin about Yoongi. You want to make sure Jimin is comfortable, but part of the reason why you’d asked him to help in the gardens in the first place is because of how genuinely friendly Jimin is, and how closed off Yoongi is from the rest of the hybrids at the farm.

- Yoongi is the only other hybrid besides Namjoon that stays in the main house with you. You explain to Jimin that he has issues regulating his internal body temperature and need a heater and several heated blankets even in the summer. “Some of the others see this as preferential treatment- when really it’s just what he needs, and it doesn’t help that he doesn’t talk to any of them.”

- “Does he talk at all?” Jimin asks, just as his ears start to pick up on returning footsteps of Yoongi back over the field. “Not that I’ve heard” your whisper hushes when Yoongi comes close with the 12 packs of herbs, gestures to Jimin to follow him.

- Jimin’s heard more than one of the teenage hybrids bemoaning the lumps in their mattresses and their envious rants of how comfortable the beds in the big house are. (Apparently, there’s a closed-off second apartment suite in the side part of the house where the hybrids are allowed to spend their heats when they have them, though you’re working on fixing up what once a stable house to make a more private place for that)

- Jimin thinks that the other hybrid obviously hasn’t spent enough of his life sleeping on the floor because Jimin’s bottom bunk below Taehyung’s is more than comfortable enough. But he keeps that particular opinion to himself.

- He’s also sensed how conversation comes to a halt whenever the snake hybrid comes near for the lunch line or to get a tool from the shed or get Namjoon for something (Namjoon always ends up supervising the more technical chores, having a knack for mechanics and putting things together, like the soaker hose system that will enable some of the vegetables to get more consistent watering as the summer tugs on). Jimin dosent know how he didn’t notice the hybrid before now, but he must have been there the first few days, Jimin was probably just too overwhelmed.

- Even Taehyung seems to quiet down in the Yoongi’s presence, whenever he comes to visit Jimin on his break in the gardens or brings them watermelon from the big house for a snack (though when Yoongi hungrily scarfs down a few pieces Jimin does see a small smile play at the edge of Taehyung’s mouth)

- Jimin never catches any sort of aggressive behavior or meanness from Yoongi beyond a roll of his eyes at those who quiet when he walks by, turning to Jimin so that he can see.

- Jimin decides after the second day that he dosent mind yoongi at all. his presence is comforting even next to Jimin in the dirt, help you dig holes for sprouts and seeds. Jimin holding the latter when Yoongi goes up to check on one of the peach trees (you have a full orchard tucked back into the side of the property- accessible only by walking through the woods and Jimin can’t wait for summer when the fruit is ready if fresh peaches taste anything like the canned kind that Jimin is used to- he thinks he’ll like them).

- But Jimin does see Yoongi’s shoulders tense and his hands tighten a little at times, especially when he sees the other hybrids engaging in leisurely time. Jimin sees Yoongi’s yearning look at the dog hybrids throwing a Frisbee in the empty field between the barn and the main house when they call for Jimin to join, or the cat hybrids grooming each other in the shade all cuddled up or the pair of tiger hybrids stretched out nuzzling into the grasses and flowers.

- Jimin figures the hybrid must be lonely, and he can’t blame him, being surrounded by a community like this and somehow set apart from it doesn’t sound nice at all. Sometimes Jimin wants to reach out and tug a stick out of the elders hair- but even you seem to be careful not to be physically affectionate with the snake hybrid, and Jimin has seen you scratch the ears or hug just about every hybrid that lives at the farm.

- Jimin doesn’t realize Yoongi’s caginess might be for a deeper reason until Jimin accidentally touches him.

- It’s a hot day and you’ve just gone inside to get all three of you some sweet tea from the pitcher, and He swears he was just asking for a shovel. Jimin had accidentally touched his arm. His fingers ghosting over the line of dark scales gently. And before jimin had realized his misstep- Yoongi had started shaking so violently.

- His hands clenched and his shoulders quivering- shivering. Looking strange in the heat of midday and the too-bright slant of the noon sun. Jimin has seen Yoongi shiver in the slightest breeze before, but this, this is so much more than that. And it’s hot, but Yoongi doesn’t look like he’s sweating at all which almost seems more dangerous.

- “Hyung? Are you okay? Hyung?” he gets nothing in response- not a small shake of his head or eye contact, just Yoongi’s unfocused gaze, little huffs of breath coming out from his clenched teeth.

- Jimin didn’t think- just ran to get Namjoon, working in the field closest to them, almost falling after he heaves himself over the fence. Namjoon is already running to meet him when he’d heard the younger shouting his name. Looking panicked- Jimin can barely get the words out, “it’s Yoongi he’s- I think he’s having a panic attack or going into shock or-”

- “Take me to him Jimin,” Namjoon says dropping his shovel and easily keeping pace with Jimin as they dash back to the vegetable garden. Namjoon steadying Jimin with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt when his foot hits a divot in the ground and he almost trips.

- They find Yoongi in the same spot, still quivering like a willow in a thunderstorm. At the sound of his name coming from Namjoon’s lips, Yoongi sharply looks up, his eyes focusing after a moment before they go hazy again and he starts to cry in Ernest.

- Namjoon had quietly led Yoongi back inside the house, you set the pitcher on the table hard enough that the dark tea spills over the side when you see Yoongi and namjoon in the doorway, the elder hybrid sagging when he sees you, his knees weak. You say his name, and Yoongi’s eyes focus again, You don’t touch Yoongi. You’re very clear and careful with your intent grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve before you tug him, speaking in a low voice and guiding him up to the second floor and back to his room- probably the direction of the shower to cool off.

- Namjoon puts a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, smoothing it over the back of his neck. “Jimin- hey pup- it’s fine” Jimin looks up at Namjoon, panicked and imploring, tears in his own eyes and adrenaline in his system for the first time in weeks. Fuck- he’d forgotten how terrible it felt to be afraid “I didn’t mean to trigger him I swear-“

- “Jimin- it’s okay, Yoongi will be fine he just probably needs to sleep and to cool down a little, it probably wasn’t even your fault- we should have known this would happen on such a hot day.”

- Namjoon’s voice is honeyed and soft, expression torn as he looks down at Jimin from the upper step. “This just happens to him Jimin, it’s not your fault.” Namjoon reaches up to thumb away a tear on Jimin's cheek that he hadn’t realized he’d let out.

- it shocks him almost more than the sudden affection does. Enough that he lets out a low whine. Not knowing what to do with his hands until they close around the hem of namjoon’s flannel, jerking the larger hybrid towards Jimin, making his pine scent settle over Jimin like a comforting blanket - strong and alpha and everything Jimin wants to press himself into-

- A cat hybrid bustles through the entryway carrying a crate full of something- headed for the basement refrigerators, and Namjoon straightens, his mask of careful control back in place- (like it always does, Jimin thinks a little sourly) as Jimin steps away and shakes off. Jimin wonders if he had dreamed up the brief heavy look in his face or if it had never been there at all.

- Both of them hear the sound of you upstairs, lingering “Do you want me to stay?” a pause, and then you continue, “okay, I’ll come to check on you later- don’t turn the shower on too cold or else you’ll go into shock okay Yoon?”

- If Jimin did know any better (and he certainly knows better) he would have mistaken Namjoon’s look for the same one he gives you when you reappear at the top of the stairs, Namjoon and Jimin spill onto the landing to make room for you. Namjoon’s hand hovers on your arm, tugging you in close for a moment, he can audibly hear the swallow you let out as Namjoon buries his face in your shoulder, tension locked in every muscle of his body until he exhales.

- “I’ll help you with the garden for the rest of the day just let me grab my hat Jimin.” You say, smiling at him, but Jimin can see the clenched worry in the set of your mouth. Namjoon gives your retreating form a withering look and he tells Jimin under his breath, “make sure she rests when she gets tired okay?” Namjoon asks, to which Jimin nods, his tail swishing between his legs. “I heard that!” you shout from what must be your and Namjoon’s room.

- You and Jimin spend the rest of the day watering the cutting garden, and Jimin finds himself asking you what kind of plants these ones are. They’re large and pretty. A little ruffly and torn looking but beautiful none the less with a strong floral scent that sort of reminds him of how you smell. Jimin likes them, especially the light pink ones that are the same color as the blushing sky.

- “We planted these for a local florist, they’re called peonies, and those are dahlias,” you say, pressing your face into one, the soft petals brushing against your cheeks as you rub your face into one, and Jimin feels his heart flutter like a butterfly. “hang on- you’ve got a little” he brushes away the Pollen on your cheek, “Thanks Minnie”

- Minnie- the butterflies in his heart flutter harder- probably causeing a tornado somewhere elce. He hides his blush by turning away to snip off some of the dying leaves with his scissors, trying to slow the thundering pace of his heart.

- Later that evening when the skin is purple-tinted dark blue, you stand in the cutting garden with Namjoon. Armed with a pair of scissors you snip the most beautiful blooms. Though it will be a few more days till you drive another shipment into town to the florist and you know the few blooms you take won’t be missed.

- “What are you doing?” Namjoon asks, taking the fist-sized blooms from you as you cut more. “Just making someone happy.” You say, And Namjoon just shakes his head. He knows what you’re talking about and who you're picking them for, And it might be for the puppy who always picks a wild cosmos and puts it on the strap of his sun hat, and looks at the two of you like he wants to be affectionate or dote on, but might not know-how.

- “He hasn’t had an easy day has he,” Namjoon says, voice low, you shake your head, because no- Jimin hasn’t and you’re only trying to make him a little happier. He seemed a little too shaken after the incident with Yoongi. a small act of kindness goes a long way.

- He finds them the next day shortly after breakfast, about to change into a pair of shorts so that he can swim in the stream with Taehyung and some of his other bunkmates before work starts. He finds the pink, white, and purple blooms stuffed into a jam jar on the small side table next to his bed. Blushing as his fingers skim over the edge. Unable to handle the sudden rush of hope and affection because he knows- he knows these must be from you- but he can’t imagine why you’d left them for him to find.

- “Someones got a secret admierer~” Taehyung teases with a sing song voice from where he changes- almost tripping as he steps into his red swim trunks. Jimin blushes and tries not to let him see.

- But when he really thinks about it- all he wonders is why. He’d hurt Yoongi yesterday- Someone who seemed special to you. He’d been half-expecting you to punish him at some point- not reward him with these flowers that he gets to look at when he falls asleep. Jimin hugs his pillow to his chest and lets the scent of you (because yes- you do smell like peonies) lul him into sleep.

- Yoongi appears by the middle of the next day to help Jimin twine up the lines of peas. Yoongi looks no worse for wear, if not for the bags under his eyes that seem a little shadowed, the elder doesn’t look like he’s gotten a wink.

- (Later- when you break for lunch- you and Jimin find Yoongi asleep underneath the shade of one of the oak trees that border the vegetable garden, His sun hat pulled low over his face to shield his eyes from the sun, and decide it’s better if you let him be for the rest of the day)

- Jimin is so puzzled by the flowers that he asks Yoongi about them. But the elder pauses, and shakes his head, making an X with his hands. And points to the other side of the garden where you stand, whistling a little and watering some of the carrots (the few that have managed to avoid the hungry bellies of the bunny hybrids)

- Jimin blushes and swats his hands at Yoongi’s small smirk. Saying “oh shut up!” even as Yoongi rolls his eyes, I didn’t say anything he can almost hear the other say.

- Late that night Jimin wonders what Yoongi’s voice sounds like. Then when the days press on, he starts to doubt that he’ll ever find out. But that's fine, they don’t have to talk to be friends. Not when he comes back from a bathroom break with a glass of water and ice for Yoongi only to find that the elder has filled his discarded sunhat to the brim with sweet Tomatoes and green beans.

- Namjoon makes a brief appearance one day to lug in a few bags of mulch in your private garden. Eyeing Jimin and Yoongi in the field, as Jimin points energetically to a small bright blue bird that seems very interested in some of the pees. neither of them makes to scare the bird off or pounce like a cat hybrid might, merely straightening up to watch, still as to not startle it, as it twitters and is joined by another bright blue bird and then two more.

- they fly away, and Jimin shouts excitedly and hops over to the fence, stoops to pick up a tiny bright blue feather. Jimin chats animatedly to Yoongi, who doesn’t respond but holds it up to the sky to compare the color. Both of them leaning around the light to see it, their straw hats bumping into each other.

- Jimin must ask Yoongi because he’s dropping the feather into his hand and tilting his head down so that Yoongi can stick the blue feather into Jimin's hat, right in-between an orange snapdragon and a dried pink clover.

- Namjoon sees the smile tugging at Yoongi’s lips and feels deep satisfaction. Later that night, curled up in your bed with your form propped up on many pillows, Namjoon tells you that you made the right decision to try and push Jimin and Yoongi to be friends. He’s gotten so much better; less twitchy and easy to startle. Both of them have really. They’re good for each other.

- you fall asleep with a soft smile on your face, cheek pillowed against the soft cream bedspread. Namjoon nuzzles his face into your stomach, resting his cheek below your breasts as you sleep on. You’re so used to his movements next to you that you barely startle. “Things are complicated little one,” he murmurs to the bump.

- Pressing a kiss to it through your large sleeping shirt (an old one of his) one of namjoon’s large work-roughened hands smoothing over it. “Only a few months now and you’ll be here. I can’t wait to meet you but I’m also scared.” He shakes a little as he thinks about it- about being a dad, about being parents with you.

- And then he thinks of the others, “We’re both going to need so much help, but I think you’ll like them too.”

- after he showers and before dinner time Jimin helps you and the few other hybrids set up the long table in the largest barn that serves as the dining room for all of the hybrids. As you hand out napkins, More than one of them asks you to get off your feet.

- He spends dinner on Namjoon’s left side and you on the other side and Yoongi next to you. The hybrid files in after everyone has already started at the line for the buffet of food. Keeping his head ducked and making himself as small as possible. Jimin tries to catch his eyes in hello but doesn’t manage too.

- - As April fades into may, Jimin starts to feel disconcerting comfortableness slip under his bones, the day’s aren’t exactly the same, but they do become familiar. And it doesn’t comfort him- it just makes Jimin anxious. the planting comes to an end, and the three of you find yourselves coming in earlier especially once it starts to get hotter. Because of the absence of work, Jimin often finds himself wandering the property without a task.

- The less work there is to do in the gardens, the more he looks to find something that will occupy him- any way to contribute more. He keeps helping during dinner time, to set out the tables and the dishes. And goes back and forth to the house to get anything he might need, unable to sit down until everything is done, even then, he barely gets a few bites in before he’s standing up to help bring the dirty dishes back to the house.

- You notice, Namjoon does too but you both quickly get dragged off to deal with another call that you’ve gotten to pick up another hybrid. And though Jimin might be hungry when he goes to sleep, it’s worth it to stay up to watch your car lights pull back up the long road to the main house. The anxiety in his chest is abated enough to where he doesn’t feel the hunger.

- That might be a bit of a lie, but really, he was hungry for so many years that he doesn’t mind.

- the presence of a new hybrid makes it worse. It’s the first house call you’d made since Jimin- thought you tell him that it hadn’t really been a house call at all. The locals in a beach town had seen a stray here and there lingering in the lagoon and the ocean waters.

- The otter hybrid named Hoseok looks like he’s been living on his own for a number of years. He’s Grubby, his hair overgrown but cut short by your hand in your kitchen the next day. And though he leans away from your hand when you try to touch his head, he eventually relaxes under your calm soothing voice, “That’s a good boy, there we go- now you look all clean and pretty!”

- “You think I’m pretty?” the otter hybrid has the Gaul to ask- shy- his eyes wide, and Jimin’s blood wants to boil. He sits with Yoongi at the prep table, helping the cat hybrids de-stem some of the peas and early spring greens that they’d harvested from the garden, and he almost nicks his hand on the knife he’s using. Next to him, Yoongi makes a noise and gestures at him to hand the knife over, he can see the scolding look on his face, “be more careful”

- He’s bubbly and happy after the first day, his little curved ears cooed at by the cat hybrids in the kitchen. Everyone likes Hoseok, Jimin should like Hoseok- but he can’t help but feel a little jealous at how he immediately fits in. He finds his place the first day when Jimin and Namjoon take him to see the sheep and other farm animals, immediately taking an interest in the thick skeen of bright red wool that Seokjin was hanging out to dry,

- The alpaca hybrid turns bright pink when he first sees Hoseok, all the way from his dye stained hands to the tips of his white ears. Jimin can hear the nervousness in the way he says “you can stay as long as you want- all day- it would be nice to have some company” which is funny because seokjin hates company- likes to be left alone with his radio and his pets.

- “Of course!” the otter says, ears flicking rapidly in happiness in his shiny curly hair, “can you show me how you dye the wool?” Jimin hasn’t ever heard the alpaca hybrid say so many words at once.

- Jimin wishes he didn’t feel jealous.

- But he realizes- as one of the cat hybrids comes to asks him which of the herbs in the garden are which, and finds that he does know how to differentiate between the different kinds- At least he’s earned his place here, for a little while he can pretend that he belongs here. He feels a little dizzy like he used too, unsteady with the pounding in his chest- he gets startled over the littlest things, Yoongi standing up too quick next to him or Taehyung’s loud laugh when he walks into the bunkroom.

- The next stage of his anxiety makes him annoyed, his will power worn down by his own inability to relax. He snaps at one of the bunny hybrids after she drops his clothes after they were freshly laundered, ignoring her apology when she drops it.

- He helps the cat hybrids who work in the kitchen making dinner one night and growls when they keep thanking him for staying “Jesus it’s nothing please drop it” and then immediately feels guilty afterward.

- He can’t be this way, Needs to stop being so easily irritable and taciturn. he remembers what his other bunkmates had said on The first day: Namjoon will throw anyone out who makes problems. Jimin dosent want to leave, can’t help the thudding breathlessness that fills his chest when he thinks about the possibility.

- He knows that Namjoon likes him, it’s the only fact that logically makes sense: that he acts differently around Jimin than the others. But he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn't really know for sure. And once the thought has fit its self into Jimin's head he can’t shake away the lingering feelings of dread- like he’s going to somehow lose his place here and have to leave.

- Jimin starts to gather snacks here and there, shoving them into the drawer of his side table, just in case so he has some when he gets thrown out of the farm.

- He even snaps at Yoongi at one point, when he splashes Jimin's feet accidentally with a hose, he grumbles and heads off towards the cutting garden mumbling about something that he needs to check, sequestering himself there for the rest of the day crumpling dried peony leaves in his fist. He misses the pregnant look that Yoongi shoots you- a worry you return.

- You can tell something’s wrong with Jimin- there isn’t any other reason why he’s suddenly started to withdraw from all of you. No longer lingering as much over the flowers and the fruits of your labor in the garden.

- You and Namjoon talk about it one morning after breakfast. Watching where Jimin’s sat on the grassy hill waiting for you and Yoongi to come out. Usually, he’d wait inside or sit on the steps but he hasn’t lately. You watch from the back of the house, looking out the window at him. Namjoons arms clasped around your middle. “Is it bad to assume that he’ll come to us if he wants to talk?” you ask Namjoon.“There's something wrong and I feel like I’ll just make him feel attacked if I ask”

- Namjoon looks conflicted, his fingers playing with yours, lacing and unlacing- your hands are so small His rough callouses feel good against your skin- rough in a nice way. “I’m worried too- but I think- maybe everything here has gotten to be too much for him, you know how overwhelmed he got in the first few days, maybe he just needs distance.” You nod against his shoulder, and though neither of you likes it. You think it’s what Jimin needs.

- It’s not really, so much of what's bound to happen could have been fixed by a little more care on your part- and you’ll never make the same mistake of leaving Jimin alone again.

- Over the next few days, Jimin can feel himself getting more and more annoyed- but he can’t for the life of him figure out why. He sequesters himself on the other side of the cutting garden trying to find some comfort in the flowers. But the peony rings just won't stay upright, the Dalia stakes too, and the daisy poles, the green garden twine won't stay tight in Jimin’s shaking fingers.

- Nothing feels right, he feels listless, skin feels itchy laying over the bit of pudge, he’s gotten since he came here and started eating 2 square meals and snacks every day. The tensegrity over his bones, never quite able to stretch, out the hot sun on his back. He feels sharp, his mind teetering on the edge of something he dosent understand.

- And like an idiot, he tries to ignore it.

- Jimin gets to his breaking point a day later- when you finally turn in from outside. It’s hot, and Jimin feels overheated and sticky with sweat, but he doesn't feel like he can leave yet and take a shower like he so desperately wants. One of the hybrids gave him a weird look when he was showering mid-day yesterday and he’d like to avoid that again if he can.

- Most of the hybrids wait until after dinner to shower but Jimin didn’t want to deal with vying for hot water. It was just another thing that made him frustrated. And he’s unsure if he’s more frustrated at the hybrid or at himself for making another social miss-step.

- It hits him there in your kitchen the reason why he’s so frustrated. He’s been here for a little over a month now and still- still he dosent understand the rules, the socal rules are still escaping him just as much the physical ones. In his old home- he got a shower whenever time allowed it- here it was seen as lazy to take one before the day’s work was truly done.

- There is sweat dripping down his back even as you get both him and Yoongi a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the table. “Do you want some watermelon?” Jimin shakes his head, unsure why he’s refusing when hunger aches in his belly. But someone else might want the watermelon on the table, someone else might need it so Jimin can’t have it- can’t intrude any more than he already does. He might break another fucking rule- it’s better, isn’t it? to just not take up space and resources when he can avoid it.

- “I could reheat some of the food from this morning if you’d rather have that? or we could make something else before dinner?” you proffer, washing your hands in the sink, running over them with the brush to get the dirt out from under your nails.

- “No you don’t have to” he answers too quickly. You let the silence sit for a moment before you’re turning to Jimin, And he feels something that feels suspiciously like fear spark and itch underneath his skin. You look a little put-out, biting on your lower lip and for some reason it makes him feel even worse. Which doesn’t make any sense-

- Why would you be upset that you can’t help a dumb puppy like Jimin? who can barely garden right let alone do anything like a normal fucking non-damaged hybrid could do. He’s not Namjoon, gorgeous tall and capable Namjoon, or even like Yoongi who doesn't even talk but finds himself more needed than even Jimin- the most replicable hybrid on the farm.

- Why does he feel like he needs to placate you- why don’t you just fucking get it already. You dry your hand on a towel and lean back against the sink. Jimin takes a deep sip of the ice water but finds it makes him feel sick. “What’s wrong?” you proffer gentle and kind.

- “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, he sets the water down too hard and he tries to turn away but you don’t let him, grabbing his wrist. “Jimin,” you say, and he doesn’t know if it’s a plead or a command from you. Maybe if you did command him Jimin would understand better, would know what you wanted better than all of this- all of this assuming that drives him crazy.

- He rolls his wrist out of your grip, suddenly whirling around, his voice a growl. “Would you just leave it- fuck- I’m fine,” Jimin can hear dimly, the footsteps above which must be Yoongi. Pausing and then rushing when he hears Jimin’s elevated voice.

- You pause for a moment, picking your words carefully “Jimin, you don’t seem okay- I know something’s been bothering you. Come talk to me about it, tell me about it,” Jimin’s scoff feels acrid in his lungs. “No thanks, don’t want to feel like more of a burden than I already am.”

- You recoil- shocked “Jimin what? you really think that? you’re not at all! please don’t think that, don’t think that you’re a burden! We love you- we care about you- we’re just worried”

- Jimin shakes his head, angry, he’s not even sure why he’s fucking angry, “You don’t love me” Maybe it’s the frustration, the frustration at all the heavy looks and all the kindness- none of which Jimin knows how to interpret or how to decipher.

- He dosent know why he said it- even though deep down he’s sure it’s true. He knows you love him. And suddenly the words are spilling out of him along with all of the fear and anxiety and petty anger. Even though deep down Jimin knows that he really doesn’t have anything to be angry about

- “I hate when you walk on eggshells like I’m going to go fucking awol because I can’t fucking adjust to living like this- and then go on treating me with so much affection like I fucking deserve it.”

- “Jimin- you’re not- we don’t walk on eggshells around you because we want to keep you far away, we do it because we want you to feel comfortable, we don’t want to force anything on you-”

- “Force me to do what? Force me to help out even if not doing so would make me a freeloader, but if I help too much then- it sets me apart and I just don’t fit in- I’m not even like apart of everything here- when I’m fucking suffocating under what no one says- no one tells me. So what? What can you possibly say that will help? That won’t hurt?”

- For once, you fall silent. Your hands drop, and Jimin feels the guilt swell up, strengthening to a crescendo before he falls falls falls and has nothing but the anger to comfort him, even as tears cloud his vision.

- “You treat me like this- like I’m fucking worth anything at all and it drives me crazy- I’m not like you- You ask me to confide in you but you wouldn’t fucking understand if I tried- I’m the fucking dregs of what anyone wants and I’m never going to be like the others- I’ve already fallen too far behind and you might as well give up-”

- “Jimin” its Namjoon at the door, his voice full of caution, not anger- Jimin expects anger but when he looks up all he sees in Namjoon biting his lower lip and looking like he’s about to cry. He reaches out to try and touch him but Jimin flinches back, namjoon freezes, eyes wide and worried. Jimin’s tail drops low, and he pushes past Namjoon without a second thought, leaving you there- you let out a strangled aborted noise in your throat.

- His beat-up second-hand shoes thud against the wooden steps and the adrenaline is still firing in his system telling him to get away from you. Namjoon calls his name and he breaks out into a run across the field, his ankles almost failing when he stumbles in some of the holes. The tears in his eyes burning as he runs and runs and runs.

- I’m never going to be like them, I’m too damaged for a life like this, I’m never going to understand how to function because- because I wasn’t raised like them. And it’s too late to learn- it’s too late for the life he wants- even though he never wanted it until they showed him what life could be like.

- Jimin feels terribly alone.

- Taehyung finally finds Jimin in the paddocks, deep in the barn with a baby lamb in his lap. It’s little soft pink and white body sitting in Jimin’s lap. Docile at his pets even as the hybrid sniffles, nibbling cutely at his fingers. He puts a hand on Namjoon’s arm, wordlessly telling him to stay behind with Seokjin. “Thanks for getting us Jin” Jimin hears him whisper. Even if he dosent sit up or stand to acknowledge his bunkmate's presence.

- “That looks a little nasty,” Taehyung says, gesturing at Jimin’s hand. He’d fallen on his mad run, his knuckles grazing the ground. And they’re a little bloody and dirty. It’s not that bad though- Jimin has felt worse pain.

- “You want to talk about it yet?”

- “No,” Jimin says too quickly, worried that Taehyung would leave and also- that he would stay. “But I think I should?” The little lamb seems to tire of Jimin’s restless pets and migrates over to Taehyungs lap. “Where were you before you came here Tae?” in all his weeks at the farm Jimin has never asked Taehyung about his own origin story. But the hybrid dosent look surprised or unwilling. The lamb lets out a little bleat.

- “You know the story probably, its the same one a lot of us rare breeds have- rich family- bought me as a present for their youngest son- never knew my parents, you know- the classic hybrid trifecta of angst”

- “I didn’t know my parents either,” they shift to sit back against the wall of the barn. “How did you end up here?”

- “He wasn’t always violent, but by the time his parents realized it had gotten out of hand, they barely cared he was hurting me only that I bit him back- they didn’t tolerate it and sold me to a circus.” Taehyung gets a faraway look in his eyes.

-“I refused to perform, and they put me out in the sun without food or water until I agreed, I escaped within the first week, they didn’t realize that the chain was rusty enough for a hybrid to break.” Tae’s softness has always been disarming, but Jimin has also seen the bear hybrid lift 50-pound bags of flour like they weighed nothing.

- Jimin thinks about his next words carefully, “Do you ever, think it would have been better if you stayed? sometimes I think I deserved it.” Taehyung’s inhale is jagged- “No- Jimin- you shouldn’t- you didn’t deserve what you got I promise you”

- Jimin looks down and tries not to feel upset because- he feels like he deserved it even if Taehyung is telling him he didn’t. The bear hybrid has never lied to him and maybe, just maybe Jimin didn't- maybe he really hadn’t deserved it.

- “I don’t miss it not really- but- sometimes I think- my body does or maybe my head? It’s hard to explain.” Jimin knows Taehyung is trying. Tae puts his arm around Jimin’s shoulder, his wide hands rubbing up and down Jimin’s spine. Jimin tucks his face close to his knees and lets Tae touch him. The repetitive pets feel nice.

- “Why do I feel so scared Tae? Why is everything so hard? why do I feel like I don’t deserve anything good? There are so many things that I don’t understand or don’t know- so many things I never even knew I didn’t know.”

- “I think I might know someone who understands how you’re feeling Minnie.”

- Jimin tries to turn away when Taehyung leads him up to the front porch where you sit with Yoongi, but his hand is strong on the back of Jimin’s neck. Jimin is a little startled to see Yoongi’s hand withdraw from yours quickly. “It’s okay Yoongi, wanna give us a minute?” you say, standing along with him as Jimin rises on the steps, hands clenched by his side.

- Neither of you talks, Jimin can’t look up to meet your eyes. Taehyung and Yoongi sigh at the same time. “I left some of my beekeeping gear down at the bottom of the hill- if you help me carry it up I’ll give you some honey?” Yoongi scoffs but shows a small smile as Tae turns and starts off with him down the hill. Yoongi sends Jimin a single pitying glance before he does.

- “I think the squash is probably done cooking by now, Come inside.” The ground floor of the farmhouse is empty but filled with a mild sweet scent. All of the other vegetables are already set out, The carrot, celery, And onion already chopped. It doesn't look like there's enough to feed the whole farm and Jimin is about to ask when you clarify. “I thought it would be better if we all ate together tonight, and this soup is a little specialty of mine.”

- You go to the cellar door and opening it. “Go downstairs, look at the floor- and tell me what you see.” Jimin listens- he’s always been good at following instructions.

- The cellar smells musty and cold he’s careful not to trip over the extension cords that wind down the stairs, the industrial-sized freezers and refrigerators hum and buzz. There is a barely-there stain in the concrete, rust-colored, fading like someone had tried to wash it away but hadn’t been able to it.

- “Why is there a bloodstain on your floor?” Jimin says as he comes up the stairs, taking them two at a time. You're just stirring vegetables in the pan. “iI’s mine,” you say, turning the heat down and covering it. Jimin's breath catches. You start fiddling with the other burner, “You’re not the only one who's been through some shit Jimin,”

-“Who hurt you- when.” Yimin pulls out a place for you at the prep table and you make a noise when you see his bloody hand, “my late husband,” Jimin's eyes hover on your stomach for a second before you flinch, turning away to retrieve the first aid kit from below the sink.

- “Why did he hurt you?” Jimin asks as you pull his hand close to you to rest on the table, carefully and gently dabbing at the broken skin with a cool cloth to clear away the dirt. You’re so gentle that It barely stings. A lock of hair falls in front of your face, and Jimin reaches across the table to tuck it behind your ear.

- “Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe some people are made rotten- maybe it’s easier to hurt others than hurt- but regardless- I hate him- hated him- But I also loved him at one point. And I think- until Namjoon came- I honestly was dependent on his approval, did you feel dependent on your old owner?”

- “Every day. I don’t miss him- I hate him too- but” Jimin’s hands are shaking when he looks down at them. ou steady them a little- rubbing ointment into the scrapes “I think that I miss understanding everything that was going to happen, knowing what my purpose was.”

- Your face is shadowed and dark as you keep working- you might not be able to fix Jimin’s mind- but you can help this- the wounds on his body that ache in time with the pulse of his heart. “People like us- we miss abuse because we get dependent on it- because it ran your life and now- you can’t make any choices without-”

- “Without thinking you’re making the wrong one because choices have consequences and now they don’t- not really- not in the same way. It was like that for you too?” you nod, starting putting bandaids across Jimin’s knuckles. The onions in the pan smell good and start to sizzle. Jimin is almost breathless when he asks- cuz now you’ve helped him put it together he needs to know “How did you get out- how did you learn?”

-“Namjoon was really patient with me, he gave me what I needed without letting me fall back into the cycle- I’m lucky to have him.” We’re lucky to have you, he wants to say, he’s never heard of a human who had been through the kind of abuse that hybrids do. But he thinks that maybe it would be wrong to say especially after the words he’d shouted at you. He winces, and you look up from his hand worried you’d hurt him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier- you didn’t deserve it.”

- You shrug, “We’ve been expecting you to be okay- and I’m sorry- I should have been more communicative. It’s kinda been a hard transition for you and I should have been there to help more.”

- “Why does doing what I want not feel free all the time? Why do the choices make me feel like im suffocating?”

- “Because if you don’t have a choice- you can’t make a wrong move.

- “Did you know- neither Namjoon or I can go into that basement without having a panic attack? There are other things too- like if something comes at his face too quick he growls- even if it's me. The smell of motor oil makes him feel sick and I still have nightmares- We’re still learning. The people we love don’t negate our trauma, but it helps at least when they try to understand it with us.”

- You set the last bandaid over his nuckles, and he reaches out to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. You take his hand and lift it to your mouth all of the scrapes covered. You press a kiss to each bandaid and Jimin feels like he’s going to cry for a whole different reason- he feels so undeserving of your care and of your affection, especially after today.

- “I want to help you Jimin- I care about you too much not to try and make you happy,” Jimin can’t argue- not like he did before when he was too anxious not to perceive anything close to him as an attack. “What do you want? There are no wrong answers”

-“I want-” before he can answer, Namjoon and Yoongi walk through the door, the younger hybrid prattling to yoongi about the restorations currenly underway at once of the little chicken coops on the sothern edge- and then he looks back at you- your face a little tired, but truly truly imploring, Jimin feels a strange kind of acrid black hope lurch in his belly.

- Both of them smiling softly, Namjoon saying something and Yoongi nodding while makeing a so-so motion with his hands. When Namjoon looks up and sees the two of you sat on the kitchen table his tail wags and then falls still, then wags again when he sees both you and Jimin sitting close. Your hands still tightly clasped in each other.

- “I want to help you cook- can you show me how you make the soup?” Jimin lies. But you don’t catch it, even as you smile at him, and reach your hand up to touch his ears. Pull gentle scratches over them. “That we can definitely do,” you say. Namjoon and Yoongi don’t look upset with Jimin when they come close, Yoongi opening up the pan on the burner and sniffing the air. making a pleased noise in the back of his throat, “squash soup” you clarify and Yoongi smiles.

- Namjoon lifts Jimin’s hand up for inspection, “You okay?” Namjoon asks, his tail hanging low, he doesn't like to see the younger hurt- doesn't like the shyness lingering. “No,” Jimin says quietly, “But I will be,”

- Namjoon pulls him up with a whine, scent-marking along Jimin's shoulder- the other hybrid freezes and then whines when Namjoon’s scent puffs up fanning out to comfort Jimin. The other hybrid is so much larger than him, he makes Jimin feel so small. Namjoon’s hands on both of his shoulders holding him still. Jimin is breathless even after Namjoon pulls away with a faint blush on his cheeks- because Jimin- Jimin smells like Namjoon now.

- Every hybrid is going to know what Namjoon did that when he walks out. And it’s intimate- so intimate- because hybrids the only scent mark each other when they- Jimin's breath catches in his throat- when they belong to the same pack.

- That means Namjoon wants Jimin to belong here.

- “Can I-” Jimin knows his face is bright red, “Do me?” Namjoon proffers, and though Namjoon has to stoop for Jimin to rub his cheek all over Namjoon he does and looks happy, his dimples poking out.

- “What do I smell like?” Jimin asks, because honestly- he’s never known- never had another hybrid scent mark him. “Something flowery but more like- citrusy?” Namjoon says, taking in a deep breath at Jimin’s throat that makes a shiver run down his spine.

- Yoongi makes a noise and holds out a lemon- tapping it for a moment and nodding sagely, The visual makes you all giggle. You smile too, “What do I smell like?”

- “Flowers,” Namjoon says instantly, at the same time Jimin says, “Peonies... and cream?” Namjoon blushes- gesturing at your stomach, “that wasn’t there before- yeah” his dimples are so pronounced when he absently rubs a hand over your bump, You can't resist getting up on your tippy-toes to peck them.

- Jimin learns that even though he had asked you to teach him how to make butternut squash soup, that didn’t mean you were going to let him do any of the work involved. You explain how to do everything sure- but Jimin is banished to sit at the table with namjoon and watch.

- You and Yoongi cook, dancing around each other in a dance that seems almost choreographed. You must cook together often because Yoongi seems to anticipate your movement, handing you a wooden spoon to stir the vegetables.

- Namjoon pulls him back to lean against his chest facing where you cook, Namjoon’s back up against the wall the older hybrid combing his hands through Jimin's hair. Jimin would think it was weird had he not seen countless other hybrids cuddle the same),

- Yoongi brings Jimin spoonfuls which he presses to Jimin's lips and makes him taste. And Jimin wants to yip when the savory tang of the soup hits his tongue, makes a happy grumble as his eyes flutter closed. “Wait- that's so good- how is it so good?” you look happy at his praise.

- When it’s finished, the four of you eat out on the porch. Jimin licks his bowl clean, he catches Yoongi watching him, a small satisfied smile on his mouth, he even gets up and gives Jimin seconds. The warm soup fills his belly like liquid comfort. and after so many bowls he ends up listing to the side, nose pressed to the hard part of your shoulder, lulled further to sleep by the rub of your fingers up and down his skull.

-The kitchen starts to buzz with the noise of dinner preparations but jimin is full and happy, his sun-warmed skin soothed by the dropping temperature. You don't say anything when he starts to cry, his face hidden in your shirt, you just keep running your fingers through his hair scratching his ears. Namjoon and yoongi get up and go upstairs, leaving the two of you to sit side by side.

- No one hears the words you whisper into Jimin's ear, “You’re not broken beyond repair Minnie, help me- help me fix you- tell me what I can do to make things easier for you.”

- Jimin's eyes are half-lidded when he opens them, “Can you just- tell me things? Not order me- I’m not asking for you to like- control me- but I think if you just all told me what you want it would be better- take out the guesswork you know?”

- Jimin is so sleepy Namjoon ends up having to carry him back down to the bunks. his strong hands gripping Jimin under his thighs The smaller hybrid on his back, Jimin’s hands around Namjoon's neck. The younger hybrid nuzzling his nose into Namjoon's shoulder to get more of the pine scent on himself. They pause on the steps. The last thing Jimin is aware of is a puff of your scent and soft lips on his hairline. He wakes up in his bed the next day, his pillows smelling like Namjoon. His bunkmates give him strange looks.

- The next few days are better, and slowly but surely, the anxiety he’d felt dissipates. You give Jimin little moments to latch onto. the Stability of clearly communicated consent. You say “sit next to me” when dinner comes. Yoongi and Tae across from you at the table. “It makes me feel better the more you eat- I like seeing you full and chubby Minnie”

- The other hybrids help too- so you must have told them. Namjoon brings Jimin one of his old button-downs, a thick flannel that smells like the other hybrid. “This is too small on me now- so here- it’s yours.”

“Enjoying your courting gifts? Taehyung teases after he sees Jimin wearing it, making the younger splutter, “this? a courting gift?” Tae shrugs, “that's the only reason why he would give you something of his to wear- and both of us know it the alpha of a pack that initiates the courting.”

- The clearly communicated wants and desires do wonders for his level of comfort. Even Yoongi tries- writes down what he wants on a napkin at dinnertime. I want to help you in your garden today. No offering for Jimin to decline, no wiggling out of it. And slowly, Jimin finds himself becomes more comfortable with his place here.

- You try to keep the satisfied smile off your face when one day you ask Jimin to come up to the house- cuz it’s just too hot today- and he’s struggling to put together a trellis, “one second, I want to finish this before dinner” and he sits up with a jolt- realizing- he’d actually articulated his own wants for once, he’d asserted his own wants into a conversation instead of just- reacting to everyone else's.

- Your satisfied smile warms his heart too, you notice the slow change. jimin beginning to heal. “no- I don’t need that it’s okay” “yes you do jimin just take the fancy soap,”

- “Are you sure it’s okay if i-” “Yes it is I promise.”

- The change is slow but one day, He gets to the point where he can say “Tae and I are going to go try and find some berry patches down by the river so I’m going to meet him after we get done with the ground cherries” without fear

- Jimin takes a bucket and he brings back a quart of wild blueberries. You make blueberry muffins with them while Tae, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin sit at the prep table. Yoongi carefully plucks thorns out of Taehyungs hand as Namjoon tells Jimin that even though Yoongi can cook- you’re the only one in the house that can bake. He even gets a pat on the head for his work and a soft “good boy” from you, and it makes Jimin's heart feel light and blooming like a flower.

- The afternoons stop making him anxious, and after the first few days, he’s inclined to relax rather than go in search of more work. He goes to visit Taehyung by the bee hutches, hovering a few meters away as Taehyung brings him a spoonful of honey. Or if he dosent feel like doing anything at all- he plays cards with you and Yoongi on your back porch, Namjoon too- if he finds out that you’ve all turned in for the day.

- Yoongi always wins during the afternoon card games. Whether it is poker or rummy the snake hybrid comes out on top- even when it’s something like Uno, and the elder will just shuffle the cards again for another round and smile a little, more than he does ever. And the three of you will shout and grumble in dismay when he shows his winning hand, round after round until dinner preparations start to pick up enough for someone to need help.

- One afternoon, you look so sweet in your loose taupe frock, the stretchy material pulled over your belly and your hair free from its fixings spilling over your shoulder Jimin sees the way that Namjoon has his palm placed against your round stomach and can’t stop himself from asking.

- “Can I?” Jimin asks, and you look up from your hand of cards and place them on the table before taking Jimin’s in yours, and oh, your baby bump is warm and soft and surprisingly more solid then Jimin expected. He wasn’t expecting to immediately feel like he was going to burst into tears, but he feels an incredible well of fondness well up in him. It must have something to do with the way that your peony and cream scent seems to tug at his heart like strings on a marionette.

- He wants to lean forward and press a kiss there- or nuzzle it and scent mark it the way he knows Namjoon does- but even that feels like too much. You must know what Jimin is wanting as you look down at him, smiling a little even as he blushes.

- Little does Jimin know that this is nothing particularly new to you, every time Namjoon gets a whiff of your pregnancy hormones- he’s gotten simultaneously possessive and cloudy eyed with protectiveness. Yoongi seems to be the only one who doesn’t have that reaction. But you bet he’s spared that particular embarrassment by his admittedly more human sense of smell.

- The rest of them don’t notice Jimin’s wave of emotions, or at least they pretend to be interested enough in the third round of hearts that you’ve played this evening. Though Jimin does catch a small smile on Namjoon’s face when Jimin scoots closer. Reluctant to let go now that he’s felt the soft pleasure of feeling your baby bump.

- The endorphin response alone has his voice husky, he’s a goner the second you lift your hand up and rub his ears, letting out a whine and putting his cards away- much more interested in begging affection off of you now.

- “How far along are you?” “Around 5 months now I think- nearly 6 now that I think about it.”

- The four of you decide to eat dinner out on the patio instead of joining the others in the barn. The older cat hybrid sees how slumped you are and how you’re near to sleeping on Namjoon’s shoulder, and brings the four of you out dinner plates, much to the thanks of Namjoon and Jimin, Yoongi nods gratefully when she hands over his plate.

- By the time Jimin reluctantly so steers his way back towards the barns, the common room lights have finally turned out. A lone fox hybrid sleeps on the couch in the common room, her head tipped back and the light from the tv blue across her face.

- He goes up to his bunk bed, the other hybrids sleeping soundly around him, perplexed to find his bed disturbed, his pillow gone and his blanket missing from his bed. He figured someone might not have wanted to get up to grab one from the linen closet downstairs, but when he goes down to the ground floor he finds it empty, not uncommon on a cold night like tonight. Jimin’s bare feet are already feeling the brunt of the cold stones, and the cozy but still slightly drafty barn.

- He goes up and notices that the hybrid that shares the bunk to the left is the one that’s taken his blanket. “Hey give it back” Jimin hisses hushed, fighting with the half-asleep hybrid whose eyes still haven’t opened, he’s clutching the extra warmth to his chest. “I need that to sleep” the dog hybrid on the bunk above them grumble and turn over in his sleep.

- Jimin puts a hand on his shoulder to really wake him, The hybrid, a wolf hybrid named Minhyung, wakes up with a start, arms already swinging, his foot kicks out at Jimin’s stomach. The sudden violent reaction tosses him onto the floor with a thump, waking those in the vicinity.

- Jimin tries not to let the stinging feeling invade too much even as his ass goes numb, and he flushes with anger, especially when one of the others whose woken by the brief scramble laughs at Jimin. Minhyung does too, looking barely contrite with half his hair messy and a little bit of drool on his cheek.

- Minhyung smiles showing his teeth. “Thought you’d be warming up that snake boy by now. Have fun sleeping in the cold.” He says, and turns to his side, ignoring Jimin. Jimin tries not to feel ashamed or rejected or any of the other nasty emotions singing in his chest at the indifference of the other hybrids in his bunk.

- A glance at Taehyung’s bunk, the only one who might come to his aid, confirms both that the bear hybrid was the only one without an extra blanket and is also still asleep.

- Jimin doesn’t even stop to think, he just knows that he doesn’t want to stay here on the bed, feeling cold and alone and like everyone in that room hates him. Feeling his head spinning, and his heart thudding erratically, he leaves the bunkroom and the barn and stops just outside. The cold is worse here and he tugs his fluffy cardigan around his shoulders before he starts walking slowly up the hill to the main house.

- The lights on the ground floor are all but turned off, but the glowing he can see in the living space foretells that of a television. He deliberates on the front porch for a second, wondering If he should even bother, momentarily worried that you’ll keep him out in the cold too.

-But he shivers and hopes beyond hope that you won't. And when he knocks on the door it's only a few seconds before he can hear someone get up. It’s not nearly enough time for him to think of a good excuse as to why he can’t sleep in his own bunk.

- It’s Yoongi that answers, bundled up in a pair of very warm flannel pajamas and a sweater, his hair curling against the nape of his neck from a fresh shower. The bright green tartan does wonders for Yoongi’s scales, making the ones on the back of his neck look brilliant even in the half-light of the porch. He’s a little wide-eyed and taken aback by Jimin’s presence, but he waits for Jimin to speak.

- “The others- they-” Jimin’s words fail him at the worse time, throat closing off into a whine, his ears pressed into his skull. “Is it okay if I sleep up here tonight?” Yoongi’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, but he steps aside instantly nonetheless. Jimin slips into the warmth of the house closing the door behind him.

- There is an old fashion black and white movie playing on the tv but Yoongi clicks it off and goes into the ground floor bathroom. Making a noise for Jimin to follow, he rummages around in a drawer and pulls out a toothbrush and a washcloth for Jimin to use to wash his face and leaves Jimin to wash up in peace. And comes back a few minutes later lugging a blanket with too many cords to seem logical.

- Jimin realizes what it is when Yoongi fluffs it out on the couch and a wave of Yoongi’s scent- like the crackle of heat and something that kind of smells a lot like marshmallows fluffs towards him- Yoongi’s scent. Taehyung’s words about courting gifts suddenly ring in his ears.

- “Yoongi, I can’t take one of your heated blankets on the coldest night of the season” Jimin protests. But Yoongi just shakes his head, putting his hand on his chest while keeping eye contact with Jimin meaningfully, then pushing his palm to the floor. jimin takes it to mean “I don’t need it.”

- Yoongi ignores Jimin’s protests and stoops to plug it into a surge protector anyway. The couch, which already has a pillow on it, looks even more inviting now.

- Jimin feels like a broken record uttering thank you after thank you even as Yoongi heads towards the landing, and up to where his room must be in the house, after nodding what must have been a goodnight at Jimin.

- The couch is so comfortable that jimin gets cozy quickly (even if it is a little squishy). His heart feels a little heavy with the events of the day. He’s sure you’ll ask in the morning, and probably Namjoon too. He falls asleep easily, sighing into the warmth of the blanket as it heats up.

- A story above, in the master bathroom, you’re pressing giggles and kisses into Namjoon’s bare chest. “Oh my god - we have to sleep it’s so late,” you already can tell waking up tomorrow at the crack of dawn is going to be brutal, but you can’t help it, Namjoon looks so soft and fluffy. He’s punch drunk and smiley with his hair ruffled at the back from the countless times you’ve tugged on it or ran your fingers through it in the past few hours.

- He nuzzles into your shoulder and hums. A strong arm clung over your waist that draws circles over the spot where your baby bump meets your hip. He pulls you snug against him, always closer- as close as he can physically get you.

- Namjoon whines, he never wants to sleep when it’s you in his bed- or more correctly- him in yours. Though it’s been months since he even thought about sleeping in his old room downstairs, and months since it was unoccupied by Yoongi.

- The only good thing about going to sleep is that he gets to wake up to you. The thought always has him going to sleep like a kid on Christmas, almost too excited to sleep at all. What a dichotomy love was, making you soothed and calm and at the same time too elated to dream at all.

- You try to get out of bed, prompting immediate grabby hands and a low whine that tapers off into a growl from his throat. You're immune to his display of possessiveness, and it only makes him melt into the sheets further. “Oh you big puppy,” you tease happily in response to his whines, Tying your fluffy pink robe around your waist concealing your nakedness as you head downstairs for a glass of water and leave the door open.

- Namjoon whines again with no one to hear and burrows into the warmth you left, getting impatient pretty quickly, kicking his feet a little when he presses his nose to your pillow and gets a particularly strong wif of your scent. his tail thwacking against the covers.

- The ground floor is dark, almost dark enough that you don’t see Jimin asleep on your couch. The blanket all but making him blend in. You only see him when you are already on the way back.

- You’re not exactly surprised to see him asleep on your couch as he hadn’t exactly looked like he wanted to leave earlier but there is something about the tense pull of his eyebrows that tell you there must be some deeper reason why he’s here. Oh well, you’ll find out in the morning, for now, you’ll let him sleep.

- The whining behind you and the sheer familiarity for Namjoon’s body is the thing alone that keeps you from being startled when his arms snake around your waist to rest on your baby bump. Namjoon stills for a second when he sees the figure on the couch. Jimin’s blonde curls puffed against the pillow, his thick lips pouting in his sleep.

- “Yoongi must have let him in.” Namjoon murmurs over your shoulder into your ear, hushed so as to not wake him, you make a noise in the back of your throat in agreement taking in the delicacy’s of Jimin’s face as he sleeps, unable to resist running the back of your hand softly over the top of his cheekbones.

- They’re so much fuller than they used to be you notice appreciatively. Brushing over his puckered lips, finally pushing back the blonde curls at the top of his head and running through his hair a little. Jimin tilts his face up, his cheeks flushed, Plush lips parting in a sigh as he chases your hand, needy for affection even in sleep. His ears twitching in the direction of your movement.

- “He’s so cute” you murmur. Namjoon stifles his laugh in your shoulders. “Yes” he agrees, his hands tugging on your waist, “now stop ogling the pretty pup and come to bed with me.” You grumble something like “you’re ogling too” but let Namjoon pull you back upstairs.

- On the couch, Jimin sleepily opens his eyes to the darkroom, hearing the thud of your retreating footsteps on the creaking steps. unsure of what he just heard was a dream or reality, the tide of sleep quickly pulling him down. The memory of the moment to be lost in his dreams by the next morning.

- When the four of you wake in the morning, it’s too a muffled shriek on your front doorstep. One moment namjoon is asleep curled around you and the next he’s vaulting down the stairs in only his pajama bottoms. Hauling opens the front door, splattering blood everywhere before Jimin can do more than stir and rub at his eyes.

- “Jesus what the fuck!” Jimin cries, rushing to the door while Namjoon blinks, Still half asleep and barely awake. One of the cat hybrids that usually come to cook has fallen back against the steps, disgust roiling in her face, hand against her heart in shock. “I promise it wasn’t me I just- I just was gonna get breakfast early and I came up and it was already there”

- Namjoon turns to the door, touching his face where the blood sticks smearing it against his cheek. Yoongi skitters down the stairs after Namjoon, socked feet sliding on the floor.

- “Fuck-” Namjoon growls out- turning to Yoongi, “don’t- Yoongi you shouldn’t-” Yoongi makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, goes pail, and Jimin makes the split-second decision, turning to him to block his view and asking him to go get a rag from the bathroom to wipe the blood off of Namjoon’s face. Anything to get him away from this.

- You're standing bleary-eyed at the top of the stairs in your Pajamas, “What is it Joon? what's wrong?” None of them knows how to say it, or what to say.

- Its blood has dripped down the blue chipped paint of the door and pooled on the porch beneath- its scales black and pearly just like Yoongi’s.

- On your front door, a dead snake hangs, gutted. It’s head nailed to the wood.

My Kofi

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meltwonu · 4 years

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s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 6]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; oral(female receiving), jihoon’s breeding kink returns, and angst hrhhkjfhk this is a bit of a filler chapter for the next chapter so sorry its a bit shorter! 🥴🥺💕 i love u

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - x - x - x - x

When you wake up the next morning, there’s an obvious soreness that you feel between your legs.

But what you also feel is Jihoon under the sheets, cheek nuzzling against your thigh as his fingertips move towards the edge of your panties.

“Ji--Jihoon…?” Your voice is laced with sleepiness as you sit up on your elbows, watching his form shifting around underneath the bed sheets. “Wh--what are you doing?”

“Mm...nothin’...” His fingers tease around the hem of your panties as a spike of arousal shoots through your body. “Jihoon this… doesn’t seem like nothing.” There’s a soft chuckle before he sits up, taking the sheets with him as he becomes visible to your eyes. His hair is sticking out in every direction as he smiles at you.

“I just wanted to… treat you a ‘lil bit, is all.” There’s a blush on your cheeks when he leans back down, spreading your legs ever so slightly before he repositions himself back to where he was. “I think I was too rough on you last night.”

“Um.. I mean…”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” No, quite the opposite actually. He looks up at you before his eyes travel all over your body to see the marks he left; lips pouting as his brows furrow in concern. “I really didn’t mean to, it’s just, it’s probably just an instinct thing? Snakes don’t really have mates or anything but since you’re technically my owner, I probably---”

“Jihoon, stop! Don’t… use that term. I don’t like it. I don’t want you to think of me like that, okay? We’re equals in this house so… you don’t need to refer to me as your owner.” He nods shyly, a complete 180 of himself from the night previous.

“I dunno, I’m sorry, I’m just… I’ve never been possessive like that, I think, but I didn’t like it when you smelled like Chan and I think I just…” Jihoon trails off, too shy to meet your glance this time. “You’re not mad about it are you?”

“Jihoon, no.. Although, I will ask, are you gonna be like that every time another hybrid is around?”

There’s a visible clench in his jaw as he leans closer to your clothed mound, tongue peeking out as he presses his tongue against you through the material of your panties. A shiver runs up your spine when he does, body still sensitive from last night. “I don’t know. Are you trying to find out?” His voice is muffled against you; immediately going back to licking at you over your panties until it sticks to you like a second skin.

You let him do what he wants, laying back down as you spread your legs for him on your own. You relax into his touch, soft sleepy moans leaving your lips as you watch him through heavy lids. His tongue presses into you clit, the material of your panties adding extra friction as you exhale shakily. “Jihoon…”

He stops for a moment, eyes glancing up at you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah just… I’m still really sensitive…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no…” Jihoon’s fingers caress your thighs, lips flitting over your skin as he kisses a love bite he’d left behind. “I’ll do all the work. Just want you to cum for me.”

Jihoon makes you feel warm and fuzzy, hands soft against your skin as he continues to lick you through the soaked material. He’s in no rush, building up your arousal as slowly as he can as you tangle your own hands into the sheets under you. And you can’t tell if your body is just that sensitive but you already feel so breathless; hips raising off the sheets slightly to grind against his tongue.

“Jihoon… Jihoon…” He hums against you, the vibrations making you shiver. You can feel yourself already close to cumming and all he’d done was lick you through your panties. “I… ah..” A sob rolls off your tongue in the next minute, toes curling against the sheets as you cum. You can feel your entire body shaking; Jihoon’s hands keeping you grounded as he works you through your high.

When he feels your body finally start to relax, he sits up, flashing you a smile before he shuffles to the spot next to you.

“Let’s sleep a little longer and then we can have breakfast?”

Breakfast actually means lunch at 1PM and he follows up the meal with another session on the sofa.

“Ngh, J--Jihoon…” You ride him reverse cowgirl on the sofa, his hands caressing your waist this time as you lift yourself up and down on his lap. “How d-do you have so much stamina!?” Your legs are already tired but he helps you out, thrusting up into you as you moan and clench around his cock.

“I, hah, haven’t been with anyone for a while… Guess we’re really c-compatible… Your body was made for me...”

He’d mentioned to you before that it’d been a while and you had to admit, you were kind of curious about his previous partners. He had never even asked you about yours, now that you thought about it.

“Fuck! Ah, t-there, Jihoon!” His cock hits your g-spot over and over, whines spilling from your mouth as you try to brace yourself on his thighs. You opt to grind down onto him instead when you get tired, swiveling your hips against him. “Ngh, fu--fuck, I’m so close… Can I cum inside of you again? Fuck, p-please, I need to!”

You nod feverishly, tentatively bringing a hand to your clit as you begin to draw circles around the nub. He starts to thrust up into you again, your body bouncing on top of him as his thrusts become erratic.

“Sh--shit, your pussy is sucking me in deeper, fuck! Gonna fill you up with my cum and breed you so fuckin’ good, you’ll be begging me for more...”

“Y-yes, pl--please cum inside of me!”

Jihoon sits up a bit more, his chest meeting your back as he holds you down onto his cock in an iron grip; kissing your shoulder as he unloads his cum inside of your pussy. You rub quicker circles around your clit, his cum filling you up spurring your own orgasm as you cum with him. Tiny whines of his name spill from your lips as he trails kisses all along your shoulders.

You slump against him; cum already trickling down onto the sofa underneath the two of you even though he was still snug between your walls. “Mmh… Jihoon we need to c-clean this up…” He can’t help but laugh tiredly, wrapping an arm around your waist as he holds your warm body against his own.

“How are we gonna do that? The second we get up, there’s gonna be cum everywhere.”

“Maybe if you didn’t cum so much!”

“I told you that’s not my fault!” He whines cutely, pouting behind you as you try to get up without making a mess. He lets you, watching as you slowly stand. You’re careful getting up from his lap, already aware that there’s going to be stains on the sofa.

Jihoon watches the cum drip down your thighs, biting the inside of his cheek. It definitely must be a hybrid thing, he thinks. There’s an inherent desire to push it all back into your pussy but he refrains; fingers twitching against the sofa as he watches you shuffle towards the restroom to get cleaned up. He figures he should get dressed and clean up a bit while you assess yourself, tugging his oversized sweater back on as he searches for his joggers that he’d shucked off.

And when you re-enter the living room, you’re dressed in a different set of clothing, watching as Jihoon tries to get the cum out of the sofa material.

“Honestly, I don’t know if that’ll ever come out.” There’s an exasperated sigh on your end as you pick up your discarded clothes, setting them into a pile on the coffee table to deal with later. “I mean, as long as it’s not obvious to the eye, I guess it’s okay?” Jihoon nods at your words, tossing the rag he was using into the pile of clothes on the table.

“Can we cuddle now?”

You nod, letting him lay down before you join him, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he spoons you from behind. Some music program plays on the TV in front of you but your mind is on the same question that ran through your head earlier.

“Hey Jihoon?”

“Mm?”

“I was just curious… about… about your partners before you ended up at ‘Cheol’s place? Or even after?” His body goes rigid for a second before he relaxes against you. He knew eventually you’d ask for details, especially since the two of you had gotten intimate already.

“Um, well, if you’re wondering about relationships, I’ve never really had one. I’m sure hyung’s told you that I… was, um, living in the streets before he helped me.” Your jaw clenches just hearing him say it again but you let him continue. “But that being said, uh, I mean… I’ve technically been with other women.. It’s just, y’kno, been physical. I’m pretty sure hybrids have it in their blood to want to mate, y’know?” You nod slowly, a blush forming on your cheeks at the word ‘mate’.

“But I mean, after I ended up at hyung’s place and got homed and re-homed a bunch of times, I never… was with anyone. I didn’t feel comfortable. Most of them just thought of me as a prize piece and nothing more. I was just a show animal to them. Snake hybrids are technically considered really rare, but I dunno, if you look at me, I don’t seem that special. Maybe they thought I’d wake up one day and be different.”

There’s a particular sadness in Jihoon’s voice that has you turning in his hold, your concerned eyes meeting his in an instant. “Jihoon…”

“It really sucked. I mean, some of my owners and some of their friends tried to come onto me but that was usually when I’d go running back to my designated room. And then I’d ball up in there all day until they’d get mad and tell me to leave. But Seungcheol-hyung always welcomed me back, so I guess in the end it was okay.”

You nuzzle your face into his clothed chest, urging your tears down as you listen to him speak. “This is the longest I’ve been somewhere that wasn’t at the adoption home and to be honest, it’s kind of weird for me. But a good weird? I dunno, maybe I’m just confused.” There’s a chuckle at the end of his words, his arm that’s wrapped around your waist tugging you in closer. “It’s a good confused though, I guess.”

“Mm… Thank you for sharing with me Jihoon. It means a lot… And to me, you’re really special, y’know?” You pull away from him a bit, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. There’s a serene smile on his lips when you lean closer, pecking him on the mouth before you lay your head back down.

“How about you? Were you in a relationship before you met me at hyung’s?” This time your throat feels a little dry. You hadn’t spoken about Soonyoung since your talk with Minghao, and it had been even longer before then that you’d mentioned your ex.

“Technically yes and no. I was dating someone for a--a while before I met you. I think by the time I’d met you, I was already out of the relationship for, like, 2 months?”

“Oh… what happened?” You sigh, playing with the material of Jihoon’s sweater. “It’s a long story but… to make it short, he was working in the entertainment business while I was working with ‘Hao at the magazine company. And in theory, you’d think we would be a great couple, right? Because we were both ‘in the business’.” You draw air quotations with a hand to emphasize your point. “But it was just… It didn’t really work out for us, I guess. I was working from home then too and he was always out and about. He stayed here a lot then too, I don’t know if you’ve ever picked up on it. I mean it wasn’t much since he was busy but...yeah.”

Jihoon tells you he picked up on it a few times but it had been too faint for him to bring it up previously. “Yeah, makes sense. He… I mean, we used to share the bed so…” You clear your throat, not wanting to finish that sentence. “But anyway, when we broke up, we both did it amicably. We just knew it wasn’t the right time to be in a relationship with how different our lives were.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“No… honestly, I haven’t even spoken about him in a long while. And we both agreed that it would be best to not talk to each other for some time… Just to give each other enough time to heal and move on before we could reconnect later or something.”

“Do you want him back in your life?” You peer up at Jihoon, seeing the slight fear pooling behind his eyes.

“I… I think I can do without.”

The two of you lay in each other’s arms for a while; neither of you speaking any further and just enjoying each other’s company.

But after a while, Jihoon decides he wants to go work on some music in his work room, again telling you to call him once you get started on dinner. You let him go, deciding to get some work and chores done around the place while the sun was still out.And in that time, you end up finishing another article draft and three loads of laundry.

You stretch, looking around the now cleaned room. The sky is dark by now and to your surprise, rain patters against the window as a cold shiver runs through your body. You look down the hallway, wondering what Jihoon was up to.

Jihoon more often than not worked on music while you did your own work in the living room. But there were days when he definitely seemed to need his alone time, holing up in his workroom for more than a couple hours as he came up with new melodies and lyrics. You generally didn’t mind it either, as the space gave you time to focus on your work instead of watching the cute snake-hybrid pout and peek his tongue out when he came up with new ideas for his music.

You start down the hallway, knocking on the door once you reach it. There’s no reply, so you let yourself in, a cold breeze hitting you almost immediately when you step in.

There’s a moment of panic when you notice that none of Jihoon’s heaters or humidifiers are on and you spot Jihoon laying on the bed still inside of the room. You waste no time in sprinting towards him, checking if he’s okay.

His chest rises and falls so you know he’s still breathing, but his hands are cold to the touch, even more-so than they should be. You check his forehead, noticing his entire body seems to be much colder than usual.

“Jihoon!? Jihoon!!” You slightly urge him awake, his eyes unfocused as he tries to look at you. His teeth are slightly chattering, a whine escaping his lips as he leans into your warmth.

“P-please c--call Seungcheol--h--hyung…”

#snakehybrid!woozi #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi #lee jihoon

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starlight-vixen-emiko · 3 years

Text

Lukanette June 2021 Day 4 - Villain!Luka

Hey Lovebugs!

Sorry for the wait! I was gonna post this at midnight but my computer was being fussy.

Anyway I was really excited at trying my hand at Villain!Luka. Of course it’s strange my first three submissions have been Marinette and Luka’s wholesome apartment life and now this one is just Villain!Luka....

But I hope you guys enjoy! @lukanettejune

It was all a lie.

The handsome young man who helped Marinette get up when she tripped and fell on the concrete.

The sweet words uttered and gentle eyes that looked at her when they were on a date at a cafe.

Luka being so sweet to the children who walked up and smiled at him, it made Marinette's heart sing.

Luka, who was also Viperion. The boy with a snake miraculous who could reset time to help others in need.

It was all lies.

Marinette felt so emotionally numb. It was bad enough for her and Adrien to end badly but to be fooled and charmed by such a handsome man.

Luka wasn't the gentle garden snake she thought he was, but a snake with dark purple scales and glowing yellow eyes and a milky white tongue.

She should have known. Marinette never got to kiss Luka on the lips, but it was probably for the better. Every time he kissed her on the hand, she felt a little cold. She thought he just had a few sides that were unknown to her. But she was technically correct. She just didn't imagine that Luka was actually cold-blooded.

And Paris would never be safe as long as he was around.

"I guess I can manipulate your heart easily!" Viperion said, smiling with his fangs bared and his tongue hanging out.

Ladybug growled and threw a few punches at him, but he deflected them all with his scaly arms.

She glared at him. "I thought you were a prince!" She cried. "With a warm heart!"

Viperion cackled. "Oh, you foolish princess!" He mocked her.

Ladybug ran to him, hoping to punch him in the face, but Viperion turned the switch on his bracelet and disappeared.

She felt his cold presence behind her.

"But I am a prince," Viperion said in a low tone.

Ladybug turned to see Viperion creeping toward her.

"Just not a prince from those nonsense fairytales," he said as he placed his cold hand on her cheek.

Marinette breathed out warm air in his face, but he only grinned at her.

Against all logic, she couldn't pull herself away from the venomous snake.

But maybe she had to keep her enemy close.

Because she knew she wasn't the only one with a weakness in her heart.

Ladybug grabbed Viperion's arm that had his glowing bracelet, and she pulled him in to press his lips against hers.

It wasn't the kiss she dreamed it would be. The snake boy's lips were cold and a bit slimy, and she could smell the venom that radiated from his breath. Still, she held on, and Viperion didn't break away. He may have enjoyed her warm kiss that brought warmth to his cold heart.

And it certainly wasn't a fairy tale kiss that would change the villain back into the hero she once adored. But it was enough for Ladybug to break Viperion's bracelet with her strong hand. Finally, the venomous snake cried and recoiled. His bracelet was chipped badly, which caused his Viperion disguise to fade in and out.

Ladybug saw glimpses of Luka, but it wasn't Luka with blue-tipped hair and ocean eyes with a sweet smile. It was Luka with hair tipped with purple, golden-yellow eyes and a face full of malice.

"Very well," Luka said.

"I guess even though I played you like a foolish girl, I did like you very much," Luka said, his voice still had traces of the cold Viperion.

"Such power as yours is wasted on the pitiful citizens of Paris."

Ladybug gave him a stern look. "You don't have to do this, Luka!" She said as somehow a part of herself believed the kind-hearted Luka still existed.

Luka managed to give a menacing smile and turned to the Paris cityscape below them. "I may not be the prince you thought I was, but you could become my queen."

Ladybug raised her fists against and growled under her breath. Luka turned back and smirked at her.

"And with the power of both of us, the entire city of Paris will be at their knees."

When Luka finished his speech, his bracelet broke straight off, and he completely became his civilian self again.

Ladybug was ready to turn him in. But Luka smirked as he pulled a smoke bomb out from under his jacket.

"We will meet again, Ladybug," Luka said as he hurled the smoke bomb straight at Ladybug.

Ladybug coughed violently a few times but still tried to catch him, but the last thing she saw was Luka's shadow silhouette as every last trace of smoke disappeared.

The venomous snake escaped into the darkness once more. A ray of bright sunlight shined through the grey clouds as Ladybug mourned for the guy she liked, the guy she thought she could trust.

When night fell, Marinette was free from her superhero duties for the rest of the day. Still, the city's darkness felt chilling as she knew Luka could be creeping in the night right now.

Her feelings were everywhere. Being unable to completely hate the snake man or love him. Her duties as Ladybug protector of Paris were conflicted.

She couldn't take walking in the city any longer and hid in her bedroom, staring aimlessly at the sunroof as she laid in bed. The night sky was dark purple like his scales, and the stars felt more like the evil gleam in his eyes rather than twinkling lights.

"I may not be the prince you thought I was, but you could become my queen."

Those words haunted Marinette that night.

~~~~

Author’s note: I apologize for a bit of roughness I was paranoid about my computer.

I am not gonna lie, I was actually tempted to make this multi-chaptered but I got a lot on my plate now so maybe in the future.

If any of you lovebugs want to take inspiration from my idea you are free to do so. I would love to see more of the duality of venom snake Luka and garden snake Luka pretty please!

Please tune in tomorrow for our regularly scheduled Marinette and Luka’s wholesome apartment life.

I have something special planned for “Duet”. But then again I always have something special planned...I know that sounds boastful but it’s true!

#lukanette #otp forever #lukanette june 2021 #my writing #my fanfictions #evil!luka au

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deanwanddamons · 4 years

Text

All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

Summary: You’re driving alone after getting into a huge fight with your now ex-boyfriend. You spot a guy standing on the side of the road in the rain, hitching a ride, so you give him a lift. That guy happens to be Dean Winchester.

Characters: Dean Winchester, You

Pairing: Dean x You

Word Count: 4427

Warning: Smut, smut and more smut! Oh and very slight angst.

Song inspiration - https://youtu.be/OAfxs0IDeMs

Heart - All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

A/N - I have had a lot of help with this as it was my first Dean fic. So huge thank you to @mummybear @winchest09 @queen-of-deans-booty and @1000roughdrafts for everything.

‘That’s it! I’m outta here,’ you yell as you slam the door behind you, running into the rain.

Jamming your hands in your pockets, you find your car keys. Having just discovered your boyfriend is sleeping with a girl that he works with, you decide to go for a drive to clear your head. Seething with anger, you get into your car and pull the door shut with a noticeable slam.

‘That cheating bastard!’ you scream, slamming your hands on the steering wheel in frustration.

The wheels spin out of the yard as you head towards the highway with no destination in mind. You just need to drive.

Deep down you knew he wasn’t happy because things had not been right for a long time. You hadn’t made love for months, but you somehow thought he would have the guts to end it rather than cheat. If you're being honest, you weren’t happy either. You and boyfriend were more like roommates than lovers and you were stuck in a rut. Maybe this was the excuse you needed to finally get out.

The rain is coming down so hard it’s getting increasingly difficult to see the road ahead. To avoid an accident, you turn onto a side road in the hope the rain will clear up soon.You look up and realize you must have driven for miles. You are in the middle of nowhere, and you don’t really know where to go next. Suddenly, your headlights catch a figure standing on the side of the road. Curious as to why someone would be standing alone in the rain, you slow down and roll the window down.

Hey, are you okay?’ you shout to the figure. As he approaches the car, you see it’s a man of roughly your age who is soaked to the bone.

‘Hey,’ he answers. ‘My car broke down just up the road, and I have no battery on my cell.’ As he leans in through the window, your breath catches in your throat. He is gorgeous. Really, really gorgeous.

Okay, so this could be dangerous.

You are miles away from anywhere that you vaguely recognize, and a complete stranger is currently leaning in through your window. He could be a serial killer or a rapist, though something about his manner tells you he’s not. If you’re wrong, the next decision you make could be your last, but you make it anyway.

‘O-oh,’ you stutter. ‘You’re soaking. Get in.’

Smiling, he jogs around the car and gets in. ‘Thank you so much. This weather sucks!’ he laughs. Your ears prick up as you register just how deep and sexy his voice is. ‘I’m Dean,’ he introduces himself with a big smile.

The interior light allows you to see his face properly. Short dark hair, sparkling green eyes framed by long lashes, plump succulent lips over perfect white teeth, a dusting of freckles across his nose, and a slight stubble on his cheeks.

‘Hi Dean. I’m Y/N,’ you respond. ‘Let me just get my cell, and we can call you a tow truck.’ Checking your pockets, you realize you left your cell in the house. ‘Shit, I don’t have it with me. I kinda left the house in a hurry,’ you tell Dean, turning to face him.

He makes a move to get out. ‘Oh okay, never mind, sweetheart. If you’re in a hurry I’ll--”

‘-no, it’s fine. You can’t go back out in that weather,’ you interrupt. ‘Is there anywhere I could take you instead?’ You notice how the handsome man next to you takes a moment to think over your question.

‘There’s a motel a few blocks away,’ he says, looking out of the window. ‘If I could trouble you to take me there, I’ll get a room for the night and sort something out tomorrow.’

‘Won’t your girlfriend be worried if you don’t come home?’ you inquire.

‘No,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’

‘Okay, just show me the way to the motel,’ you begin, revving the engine while secretly praising that he is single.

‘Are you sure? I’m just some random guy. I could be anybody,’ Dean says with a look of concern on his face.

‘If I leave you standing here in the rain, I won’t be able to sleep tonight,’ you tell him.

‘Well okay then.’ he nods, settling down into the seat.

During the ride you and Dean slip into easy conversation. You briefly tell him why you rushed out of the house, and he tells you that he had been working in the area. His brother, Sam, is also in the family business with him, but is in another state on a different job so he is working this one alone. He was heading back to join Sam, when his car broke down. It only took around fifteen minutes to get to the motel and soon enough, you see the motel sign lighting up the sky in the distance.

‘Here we are,’ Dean says with what sounded like disappointment in his voice. ‘Do you have time for a drink?’ he suddenly announces, ‘as a thank you for driving me here.’

You really don’t want to go back home, so against your better judgement you decide to go. What’s the harm in having one drink with a handsome stranger?

‘Sure, why not?’ you agree, pulling the car over to the sidewalk.

‘Awesome. I’ll go and check in. There’s a bar just over there,’ Dean says, pointing out of the window to the building next to the motel. ‘Wait here, I’ll be right back.’ He jumps out of the car and runs toward the reception.

Watching him leave, you process what could be happening here. This is so unlike you. You're normally so sensible, so vanilla, but you're still young and technically newly single, so why not enjoy it? A sharp rap on your window disturbs your thoughts, making you jump. Dean is standing there with a smile.

‘All sorted,’ he says, raising his voice against the sound of the rain. ‘Shall we get that drink?’

Opening the door, you step into the night, the rain cold as it hits your face. Dean takes your arm, and you run together across the parking lot into the warm, dry, and gloomy bar.

It’s quiet, and there are plenty of places to sit, so you follow him to a booth in the back. As he removes his brown leather jacket, you notice how broad his shoulders are and his strong arms fill the sleeves of his denim shirt. How his Levi's fit snugly against his muscular, slightly bowed legs and very peachy ass. Wow, this guy is seriously off the scale hot.

‘What are you drinking?’ he asks as he puts his jacket on the seat.

‘Whiskey, on the rocks,’ you tell him.

‘Girl after my own heart,’ he grins as he turns and walks away.

After a few minutes, he returns and slides into the booth beside you, sitting close. The touch of his thigh against yours sends shivers up your spine.

‘So, Dean,’ you hedge, turning to face him. ‘Tell me more about the family business you and your brother are involved in.’

‘We are, um, shall we say, exterminators,’ he tells you hesitantly. ‘We travel around the country and help people to get rid of...pests.’

‘So, once your car is sorted, you’ll be leaving?’ you question.

‘Yep,’ he responds, taking a sip of his drink. His deep green eyes look intently at you over the rim of his glass. Is it just wishful thinking, or do you see a mischievous glint to them? Placing the tumbler on the table, he runs his tongue along his succulent lips. Is he flirting?

A naughty thought runs through your mind. Dean is hot, single, and has a motel room for the night. You're newly single and haven’t had sex for months.

‘Do you often take random women out for a drink when you’re on the road?’ you ask, running your finger around the edge of your glass.

‘It has been known, but they are rarely as sexy as you,’ he whispers.

Okay, you think, he’s definitely flirting. You swallow hard.

‘Rarely? I would have preferred you to say never,’ you respond with much more confidence than you currently have.

Placing his warm hand over yours, he looks you directly in the eyes. ‘I’m sorry, never as sexy as you,’ he says, his voice low and deep.

His face is so close to yours, you can count the light freckles that run over his nose. The smell of him is intoxicating. A mixture of spearmint from the gum he has been chewing, a clean, woody cologne, and whiskey.

Even though your heart is pumping so fast from nerves, that you think you are going to have a heart attack, you lean forward and kiss him lightly. His lips are soft and responsive. They part slowly, his tongue hesitant, but you allow him access, the taste of the whiskey still evident.

His arm snakes around your waist, and he pulls you towards him, deepening the kiss. You are aware you are in public, but you need this so bad that you allow yourself to relax, and lace your fingers around the back of his neck.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead on yours. ‘Shall we move this conversation elsewhere?’ he whispers.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ you respond breathlessly. Sliding out of the booth, he grabs his jacket. Taking your hand, he helps you up.

‘What am I doing?’ you silently ask yourself as he leads the way to the door, your hand still in his.

When you get outside, Dean spins around to face you. Kissing you hard, he pushes you against the wall. Using his knee, he opens your legs, and his pelvis meets yours. You whimper as you feel his hardness through his jeans. His long fingers link with yours as he raises your arms above your head, his mouth leaving yours to travel down your neck.

The rain is still falling but it doesn’t bother you. The water runs down your face, cooling your hot skin. His lips have ignited a passion inside you that you had forgotten existed.

‘I want you, Dean,’ you hear yourself whisper, not really understanding where your confidence has come from. You need him so bad it escapes your lips anyway.

‘I want you too, Y/N,’ he breathes, lust glinting in his green eyes. ‘There’s a warm, dry bed waiting for us.’

‘Let’s go then,’ you respond, pulling him by the hand towards the motel.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he questions as you run through the rain.

‘Absolutely,’ you reassure him. ‘I really need this right now.’

Finding his room, he produces the key from his pocket. He fumbles as he attempts to open the door, which causes you to giggle.

‘Sorry, I laugh when I’m nervous,’ you chuckle.

‘Why are you nervous?’ He says, taking your face in his hands.

‘I was with my ex for a long time,’ you admit. ‘And I haven’t really been with many people before him.’

‘Don’t worry baby,’ he says, turning back to the door, and finally manages to open it. ‘I’ll be gentle.’ He looks over his shoulder at you. ‘That’s if you want me to be,’ he adds with a wink.

Giggling, you follow him into the gloomy room as he switches on a lamp. The room is sparse with just two double beds, a TV on a stand, and a hard backed chair.

‘I know it’s not exactly luxury, but it will do for what I need it for,’ he says apologetically.

‘It’s fine,’ you acknowledge. ‘As long as it’s clean, then it’s fine.’

Feeling a little awkward, and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you take off your jacket and hang it on the back of the chair. You sit on the edge of one of the beds and attempt to act casual as you kick off your shoes.

Having also taken off his jacket, he walks over and sits next to you.

‘So...’ he trails off, taking your hand. His fingers move a stray piece of hair from your face, placing it behind your ear. Before you have time to speak, his lips are on yours again, kissing you hard.

Falling into the kiss, you lie back on the bed with your arms around his neck, and he follows. His hands move slowly along your hips, sliding inside your T-shirt, and along your ribs. His touch is so incredible, your skin feels like it is on fire. Until now, you didn’t realize how much you needed this; to feel wanted by someone again.

You groan involuntarily so he moves, all the while deepening the kiss until his hard body is covering your small frame. His lips leave yours and move to your neck. You start to undo the buttons on his shirt. Noticing a black, almost tribal tattoo on his broad chest, you trace it with your fingertips.

‘Sweet. What does it mean?’ you ask.

‘Just something my brother and I both have. We’ll just call it a form of protection,’ he mumbles against your skin, his breath causing you to break out in goosebumps.

Taking the hem of your T-shirt he pulls it over your head. His hands tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back, and his tongue travels down your neck and back up to your waiting mouth. The tip of his tongue maps your lips before meeting yours.

Expertly, he pops the clasp of your bra and takes it off in one swift movement, flinging it aside. His rough fingertips run down your chest, and brush across your breast. You moan into his mouth as he takes a pert nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently massaging it. The taut spring in your stomach is beginning to tighten, and a hot slick pools in your panties. His tongue follows the line of your neck to your shoulders and down your chest, and he sucks a nipple into his warm mouth, tongue circling, swirling in a figure of eight.

‘Fuck Dean,’ you breathe, ‘that feels so good.’

Feeling him start to fumble with your belt buckle, you reach down and undo it. His fingers pop the button on your jeans as he slides his hands into the waistband, and with an audible pop, he releases your swollen nipple. He stands up at the foot of the bed, and wriggles your jeans down your legs, throwing them aside.

‘Jesus, you're beautiful, sweetheart,’ Dean comments husikly as his green eyes survey your body.

‘Your turn now,’ you reply with a smirk and sit up. Returning the look, he quickly takes off his boots and jeans.

Your eyes follow the delicious contours of his incredible body, and they stop when you reach his tight, black shorts. The outline of his hard cock is visible through the material. He looks so divine standing there that your heart momentarily stops beating. Your pussy flutters at the sight, and the heat in your panties continues to build. This man is exquisite and you want, no need, to feel him inside you.

He leans down to kiss you, so you pull him down. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hungrily kiss him back, with your hands balling into fists in his short hair. He wastes no time grinding his pelvis into your heat. The material of your panties causes friction against your clit, and the coil in your stomach is tightening by the second.

Slipping his hand into your underwear, he easily glides through your wet folds. His fingers find your entrance and he slips two inside your warmth.

‘Fuck,’ you purr, arching your back to meet them.

‘So fucking wet for me,’ Dean groans.

He begins to scissor his fingers inside you. You can feel your juices starting to flow, the sound of his voice turning you on even more.

‘Let’s get these out of the way,’ he says. ‘I want to see all of you.’

Standing at the end of the bed, he leans over you. Gripping the top of your panties, he slides them down your legs, and drops them to the floor.

Pulling yourself up so you're sitting at the foot of the bed, you put your feet on the floor beside his, knees on either side of his legs. Because your face is directly in line with his taut abs, you lightly kiss them and follow the line of hair from his stomach to the top of his briefs. With quick fingers, you make light work of removing them, releasing his thick, hard cock.

He is a sight to behold. He looks divine. The head of his cock is engorged, pre-cum already glistening there. The need to taste him overwhelms you. Leaning forward you suck his cock slowly into your mouth. As you roll your tongue around the tip, you hollow your cheeks. Swirling your tongue from the base to the tip, you take his length down your throat as far as you can.

‘Shit, Y/N,’ Dean moans as he starts to thrust a messy rhythm.

Putting both hands on his ass, you firmly hold him in place. As you slow down your pace, you lightly run your teeth down the underside of his cock, running your tongue back and forth along his balls. Gripping your hair in his fist, he pulls your head back so you stare up at him with hooded eyes.

‘Lie back for me baby,’ he demands, and you do as he asks. Sinking down to his knees, his big hands push your legs apart. Using butterfly kisses, he moves up the inside of your thighs until his mouth reaches your needy pussy. Your clit is throbbing at the thought of his plump lips on your heat.

As his fingers part your folds, he runs his tongue up your soaking slit. A bolt of lighting shoots through you as he sucks in your sensitive nub, the tip of his tongue stiff as it quickly flicks up and down over it.

‘Oh my god, Dean,’ you hiss through gritted teeth as a rush of ecstasy flows through your body. Waves of pure pleasure begin to pulsate in your core as he devours your pussy as if he is starving. ‘Don’t stop,’ you plead, raking your fingers through his hair as you look down at him.

‘I wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart. Touch yourself for me?’ he murmurs, the vibration of his voice sending shock waves through you.

He buries his head once again, his tongue thrusting into your hole. Noticing your slight hesitation, he takes one of your hands and guides it down your stomach, moving your fingers between your mound. You have never done this in front of anyone before. However, you’re probably never going to see Dean again after tonight, so you decide to go with it.

Hesitantly, you press your index and middle finger on either side of your bundle of nerves, and begin to stroke. The thrusts of Dean’s tongue in your hole gets faster, as he raises his head slightly, opening his mesmerising green eyes and looking directly into yours. Replacing his tongue with his fingers, he continues the rhythm he had built up. Licking along your slit, his tongue meets your fingers, and you simultaneously massage your clit. As your spring uncoils, a wonderful feeling of relief takes over you.

‘Fuck Dean, I’m going to cum,’ you groan as your fingers speed up. Arching your back, you allow the waves of pleasure to wash over you, your juices flowing over his tongue as he laps them up.

‘Hmm, you taste incredible,’ he whispers as you lay back on the bed, panting, your pussy muscles still fluttering.

Grabbing your hands, he pulls you up as he stands and swiftly spins you around. His mouth is on the back of your neck, chest against your back. He bends you over so your ass is against his hips, and you push up onto your hands.

‘Don’t move,’ he demands and moves away from you. You hear the unmistakable sound of a wrapper being torn open, and you look over your shoulder to see that he has produced a condom. ‘Always have one in my wallet in case of an emergency,’ he smirks.

Realizing this guy is obviously a player, you are relieved that he has the sense to think about protection as it had not crossed your mind; you were so caught up in the moment. You begin to feel a little self conscious because you’re bent over the side of the bed with your ass in the air, so you go to move.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he says huskily, returning to the spot he just vacated.

Running one hand across your ass cheek, he uses his other to push gently but firmly on the small of your back, which causes you to bend over the bed further. Opening your legs slightly, you push your ass back against him, and his thick cock slips easily between your damp thighs. Teasingly, the tip nudges at your opening.

Gripping your hips with his fingers splayed, he leans forward and whispers, ‘are you ready for me, sweetheart?’

An animalistic sound comes from deep within your chest. You want to feel him inside you so bad, want him to fuck you so hard, that you can barely remember your own name. Leaning your head down, you rest your forehead on your arms, tipping your ass up to him, all inhibitions lost.

‘Yes, Dean,’ you croak, ‘please, fuck me.’

With that, he thrusts into you with a grunt. Immediately, a breath is pushed out of you. A loud moan espaces your lips once you get past the brief stab of pain as he stretches you open. That pain doesn’t last long, and it’s soon turned to pleasure. As your muscles contract around him, he pulls almost all the way out. He takes a second to wrap your hair around one hand, then thrusts back into you, pulling your head back as he does.

‘You’re so tight,’ he moans in a guttural voice.

His fingers dig into your hips as he slams into you. As he builds up speed, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass mingling with his groans fills the room. The sound is strangely erotic, and the familiar tingling in your core returns. Normally, it takes your clit being stimulated for you to cum, but the way he’s fucking you is bringing on a whole new feeling that you have never experienced before.

‘Oh fuck, fuck,’ you spit as the dam in your stomach begins to crumble. Sensing your impending orgasm, Dean leans forward and grips your hair harder.

‘Move forward,’ he orders, and you don’t dare disobey him.

Getting on his knees behind you, you push your ass closer to him. Using your hips as leverage, his thrusts get harder and faster as his hands move to your shoulders. He pulls you up so your back meets his chest, and his lips find the top of your spine. His teeth lightly nip at the delicate skin on the side of your neck, and he sucks lightly.

‘Oh my God,’ you yelp as your dam breaks.

Wave upon wave of electricity flows through every nerve in your body, and your knees buckle. Dean’s rhythm starts to falter as the tip of his tongue runs along the spot he had been sucking, his strong arms around your waist. With one last powerful thrust, you hear a deep, low moan fill the air as he cums.

‘Jesus Y/N, fuck,’ he breaths as he sags against you.

Panting, you drop down on your stomach as he rolls over onto his back. You bury your head into the pillow. A moment of silence passes, broken only by you both breathing heavily. Eventually, you feel him get up from the bed.

‘I’ll just get rid of this,’ he says, his voice getting distant as he goes into the bathroom.

Having come down from your high, you begin to feel a little exposed. Sitting up, you stare around the room. An overwhelming feeling of shame suddenly envelops you.

I gotta get out of here.

Picking up your clothes from the floor, you start to get dressed. Running your hands through your hair, you consider what has just happened. You just had the most incredible sex with a complete stranger.

Shit, I just had sex with a complete stranger! Oh god, what have I done?

A feeling of panic rises in your throat. Quickening your pace, you continue getting dressed. The desperate need to get out of the room takes over you. Dean returns from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He notices you have started to put your clothes back on.

‘Oh, you're leaving?’ he asks with a confused look.

‘Er… yes… sorry,’ you squeak, shoving your feet into your shoes and grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I’m so sorry, Dean. I have to go. I’ll admit that was amazing, but it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.’

You lean into him, briefly bringing your hand to his face and kiss his cheek. You take one last look at his gorgeous face.

‘Bye, Dean.’ you sigh. ‘I hope you get your car sorted and get back to your brother.’

You leave him standing there, speechless, an expression of complete surprise on his face as you close the door behind you. You never saw Dean Winchester after that day, but you often thought of him, wondering if he ended up getting back to Sam. The memories of him are fantastic, and you can still see that beautiful face whenever you close your eyes. He will always be the handsome stranger that made you feel alive for one incredible evening.

Read Part 2 here

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #Dean Winchester fan fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #smut #spn smut #reader insert #Dean Winchester one shot #dean winchester drabble #deanwanddamons #supernatural #Supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

the crossroad of our destinies book two: fire

CW: mentions of fantasy ableism, character death of minor background OCs, cursing, mentions of war crimes, atla-canon-typical fantasy violence, mild angst, injury, brief blood mention, mentions of murder

word count: 9708

book one: earth // read it on ao3!

“So you really can’t bend at all?” Roman asks.

Virgil stiffens, rolling his shoulders back to try and relax the tension gathering there. He knew this question would come up sooner or later, and he has spent an inordinate amount of time preparing his response. “I don’t bend.”

It’s not a lie. Virgil would lie outright, but Roman had tried that a couple of weeks ago only to have Logan immediately bust him. (As if he needed another reason to be the most terrifying twelve-year-old Virgil has ever met: his earth bending makes him a human lie detector.) Instead, Virgil answers with technical truths. They’re not the answers Roman is looking for, but they’re not going to earn a “Falsehood!” from Logan, either.

“What’s it like?” Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. “Not being able to bend? I know that every type of bending feels different, but I don’t know what it would feel like to not bend at all.”

“It’s not so bad, not bending,” Virgil says. “I mean, bending might make my life easier, but it also might make my life more difficult.”

“Have you ever seen it? Water bending, I mean?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s . . .” Virgil searches for words that won’t betray his secret. “Have you ever seen dancers?”

“I’m an ex-Fire Nation prince, Virgil. Of course I’ve seen dancers.”

“But have you seen ribbon dancers? The way the silk arcs through the air, rippling and elegant, controlled and powerful . . . that’s what water bending looks like. To me, anyway. Snow and ice bending are different, and of course healing is different, but water bending . . .” Virgil’s throat chokes up. “It’s beautiful.”

Roman is quiet, subdued. “I know my father. I know what he did to the water benders of the Southern Pole. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“They killed my father,” Virgil says softly. “My mother died giving birth to me, and my father . . . he died protecting me. They killed him instead of me.” Roman gently places a hand on Virgil’s knee, all traces of joking gone, and Virgil whines softly.

“I am so sorry,” Roman murmurs, “that my father has destroyed your life.”

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil says. Before starting this journey, he never could have pictured himself saying something like that to a fire bender, much less a former prince. But Roman isn’t just some prince, some foreign enemy. He’s Virgil’s friend. “You didn’t kill my father, and you didn’t give the orders to the general that did. It isn’t your fault, Roman. You’re not responsible for your dad and his tomfuckery.”

Roman snorts a little at the swear. A whip of air smacks Virgil’s arm. “Virgil!” Patton says, scandalized. “Watch your language!” Virgil just laughs, and Roman laughs with him.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is hesitant to enter Fire Nation territory, even if it’s just the outlying colonies. Roman assures him that nothing will go wrong, that they’ll be safe, but he isn’t quite sure if he believes him. “My father rarely visits the outlying colonies,” he tells Virgil. “My people are suffering under such a harsh regime. They will not aid him.”

They still force him to stay with Remy and Thomas in the woods when they venture into town for supplies. “I know the Fire Nation better than any of you!” Roman protests.

“And the Fire Nation knows you,” Logan tells him firmly. “Stay with my brother and Remy. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to protect them and get Thomas out of here.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas says firmly, gripping Logan’s shoulders. Logan reaches up and covers his brother’s hand with his own. “Promise me, Logan.”

“That is not a promise I can realistically make, Thomas. I cannot control the actions of others,” Logan says. “But I can promise you that I will do my best to avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a low profile.”

“You duelled Roman into the ground, like, two and a half weeks after you met him,” Thomas laughs. “I don’t think subtlety is in your nature.” Logan scoffs at him, but he doesn’t push Thomas’s hand out of his hair when he ruffles it.

Patton ties a strip of fabric around his forehead, obscuring his air bender arrow tattoo. When they first met him, he was bald, but now that he’s been on the run with them for so long, his hair has grown back in. It’s a tousled mess of coppery curls, and they match the bright copper freckles splattered across his nose.

“Do you think you’re going to keep your hair or shave it off again?” Roman asks. Patton reaches up to touch his hair.

“It’s strange to get used to,” he says. “I’m used to feeling the wind on the skin of my head. It’s so weird! But I kinda like the way it looks. Do you think it looks weird?”

“I think it looks nice,” Roman says.

“I think you look fantastic,” Logan says dryly.

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Roman, however, looks like a drowned platypus-bear.”

“Hey!” Roman squawks. “Why does Patton get to look good?”

“Roman,” Logan says, slow and patient like he’s talking to a toddler, “I can’t see either of you. I”m fucking blind.” Roman throws a fireball at him, which Logan easily dodges, laughing. Patton flicks a hand up to extinguish the fireball before Roman can set the forest ablaze.

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation is loud.

It’s much louder than Virgil’s village ever was. The air is sharp and sweet, smelling like spices and sweet incense and wood ash. Virgil sticks close to Logan as Patton bounces happily in front of them. He reaches down and takes Logan’s hand in his.

It’s so small.

“I do not need you to hold my hand,” Logan says testily.

“This isn’t for you,” Virgil hisses, gripping Logan’s hand tightly. “This is for me.” Logan turns to him, face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, before exhaling softly.

“You’re telling the truth.” He keeps holding Virgil’s hand as they follow Patton through the bazaar, and Virgil exhales in relief.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman squeals in excitement when they bring back the little pastries he had requested. “I love them!” he squeals. “They’re my favorites, I -” His eyes go misty as he unwraps the parcel. “On our birthday, Remus would always get to pick out the cake. I was happy as long as the chef made a tower of these.”

He takes a bite, and the tears spill down his cheeks. “They’re just like I remember.” Before any of them can offer any sort of consolation, Roman is wiping at his eyes and offering his pastries to them.

“We can’t take them,” Patton says gently. “They’re your special piece of home.”

Roman shakes his head and pushes the parcel towards them. “Please, I insist. I want to share with my friends.” Virgil is the one to break the strange, motionless silence, breaking off a corner. The pastry is layered with a thick, syrupy honey that leaves sticky residue on his fingers. When he pops it into his mouth, a sweet spice explodes across his tongue. There’s a slight, residual burn that tingles through his mouth as he swallows.

“I know, right?” Roman says, reading something in Virgil’s facial expression. Virgil nods, licking the honey off his fingers. His obvious enjoyment is enough to encourage the rest of the group to start snacking on pieces of the treats.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman keeps every letter that Dragon brings him tucked against his chest. Under his shirt is a leather pouch that he attaches to his chest by tying it with strings, and inside he keeps the scrolls that he receives. “Remus and Dolos probably can’t keep my letters,” he tells Virgil. “They’ll have to burn them to make sure that no one else sees them.”

“Why?”

“If the crew finds out that the exiled prince is sending messages to them, they’re in danger. Remus is already toeing the line by keeping Dolos aboard the ship. Discovering that they’re in contact with me endangers our lives and theirs.”

Virgil wants to ask why Roman bothers putting so much care and effort into the crafting of his letters if he knows they’re going to get ruined. He spends so much time staring off into space, thinking of the perfect words, and then he sketches out elaborate doodles. Remus’s are always weird and kind of deranged, but Remus sends them back in kind.

Dolos’s letters all have intricate, elaborate borders of twining flowers on them, and more than once Virgil has caught Roman doodling sparrow-snakes onto the letters for his love. “He loves them,” Roman tells him. “I promised him a pet sparrow-snake as a wedding present.”

“Why would you do that?” Virgil asks, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and examining the blade’s edge for imperfections.

“Because it would make Dolos happy,” Roman says, looking up with an uncharacteristically fond expression. “I love Dolos. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be alive, so . . . so I have to sacrifice his happiness and mine to keep him that way.”

Virgil sets his knife down and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “I know that you love him,” he says softly. “And I know that he means so much to you that you would kill to keep him safe. You’d do anything for him.”

“Not anything,” Roman says.

“What, then? What wouldn’t you do?”

“I wouldn’t sacrifice you,” Roman says, eyes burning and serious. “I wouldn’t sell you and the others out to my father, even if it meant he would take me back. I love Remus and Dolos, I do, but you guys are . . . you’re my friends.” The way he says that word, friends, has a heavy finality about it. It carries a gravity that Virgil didn’t expect. “I wouldn’t be worthy of Dolos if I sold my friend out. And anyway, I like you guys too much to let you die.”

“How touching,” Virgil says dryly, smacking Roman’s head with the flat of his blade. The only part of Roman that’s damaged is his pride.

That doesn’t stop him from squawking in rage and chasing Virgil all across their campsite.

*~*~*~*~*

Dragon lands on Roman’s outstretched forearm with ease, even though Remy is still coasting through the air. Roman coos to the bird, stroking his back as he reaches up and nips at Roman’s hair and ear.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Thomas asks, eyeing the bird suspiciously.

“Not that bad,” Roman says. “When he nibbles my hair, it only feels like a light tugging, and he never bites my ear hard enough to hurt or bleed. It’s like a pinching feeling. I’m fine with it. Besides, he’s a good little birdy! Isn’t that right, Dragon? You’re a good little messenger birdy!”

Dragon wraps his massive talons around the reinforced sleeve of Roman’s jacket and coos. Roman unties the scroll from his leg and spreads it out on the back of the saddle. Virgil carefully drops little weights on the corners to keep it spread out without blowing away. “What’s the intel?”

The intel, as it turns out, is a map of the Fire Nation, with a few small islands marked in red and black. “These are all sacred fire bending sites,” Roman muses, slowly tracing his fingers over the map. “And this is the code Re and i used when we were children. We used to write secret messages to each other.”

“What does it say?”

“He’s marking which islands are safe.”

“None of them are safe, because they’re in the middle of the Fire Nation,” Virgil mutters. Roman glares at him. “What? It’s not a comment on you personally, Princey. I know you love the Fire nation, I know it’s home for you. But it’s currently under the thumb of your tyrannical father, who’s a notorious jackass that wants all of us dead.”

Roman lets his fingers skim over the ocean. One of the islands, the only unmarked one, is surrounded by drawings of monsters. There is writing above the island drawing, the only neatly-printed script on the entire map. It looks like Dolos’s handwriting. Roman smiles.

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘Here there be Dragons.’ It’s an old Fire Nation children’s story - that island is, supposedly, where the last of the dragons was slain. The water is so rough and choppy that there’s not a single chance of a ship being pulled into that island.”

“And we’re supposed to be able to get to it?”

“By air, we could,” Roman says. “Remy could fly us in. There are pretty regular storms, but if we go on the heels of one we’ll make it before the next one hits. No Fire Nation battle cruiser is getting to that island - but we will. We can. It’s the safest place in the whole Fire Nation, probably. It would be a good base of operations, at least for a little while.” He splays his fingers over the island.

“You miss home,” Logan says gently. “You want to be back on Fire Nation soil more than anything.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. “Not more than your safety. If I thought it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as far as I know, it is safe, and . . . and if we’re there, it’s mostly rock. There’s no chance of us setting fire to a forest and attracting unwanted attention.”

“That sounds like it’ll work,” Patton calls, turning his head around just enough to glimpse them without taking his eyes off the sky. “I’m on board with it.”

“I trust Roman,” Virgil says. “If he thinks that island is safe . . . I’m with him.”

Thomas studies his face. Virgil maintains a calm expression, despite his nerves. “Alright, then. Fire Nation it is.”

“Yip yip!” Patton calls. Remy swishes his tail irritably, but he turns anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

It gets hard to find water in the Fire Nation.

It has to be there, obviously, because sustaining life without water is impossible. But when compared to the flowing rivers of the Earth Kingdom forests and the ever-present oceans and ice of the South Pole, the Fire Nation is practically a desert.

Still, Virgil finds that their group is drawn to the water almost instinctively. Realistically, it’s because Remy needs to drink and to keep himself clean, and while they can all make do with a little waterskins, he needs a large body of water. Virgil still finds it like fate or destiny to be able to find so many little places to connect with his element, given where they are.

The river nearby is smaller than any he’s seen before, full of large, mossy rocks that he can easily fall and hurt himself on. He carefully removes his shoes and steps into the water. It takes a minute to find a spot where he can achieve a normal bending stance, but once he does, he inhales.

“Vee?”

Virgil nearly falls as he whirls around, seeing Logan standing in front of him. “Is - that is Vee, isn’t it?”

“Y - yeah, Lo, it’s me,” he calls. “You weren’t sure?”

“You’re standing in the river,” Logan says. “The water fucks with my earth bending, so it obscures my vision a little bit. I knew someone was there, but I didn’t know who it was . . .”

“It’s me,” Virgil says.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the river?”

“I miss home,” Virgil says. “We don’t have rivers like this, but we have water everywhere. We’re surrounded by ice and ocean and . . . and there’s just water, no matter where you look. And that’s why I’m here.”

“I understand,” Logan says, sitting at the edge of the river. “There is earth all around me, but all earth feels different. This is nothing like the earth that I knew at home. It’s full of ash and volcanic overflow, which makes for rich soil that nourishes plant life well. But I miss the rocks of my home village.” His voice is quiet. “I do not think my home village exists anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They knew that the Avatar had been born into an earth bending family. They travelled through the Earth Kingdom, searching for the Avatar . . . Thomas and I ran in the middle of the night. I could not let him leave alone. As we ran, I smelled the smoke, but Thomas . . . he must have seen the village go up in flames.”

Virgil hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Is he . . . okay?”

“I assume so,” Logan says softly. “He never tells me otherwise. Then again, I doubt he would say anything to me if he was. He doesn’t like to worry me, which is stupid, because he’s my brother. I’m always worried about him. Especially when he goes and hides shit from me.”

“You curse a lot for a twelve year old,” Virgil tells him. Logan throws a rock at him.

*~*~*~*~*

The island is beautiful, Virgil thinks. It’s all tall, imposing mountains with scraggly trees clinging to the cliffs and shining black-sand beaches. As Remy descends, Virgil spies a glimpse of a gleaming golden building hidden in the mountains. “What’s that?” he asks Roman.

“It’s a Fire Nation temple,” Roman tells him. His eyes are wide and shiny as he stares at the island, even as the waves crash down onto the beach. “Fire Sages would study there, calling on the spirits and seeking their advice. This temple’s been abandoned for who knows how long, since it’s virtually inaccessible these days.”

“Is that where we’re going to study?” Thomas asks, leaning over the side of the saddle.

“We can study anywhere on the island,” Roman responds, “but yeah, we probably will spend a fair amount of time there. It’s a traditional place to train in fire bending.”

Remy touches down on the beach, and almost immediately a dark, choppy wave crashes down over his tail. The flying bison snorts loudly, irritated, and lurches forward off the beach. “Easy there, boy,” Patton soothes, reaching to pat at his head.

“Where are we going to camp?” Logan asks.

“We’re on the beach right now,” Thomas says, “but I don’t think we can stay here. The ocean is too unpredictable, not to mention ships could spot us. I think it’s best if we move inland, try to camp out somewhere in there.”

“That sounds good,” Roman says. He jumps off of Remy’s back and sinks to his knees, digging his hands into the black sand. “Oh, I’ve missed this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Volcanic sand. It’s formed from lava, there’s no feeling like it!” Roman happily begins to roll around in the sand, laughing like a little kid. Virgil watches him indulgently for a couple minutes before he starts harassing him to lead them inland.

*~*~*~*~*

They set up camp at the base of one of the large mountains. Logan and Thomas earth bend some shelter structures out of the rock, and Logan hollows out a campfire pit. Roman goes and finds good firewood, easily bending a campfire to life. Virgil settles down next to Logan as Roman begins to talk about fire bending to Thomas.

“You know how to do this,” he says. “Not consciously, of course, but you’re the Avatar. You were a fire bender in some of your previous lives. The memory of bending is somewhere inside you. We just have to unlock it.”

“And how do we do that?” Thomas asks.

“We start with the bending stances,” Roman says, “and we work our way up from there. A word of caution - I can only teach you some of fire bending.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t bend lightning.”

“Fire benders can bend lightning?!” Thomas gasps.

“Not all of us,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remus and I had training in lightning bending, since we’re princes, but neither of us mastered it. To the best of my knowledge, anyway . . .”

“That’s really cool, though,” Thomas says.

“You know what’s really cool?” Roman says. “Redirecting lightning. If bending lightning is rare, redirecting lightning is crazy rare. It’s not really a fire bending technique, I don’t think, cause Uncle Emile’s the one who pioneered it. He told me he used water bending techniques to develop it.”

That perks Virgil’s interest. “Water bending?”

Roman nods, explaining the way his uncle had developed the redirection technique in between instructing Thomas and adjusting his bending stances. Virgil listens, quietly taking mental notes in case he can use any of these stances in his own bending practices.

*~*~*~*~*

The ocean is so different to the one at the South Pole.

Virgil creeps away at night, after they’re all asleep. Patton is snuggled up to Remy, tugging the flying bison’s tail over himself like a blanket. Logan and Thomas are pressed close together, Logan’s quiet breaths obscured by Thomas’s snores. Roman is sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish, face totally obscured by his growing mop of wild curls. It’s warm enough in the Fire Nation that no one feels the need to huddle up to him for warmth, letting him spread out the way he apparently normally does.

As he makes his way to the ocean, Virgil hums to himself, an old lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. It’s an old tale about spirits and balance and the moon, and it comforts him. The Fire Nation island is dark, but the moon overhead is bright and full. Virgil can feel it pulling on him as he creeps ever closer to the ocean. He steps out from the shadow of the sparse forest lining the coast onto the black sand of the beach just as a massive wave breaks against the shore. The water is black as pitch, and the moon gleams overhead like a jewel, reflecting beautifully on the water.

“Hello,” Virgil whispers. The black sand is unlike anything he’s ever felt; it glides smoothly over the skin of his bare feet, slipping between his toes as he digs them in for balance. He understands why Roman missed a beach like this.

Virgil knows that he isn’t strong enough to bend the ocean. Water is one thing, but the ocean is under the control of the spirit La, and Virgil doesn’t want to mess with spirits. For once, he isn’t out here to practice his bending.

“Tui, Spirit of the Moon,” he says softly, “you gave me the gift of water bending, and taught me to wield it for defense. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” Reaching into the small bag tied at his hip, he pulls out a piece of fruit he’d saved from their dinner, one of the two finest. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” A wave rolls in, and he carefully sets the fruit down on a large, broad leaf. It’s carried out to sea, like a tiny boat, and Virgil quickly loses sight of it. He doesn’t bother to try and keep track of it; he has another sacrifice to make.

“La, Spirit of the Ocean, you gave me the gift of the water I bend, and taught me to wield it for healing. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” He produces the second piece of fruit he’d saved. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” Another wave rolls in, and Virgil watches another leaf-boat disappear into the ocean.

He’s done this spirit sacrifice every full moon that he can remember. Even on this journey, he’s done it, setting the sacrifices of the nicest parts of dinner he can save into the nearest body of water. He hopes that the rivers will carry his sacrifices out to La.

Traditionally, the spirit prayers are meant to be said in the plural. Virgil’s father had told him stories of the past, when all the water benders of the tribe would gather and sacrifice and pray together, thanking Tui and La for their gifts. Once the Fire Nation raids had begun, they had stopped.

Virgil makes a point to do it every single full moon. Bending is a precious gift, and deserves to be treated as such. He steps closer to the ocean, bending down to dip his fingers into the waves. The water is chilly, but it’s nothing compared to the burning cold of his home ocean. He lifts his hand to his mouth and gently licks his fingers, grinning.

He’s missed the taste of salt water.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Thomas almost a week to be able to produce fire.

At first, all he can produce are puffs of dark smoke and the occasional spark. Roman seems ecstatic with this progress. “It’s good!”

“It’s not fire,” Thomas says dejectedly. “It’s not anything.”

“Most firebenders start out with smoke,” Roman says. “At least it’s dark! That’s a good sign! Dark smoke is always better than pale smoke. Remus’s smoke was pale for the first two months that we practiced.”

“So . . . I’m not a failure?”

“Of course you are not a failure,” Logan says, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “Do not say stupid things. It is beneath you.”

Virgil snorts, laying out his array of knives. They gleam in the strong Fire Nation sunlight, and the edges are freshly sharpened. “You’re the fuckin’ Avatar, Thomas. You’re not a failure.”

“Yeah!” Roman says, trying to be helpful. “Hey, at least you can bend!”

“Roman!” Patton hisses. Logan glares at him disapprovingly, and Thomas frowns. Virgil is confused for a second, until he sees Patton glance at him sympathetically.

Oh.

They think Roman was making a dig at him, because they think that he can’t bend.

Roman looks at him in confusion, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth. “Oh - shit - fuck, Virgil, I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, though,” Roman says. “I never meant to imply that you’re not as important as us just because you can’t bend, I -”

“It’s all good, Ro, I mean that,” Virgil says. “I don’t bend, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I have all of these to keep me safe, and that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.”

“What do you have up your sleeve?” Logan asks him. “Besides many, many knives, anyway.”

“Water bending can be used for healing,” Virgil says. “There are plenty of scrolls about it in my home village. Different types of bending use different energy pathways, and if you know where those pathways flow, you can cut them off.”

“You can take away someone’s bending?” Roman whispers.

“Not permanently,” Virgil says, picking up one of his knives and fiddling with it so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. “It’s only temporary. It leaves them weak and semi-paralyzed, and unable to bend, but they recover after half an hour or so. I try not to use it unless I have to, cause I know how much benders rely on their abilities.”

“That’s a pretty powerful skill,” Thomas says quietly.

“I guess. But you’re the Avatar, so you’d know all about power, wouldn’t you?”

Thomas nods, but there’s still something strange in his eyes.

Virgil goes for a walk by the ocean. When he comes back, the strangeness is gone.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why am I the one who has to go get firewood?” Virgil complains.

“Because I did it last time, and Patton did it the time before that, and Thomas and Roman are off doing fire bending practice somewhere,” Logan says. “It’s your turn.”

“I can go,” Patton offers. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“No, Logan is right,” Virgil sighs, rolling to his feet. “It’s my turn to go get the firewood, so I’ll go get it. It’s not really that big of an imposition.” He pats his tunic, boots, sleeves down to make sure that he’s fully stocked with knives in case something happens. “I’ll meet you all back here, alright?”

He tightens the straps of his boots and heads off inland in search of firewood.

The island is very pretty, Virgil will give it that. The forest is almost non-existent this far inland, but there are plenty of small, woody plants and shrubs that he can gather wood from. He has an armful tucked against his side when he hears the noise. It’s a pained cry, and for a moment he thinks it’s Roman or Thomas.

Quickly, he shakes his head to clear it and refocus. Thomas and Roman are training closer to the shoreline today, so they wouldn’t be this far inland. And the cry he’d heard . . . it wasn’t quite human.

The cry echoes again, but there’s something different about it. Virgil ties the firewood together and throws it over his shoulder, scrambling off towards the cry. “I’m coming!”

He realizes that this is kind of a stupid move. He realizes that he could be running straight into danger. What if it’s a trap? What if he gets himself killed? Despite his fear, there’s something in him pulling him forward. The cry sounds real, and it sounds pained. Who or whatever is making it needs help, and Virgil will not stand idly by and let someone suffer because of his fear.

He makes his way to a cliff, and he can hear whoever’s crying on the other side. The cliff is tall, but not unscalable. Virgil’s used to climbing glaciers back home, and while ice is slippery and more perilous than rock, he can rely on his bending to keep himself steady. Here, he’s climbing with no support.

Virgil pulls off his boots and knots the laces together, slinging them around his shoulders. Going barefoot will ensure that he has a better grip on the cliff as he climbs. The sun gleams sharply on the dark rocks, and Virgil goes slowly to make sure he doesn’t accidentally grab a sharp rock and slice his hands open. He hasn’t had to climb like this in quite a while, but he enjoys it, despite the reason for his climb.

When he finally pushes himself up to the top of the cliff, he gasps. He’s found a small valley, hidden in the large, dark mountains, and tucked inside is a building. It’s built almost into the shadow of the mountain from dark brick, with a dark red tiled roof and gleaming golden accents. This must be the Fire Nation temple he’d spotted when they flew in, he realizes.

The cry echoes again, and Virgil realizes that it’s coming from the temple. He quickly pulls his boots off from around his neck and tugs them on, knotting the laces securely. The cliff slopes much more smoothly on this side, like the curve of a bowl. Virgil backs up and then leaps over the side, pulling water out of the waterskin hanging at his side with his hand. He bends it and freezes it beneath him, creating a flat board that he can surf down the hill on.

Virgil makes it to the bottom of the hill in record time, leaping off and bending his ice board back to regular water, which he quickly bends back into his waterskin. The temple hadn’t looked huge from the top of the cliff, but up close and in person it’s enormous. It’s clearly suffered from neglect; the door hangs ajar from the hinges, the gold is flaking off of the roof and the statues, some of which are missing arms and legs and noses and ears and even heads. Still, the temple is undeniably beautiful.

A pitiful whimper sounds from the temple, and Virgil exhales softly. “I’m coming,” he says softly. “I’m coming.”

The temple is dark inside, but Virgil can see rows of torches on the walls. He assumes they’re meant to be lit with fire bending, probably meant to be eternally burning, but he’ll have to make do. He carries flints with him in his shoulder bag, and he quickly pulls a torch off the wall and lights it. As he progresses slowly through the temple, he lights the other torches, and they cast a warm, ambient glow over the whole room. There are pictures decorating the entire length of the hallway, telling stories of the Fire Nation. They tell how the dragons taught the people of the Fire Nation to bend, to harness the warmth and strength of fire.

Looking at these pictures, Virgil can’t fear fire bending. It looks peaceful; there’s strength and power there, but there’s also love and light and warmth.

The hallway narrows and narrows and narrows, and then it widens abruptly into a large central chamber. This is the most intricately decorated room Virgil has ever seen - the walls, the roof, the floor, the pillars, everything is absolutely covered in decoration, but he can’t focus on any of it.

All he can focus on is the dragon in the middle of the room.

It’s enormous , a long, serpentine body winding around the columns. It’s a brilliant red, scales flecked with gold, and a row of orange gold-tipped spines running down its back. Its wings are spread out over the floor, and its head has golden horns and spines and whiskers. The dragon lets out another pitiful cry, and as Virgil inches closer he sees it - a massive wound in the dragon’s side.

It looks like an old wound, one that hasn’t healed properly. Even from afar, Virgil can tell that it might be infected, and the dragon’s breathing is heavy and labored. He creeps closer, and the dragon’s head snaps around to stare at him. Its eyes are a bright, unnatural blue, with slitted golden pupils, and when it stares at him it feels like it’s staring directly into his soul.

WHY HAVE YOU COME, CHILD? Virgil nearly drops the torch to cower and cover his ears. The voice is only in his head, and the dragon’s mouth does not move to speak, but he can feel it resonate against his sternum. HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME, FINALLY?

“N - no,” Virgil manages, voice catching in his throat. “I heard you crying out.”

I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I FEAR I AM NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD.

“I - I might be able to help you,” Virgil says.

WILL YOU KILL ME, CHILD? PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?

“No,” Virgil says. “I - no ! I will not kill you! I want to try and heal you.”

YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO THIS, CHILD?

“I’ve never tried to heal a creature this big or a wound this serious,” Virgil admits honestly. “But I’m going to try. I won’t just let you suffer without trying.”

THAT IS ADMIRABLE.

“Can I come a little closer?” Virgil asks. The dragon rests its large head on its forepaws.

YOU MAY.

Virgil slowly climbs over the coils of the dragon’s body, settling himself down cross-legged next to the massive wound on the dragon’s side. It looks like an old burn wound, and the dragon’s flank rises and falls shallowly as it breathes. He gently lays a hand next to the dragon’s wound.

“Oh . . . what happened?”

IT WAS DRAGONS WHO TAUGHT THE FIRE NATION TO BEND. WE GAVE THEM THE GIFT OF FIRE. THE FIRE LORD TURNED IT ON US. HE SLEW ALL THE DRAGONS THAT I KNEW. I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT. I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND.

Virgil presses his free hand over his mouth. “That’s . . . that’s so horrible . . .”

I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS HAD THEIR LIFE DESTROYED, I SENSE.

Virgil winces. “My . . . my dad. They killed him because they thought he was the last water bender of our tribe. He died lying to protect me.”

I AM SORRY, CHILD. THAT IS A FATE NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER.

Virgil exhales shakily. “No one should suffer your fate, either. I will do my best to heal you.” He pops the cap off of his waterskin and bends the water around his hands like a protective covering. The water begins to glow as he places his hands just above the dragon’s wound, letting his water bending give him information. What it tells him isn’t good; the wound is old, and it’s infected as he’d thought, and he suspects that the dragon has some form of blood poisoning.

He’s never tried to heal something this big, or this serious. But he promised he would try, and try he will. He’s lucky that the full moon was the other night; that’s when water benders are at the height of their power. With luck, he’ll be strong enough for this task.

IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, CHILD, DO NOT PUSH YOURSELF. I HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I WILL ENDURE.

“No,” Virgil says, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “I’m not giving up. I have to try.” He presses his hands against the wound, and the water begins to glow even brighter. He focuses on the flow of energy moving throughout the dragon’s massive body, pulling out the infection surrounding the wound and trying to push healing energy into the dragon in its place.

The water quickly becomes murky and infected as he heals. Virgil takes breaks to dispose of the tainted water and fetch some more clean water from the stream outside. The more he works, the shakier he gets, and he’s worried that he won’t have the energy to finish healing the dragon.

DO NOT HURT YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE, the dragon rumbles. ALREADY I FEEL MYSELF IMPROVING. YOUR KINDNESS HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR ME.

“I - I can keep goin’,” Virgil slurs. “Almost done . . . one more should do it . . .”

He presses his hands against the wound one last time. It’s shrunk down considerably, all the infection pulled out and purified and disposed of. He’s working on the final part of the healing now, re-growing the torn and burnt muscle and skin and making sure the dragon’s scales grow in properly.

Finally, he pulls his hands away, and the wound on the dragon’s side is no more. It stands up, shaking itself out; all of the scales rattle as they realign, and the dragon roars. THANK YOU, LITTLE ONE. YOU HAVE HELPED ME IMMENSELY. The dragon begins to glow bright blue, and Virgil’s exhausted brain manages to connect the dots: the dragon is a spirit. He’s just healed a spirit.

YOU HAVE EARNED MY GRATITUDE THIS DAY, the dragon spirit tells him. REST NOW, LITTLE ONE. KNOW THAT THE SPIRITS ARE WITH YOU, AND ONE DAY YOUR GOOD DEED WILL COME BACK TO YOU TENFOLD.

Virgil’s vision blacks out and blurs around the edges. The last thing he sees as he falls backwards is the dragon spirit’s head coming forward to catch his body.

*~*~*~*~*

“- isn’t he waking up?!”

“What if he’s dead?”

“He is not dead, I can hear his heartbeat. It is strong and steady. He will survive.”

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?!”

“Geez, Roman,” Virgil groans, lifting a hand to his head. “I never knew you cared.”

“Virgil!” He winces at the shout. “Oh, shit, sorry -” A hand presses against his forehead, warm, and when Virgil opens his eyes (only halfway), Roman is leaning over him, eyes bright with worry.

“What . . . happened?”

“You were taking forever to come back from firewood, so we went looking for you! We thought you had been ambushed and captured!” Patton explains, twisting his hands with worry. “We found you at the foot of a cliff, there was a rock next to you! We think there was some kind of rock fall that caught you unaware, you must have hit your head! We don’t know how long you were unconscious!”

“How long has it been?”

“We found you a few hours ago,” Thomas says. “It’s evening now.” Virgil slowly sits up, wincing when his head pounds. Logan is sitting beside him, and he offers him a waterskin. Virgil takes it and quickly gulps down a few chilly swallows.

“I thought you were dead,” he says softly. “I could feel your heartbeat, I could hear you breathing, I knew you weren’t, but when we found you, I - I was terrified, and I . . . I thought you were - I -”

Virgil gently touches Logan’s shoulder. It’s easy to forget that he’s only twelve and a half, with the mature aura he generally projects, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious that he’s just a child, thrust into a war against his will. Logan will lose what’s left of his childhood to this conflict, and Virgil will be damned if he forces Logan to grow up any faster than he already is.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” he says. Logan turns his face towards Virgil, and his eyes are wet. He hasn’t let any tears fall, but his hand is shaking when he places it over Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I - I didn’t mean to make you think you’d lost someone else. I’m okay.”

Logan is silent for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he whispers. “I’m still mad at you, though.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry that I made you mad.”

“Smart answer,” Logan says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He sniffles once, loudly, wiping at his eyes. “You saw nothing. I was not crying.”

“Of course not,” Virgil teases, gently ruffling Logan’s hair. He squawks loudly, but he makes no attempt to dodge Virgil’s hands. Virgil assumes he’s been forgiven.

*~*~*~*~*

The stars seem a little brighter that night. Virgil is on his back, hands beneath his head, staring up at the stars, when Roman flops down next to him. “What’cha doin’?”

“Looking at the constellations,” Virgil tells him. “They’re nothing like the ones back home, so I’m making up my own.”

“Do you wanna hear about ours?” Roman offers. He seems uncharacteristically shy, but Virgil just smiles at him.

“Sure, Ro. I’d love to hear about Fire Nation constellations.” Suddenly, the stars alight in Roman’s eyes. He lays next to Virgil and starts to trace lines between the stars, telling stories about the pictures he’s creating. At some point, the rest of their group shows up and settles in around them. Thomas lays down next to Virgil, Logan slots up against his brother’s side, and Patton stretches out beside Roman.

It’s good. It’s . . . peaceful.

*~*~*~*~*

The first time Thomas produces a flame on purpose, they all stop and stare.

Roman has arranged the kindling around the firepit, but he’s refusing to light it. “You’re going to light the fire,” he tells Thomas. The Avatar shakes his head.

“Ro, I’ve never made more than plumes of smoke and the occasional spark. I can’t light it.”

“You’re going to have to,” Roman says, “because I won’t. We can’t cook dinner without the fire, so you’re gonna have to figure something out and fast. The sun’s setting.” Thomas huffs.

“Roman, you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re the Avatar. The fire is in your veins the way it’s in mine. You just have to convince it to come out.” Roman crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow impassively at Thomas. Even though he’s only met the man in passing, Virgil is reminded of Roman’s Uncle Emile.

Thomas drops into a fire bending stance and thrusts his hand forward. A puff of dark smoke appears, but no fire. He growls in frustration and throws his hand forward again, and again, then his foot, then another hand. He’s copying Roman’s bending stances, but no fire appears.

“You have to try harder than that.”

“I’m trying the hardest I can!”

“If that was true, you would have lit the fire five minutes ago.” Roman’s eyes are hard as steel. “Do better.”

“How?!” Thomas pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Just do it.”

Thomas screams and thrusts his hand forward in frustration. A massive jet of fire roars forward, licking up the sides of the pit and engulfing all of the kindling. Within seconds, it’s reduced to ash. Before anyone else can react, Patton bends a vortex around the fire and siphons out all the air, extinguishing the fire. Thomas stares at the pit in shock, breathing heavily.

“You did a good job,” Roman says, and his eyes are warm again.

“What was that?!”

“Fire benders often have to be pushed to a strong emotional extreme to create their first flame. Once you do it, though, it gets easier. We’ll work on being able to call your fire more reliably, and then we’ll work on tempering your control.” Roman touches Thomas’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m proud of you, Thomas.”

Thomas smiles. Roman sweeps fresh kindling into the firepit. “Again.”

Virgil backs up several feet.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes about ten days for Thomas to be able to call his fire reliably. Roman needles him through the first few attempts, poking and prodding until Thomas screams in frustration and incinerates whatever’s closest to him. Eventually, however, he gains the ability to bend flames without fifteen minutes of Roman’s prompting.

“You did well,” Roman tells him. “Now, we work on training that fire. Producing it is one thing, but controlling it is another. For that, we go inland.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s a Fire Nation temple on this island,” Roman says. “It’s not, like, strictly necessary to go there, but I always found that being connected to the tradition of fire benders before me helped sharpen my focus.”

“Sounds cool,” Thomas says. Virgil thinks back to the temple where he’d found and healed the dragon. He’s glad they won’t be walking in on that fiasco. “Are we the only ones going?”

“I want to go!” Patton says eagerly. “I’ve never seen a Fire Nation temple before!”

“I would also like to visit an example of Fire Nation architecture,” Logan offers. “I am sure it will be fascinating.”

They turn to face Virgil. “Vee? You coming?” Virgil’s already seen the Fire Nation temple, but he’s not too proud to admit that it was beautiful. He wonders if there are other secrets that the temple holds, secrets that will only reveal themselves in the presence of a fire bender.

Plus, he’s not exactly keen on everyone else going off on an adventure without him.

“Yeah, of course I am.” Roman grins.

*~*~*~*~*

The cliff is much easier to scale the second time around. Before any of them can attempt to problem solve, Logan steps forward. Within a minute, he’s earth bended a set of stairs leading up the gleaming cliffside. “Will these suffice?”

“Nicely done, Rocky!” Roman says, ruffling Logan’s hair. Logan hides his pleased smile, but Virgil catches a glimpse as he heads up the stairs.

The temple is just as beautiful the second time around. Logan and Thomas bend a chute in the cliff, allowing them all to slide down to the entrance of the temple. “It’s beautiful,” Roman breathes. “It’s been neglected . . . forgotten about . . . but it’s still beautiful.” He reaches out towards the front door, carefully places his hand on the intricate wooden panelling. “There was one of these in the palace, but it wasn’t so intricately decorated. My father didn’t believe in taking care of temples like this, in honoring tradition. He only believes in power.” His voice is shaking.

“We know not all fire benders are like that,” Virgil says softly. “We know you’re different.”

Roman takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.”

Once they step inside, Patton frowns. “It’s pitch black in here!”

“Oh, no,” Logan deadpans. “How terrible, to not be able to see anything. How frightening.” Patton winces guiltily before Logan snorts and socks him in the arm. “Kidding. I do not take offense.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says. Virgil can barely see his silhouette in the dark, but then a flame arcs through the air, following the path of Roman’s foot as he bends. The flame dances along the rows of torches, illuminating the hallway. “Shall we?”

Roman trails his fingertips over the murals carved into the walls as they walk. He’s vibrating like a little kid, but there’s something solemn and reverent in the way he touches things. “These murals tell the history of my people,” he whispers. He doesn’t need to, but Virgil feels the atmosphere of the temple the way he’s sure Roman does. It feels like a place for whispering. “They tell how the dragons taught us to fire bend. I wish I could see one . . .”

Virgil thinks of the last time he was here, and prays that they don’t see another dragon.

When they enter the central chamber, it is empty and darkened. Roman steps into the center, humming softly to himself, before glancing upward. “I think I can open it . . .”

“Open what?”

“All Fire Nation temples have a hatch in the ceiling that opens to let the sunlight in. That’s the source of our bending powers, is the spirit of the sun. There’s an intricate set of bending steps you have to do to open the hatch, it’s considered sacred. Fire Sages are usually the only ones who can do it, but they teach it to royalty as well.” Roman frowns.

“What is it?”

“Typically, you need two fire benders to open the hatch . . .”

“I can help,” Thomas offers.

“No, you’re not skilled enough outside of the Avatar state to do it. I can try and do it on my own, but I’m not super optimistic.”

“You have to try!” Patton cheers. Someone snorts derisively from the darkness of the temple. Roman narrows his eyes, shifting to an attack stance. Virgil lets a knife drop into his hand; Patton and Logan shift into bending stances; Logan steps in front of Thomas, who settles into an earth bending stance of his own.

Something crackles as white lines begin to trace in the dark. Roman’s face shifts from caution to shock. “Get down!” he shouts, moments before a lightning bolt sails over his head and slams into the wall. It fizzles out harmlessly against the stone, and Roman shifts back to a bending stance. “Show yourself!” Virgil’s blood runs cold. Another fire bender. They’ve been found.

Another lightning bolt shoots out of the darkness, heading towards Roman. He doesn’t move, and Virgil is about to shove him out of the way when the lightning bolt strikes the stone right in front of Roman. Virgil frowns; Roman said lightning bending was rare, something only skilled fire benders could do. Whoever’s bending in the dark has missed them, not once but twice. Either they’re a terrible shot, or . . .

They’re missing on purpose.

Roman takes a step towards the darkness, and then another. “Show yourself,” he repeats, voice just a little softer.

“Bad idea,” Virgil warns, voice low. Something shifts in the darkness, snarling, and then a dark blur throws itself onto Roman. It tackles him to the ground, knocking him flat on his back. Roman lets out a winded noise as he rolls with his attacker, trying to pin them down. Virgil slips a throwing knife into his hand, pinning it between his index and middle fingers, but he can’t get a clear shot on Roman’s attacker to throw it.

Finally, they stop moving. Roman is on his back, his attacker perched proudly on his stomach. Virgil is ready to attack, but freezes when he sees that Roman isn’t staring up at his attacker with fear or anger or concern. His face is soft, and open, and looks almost . . . hopeful. Virgil’s eyes slide to Roman’s attacker, and he does a double take.

Roman is being pinned to the ground by . . . himself?

A few more seconds clears his vision; the boy pinning Roman looks very similar to his friend, but there are differences. He has a white streak of hair in his bangs, the wispy beginnings of a mustache, a gap between his front teeth. There’s something slightly unhinged glinting in his eyes as he grins.

“Remus?” Roman breathes. The name rings a bell. Remus. Roman’s twin brother. The one who told them about this island.

“The one and only!” Remus crows. He hops up off of Roman, eyes settling on Virgil and the others. He bows exaggeratedly, crossing one foot behind the other, grinning up at them with something just shy of mania. Roman rolls to his feet and yanks Remus into a hug.

“Rem!” Roman’s fist grips Remus’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Remus holds his brother just as tightly. “You’re okay! After I left, I was so worried Father would do something to you, are you - are you okay?!”

“I’m okay,” Remus says softly. “I’m okay, Ro, and Deedee is too. He’s safe.”

“Is he here too?!” Roman gasps hopefully. Remus shakes his head.

“He’s not strong enough to leave the ship’s quarters. Father did a number on him. But he’s alive, and he misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him too,” Roman says, eyes watering. He pulls back from the hug just enough to study Remus’s face. “Your hair - what happened?”

“Lightning mishap.”

“You can bend lightning now?! You absolute fucker!” Roman laughs, dragging Remus back into his arms. “I can’t believe you figured it out first!” Remus grins, hugging his twin. “How did you get here? We flew in, but -”

“I took a rowboat.”

“Are you crazy?! You came in by sea? You could have been killed!”

“I know! It would have been so exciting!” Remus chirps, bouncing and flapping his hands. “But I knew you were gonna be here, and I missed you!”

“That was a stupid risk!”

“Saving the Avatar and his baby brother from Father’s wrath was a stupid risk, too. Must run in the family.”

Roman punches his brother in the chest. Remus laughs, rolling with the blow and kicking Roman’s feet out from under him. Roman lands flat on his back, laughing breathlessly. Virgil lets his knife slide back into its sheath. Remus still sets him on edge, but Roman looks more at ease than Virgil’s ever seen him (with the possible exception of when his Uncle Emile tumbled out of those bushes).

It’s nice to see him relax.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after Remus and Roman have performed and intricate series of dance-like fire bending steps and opened the roof hatch, letting the sun come pouring in, they all sit together. Remus and Roman are pressed close together, literally joined at the hip.

“I can’t stay much longer,” Remus says regretfully. “I’m going to have to head out today if I’m to make it back to the warship before the sea becomes unnavigable.”

“Why risk it at all?” Roman asks.

“We’re checking all the outlying Fire Nation islands for you. Your flying sky beast was spotted by some locals on the shore. I volunteered because I knew it was the most dangerous island to look for. The crew thinks it was a noble gesture, they don’t suspect me.”

“But if they do,” Roman says, “what will they do to you?”

Remus grins, sharp and unhinged. “I can do worse back to them, tenfold. Trust me. And they won’t find anything out.”

“Why come yourself?” Virgil asks. “Why not send your Uncle?”

Remus’s grin fades. “I missed Ro. We’ve never been apart this long, it’s . . . I hate it. It’s like someone ripped my arm and leg out and then beat me over the head with it.”

“I hate it too,” Roman says. He grips Remus’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I left you.”

“Hey, if Dee and I coulda escaped with you, we would have,” Remus shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone has to take care of him until you get back. And Dee’s cool, I don’t mind.” Remus turns to regard Thomas, tilting his head to the side. “So how good of an Avatar are you?”

“I’ve mastered earth bending,” Thomas says. “Roman is teaching me to master fire. Air is next, then water.” Remus winces. “What?”

“You might wanna hurry that time table up a little. There aren’t any water benders left at the South Pole.”

“I know,” Virgil says coolly. “I’m from the South Pole.”

“Father is planning something,” Remus says, gripping Roman’s hand back. “He keeps meeting with dignitaries from the Air Nomads, and I’m not sure why. He told me before I left that he was trying to broker peace, but -”

“But Father has never brokered a peace in his entire life,” Roman finishes. “That’s suspicious.”

“There’s more. I think once he finishes with whatever he’s doing with the Air Nomads, he’s planning an assault on the Northern Water Tribe.”

“How is he going to do that?”

“With the Air Nomads’ help?”

“My people would never aid in something like that,” Patton spits. Remus shrugs.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying, you don’t know what Father is capable of the way that Roman and I do. He’s capable of atrocities beyond your comprehension. He took Mother away from us. He took Roman away from me. He’s - he’s taking everyone I’ve ever loved.”

“He won’t take me,” Roman promises. “We might not physically be with each other, but as soon as the war is over I’ll come home.”

“You’ll have to kill Father for that to happen,” Remus says. “You’ll have to win the war.”

“We will.” Roman’s eyes are blazing, and Remus stares into them for a moment before nodding.

“I believe you.”

“Good.” Remus stands up. “Don’t accompany me to the shoreline. The ship’s crew are watching through the onboard telescope, and if they see you they’ll storm the island. Wait until after sundown, we’ll be long gone by then. If plans change, I’ll send Dragon.”

“You better be taking care of him. And Dolos.”

“Please, Roro. I’m not taking care of anyone. Uncle Emile is keeping us all alive.” Roman heaves an exaggerated sigh.

“I don’t know why I expected better.” He stands up as well, gripping Remus’s shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?”

“I’m never careful, brother,” Remus laughs. They pull into another tight hug before Remus is disappearing down the hallway like a shadow. Roman watches him go with a wistful, hungry expression on his face before turning around to stare at Thomas with renewed fire.

“You heard my brother. We have a lot of work to do.”

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #sanders sides #ts deceit #ts remus #brotherly creativitwins #background romantic roceit #virgil sanders

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wordynerdygurl · 5 years

Text

Best Laid Plans

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy this one! Please post comments and feel free to share!

Summary: You plan a perfectly romantic night in with Loki, but even the best laid plans go awry.

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: SMUT, Masterbation, Denial, dom/sub in a committed relationship

"Ok! Ok... first things first. Music. Yes. Then food, then shower." You ran over your to do list, out loud, to no one but yourself. The plan was to have dinner on its way to ready in thirty minutes so that you could get changed and be gorgeous by the time Loki was expected home. Then, a romantic meal, some wine and if things went well, sexy time.

You felt a hot blush pink your cheeks. Just thinking about Loki in your bed made you flustered. It was distracting you from the pasta water and backing up your time line. "Get it together, girl.", you checked yourself.

Since you'd been planning this little evening for a week now you had already created a playlist for dinner music. Soft, sweet and sensual tunes to inspire hand holding by candlelight made up most of the mix. But for getting ready? No, you needed moving and shaking music. "80's pop. Yup yup!" And with a click The Cars started telling you about thier best friend's girlfriend.

Tomatoes, garlic, onions, herbs and cheese, the sauce was starting to smell amazing. Water was almost boiling, steamy tendrils rising from the surface, telling you that it was getting hot in there. Putting the garlic toast in the oven, you sighed.

"Now, to shower!"

The warm stream felt heavenly and you lingered a little longer than necessary under the calming spray. You were squeaky clean from your head to your shaved legs, smooth with exfoliators and moisturizing body wash, scented with vanilla and lavender by the time you shut off the faucet.

You wrapped your towel around your chest and added some mousse spray to your hair. Makeup and styling would be next to last on the finished list. But you brushed your teeth and gargled with mouthwash, even though it burned like fire.

Dinner is progressing nicely so you run to the bedroom. "Time check!" You sing this outloud, excitement growing at your possibility of actually pulling this plan of yours off. There's still plenty of time before Loki gets here.

Tearing into the paper shopping bag you remove your new emerald green push up bra. It has this edge of black lace and when you saw it all you could picture was Loki licking along the skin that would be exposed by the form fitting cups. You gulped hard and fastened the snaps happily.

The matching panties were, well, almost absurd. Technically it was two black string ties and a very, very narrow strip of green material, again, accented with lace. You could have worn nothing and felt less vulnerable but it was a matched set and you knew your mischief maker was going to enjoy taking it off of you.

There was a knock at your door which had you jumping out of your skin. "What in the world? It's too early to be Loki, right?" You slipped your thin robe over your underwear and moved towards the door. Peeping around the curtain you saw Loki standing on your stoop, bottle of wine in hand, smile on his face.

"You are early!" Swinging open the door, you flash him a frazzled grin as you pull your robe tighter and motion him inside. Before you can say anything else the smoke alarm starts to cry.

"SHIT!" Racing into the kitchen you can tell the garlic bread is cremated just from the smell. You curse again, flick off the oven and open it slowly as black smoke billows out. "Can you crack that window, babe?" Loki lifts the pane as you fan the air, trying desperately to clear the odor of burnt toast from the place.

"At least the pasta and sauce are ok." You're less enthusiastic than earlier. You're also almost shouting over Van Halen since you're 'getting ready' playlist was in full swing. Clicking the music off, your place is plunged into eerily silence.

Leaning on the kitchen island, already set for dinner, you gripe, "You're early. I'm not even dressed yet. And dinner... well. There's no bread now."

Cooly setting down the bottle he's carrying, Loki's been watching you with his side eyed stare. "Not that I mind in the least... but tell me darling, what are you up to?"

"I...I'm trying to seduce you." Throwing your hands in the air you flop into your kitchen chair, suddenly exhausted by all your efforts. Embarrassed and deflated, you hide your eyes, willing the welling tears not to fall.

Loki starts kneading your neck erasing the knots he finds there with firm pressure. His strong hands rub over your shoulders before saying, "Sorry to tell you this dearest, but I don't need you to seduce me." You felt your heart drop to your toes. "I find you so alluring already."

Sitting up, you start to turn towards him, but Loki's fantastic fingers hold you still. Your robe has slipped to puddle around your elbows. Those capable hands of his work the tendons connected to your collarbone from behind you. You sigh with contentment when they slide under the thin straps of your new bra.

"All of this for me? How romantic..." Loki's words are embers, his hands fire, igniting your body's desire. Under the fabric of your push up, his hands cup your breasts, palms pushing against your hardening nipples. Squeezing your full flesh roughly forces a moan out of you.

"Stand up, turn around. I want to see my seductress." You feel his grip leave your skin and do as he asks, rising without questioning his order, keen to have his hands on you once more.

"I think we can lose the robe, don't you?" Numbly you nod in agreement. Loki reaches for the belt knotted at your waist and yanks it free. With only gravity to help, the thin fabric pools on the kitchen floor.

Eyes widening, Loki drinks in your lingerie. You watch him nod, more to himself than anything else, and he husks at you, "Don't move."

"O...ok."

Loki is magic and you feel that truth through your lusty haze since you are now entirely under his spell. Your gaze follows him as he opens a couple of your drawers, looking and digging, until triumphantly brandishing your wine opener. With little work he pops the cork, red wine ready to pour. Next you hear him turning the knobs of your stove, closing the burners, and you start to protest.

"No. Never mind that. Bedroom. Now, please." Loki's orders are polite but firm and you pad to your room, nervous and a little aroused.

"Loki? I..." Shushing you, he commands, "Drink this." Placing a glass of wine to your lips, Loki tips the liquid down your throat, so close to you without touching. You feel a little dribble snake over your chin and drip onto your chest.

Loki licks its track from the crease of your mouth, down over your jaw. The spot above your bra line is where Loki sucks your skin free of the stain, leaving a beautiful merlot colored bruise there for tomorrow. Melding your mouths together, his tongue exploring you deeply, Loki pauses to tease, "Hmmm... a tasty vintage."

Loki's eyes never leave yours as he paces around you endlessly, scrutinizing you, surveying your barely concealed body. He's still fully dressed in that classical casual way of his. A black fitted t-shirt tucked into dark jeans. A jacket, also black, hugging his shoulders. Boots that make every step he takes sound important. Fully clothed, he's long and lethal while you're practically nude and naive.

"This outfit is quite revealing, my dove. What made you choose it?" Standing in front of you finally, he crosses his arms over his chest. His right hand stroking his chin, the way a judgemental professor might, ready to weigh your words.

Loki's dominance of the situation dampens the minuscule fabric running between your legs. Hadn't you wanted tonight to be about seduction, after all? About Loki and you coming undone together. Sure, it's not exactly what you had planned, but damn, is it sexy. There's nothing to be ashamed about here. You lift your eyes to his and square your shoulders.

"At first, the color. Your colors."

Arching an eyebrow, Loki prods, "At first?"

Swallowing roughly, voice soft but strong, you continue, "Yes. But then I thought about you taking it off of me and how happy that would make you. It does, right? Please you, I mean?"

"Sounds like it would be pleasing to you, dear. Be honest now, because I will know if you aren't." Stepping into your space, crowding you against the bed, Loki's voice was barely a whisper but it carried the promise of venom. "You wanted me to see you like this... barely covered by useless under garments, flushed in anticipation of my taking your body, eager to give yourself to me so that you could be pleasured. That was your plan all along, correct?"

You nod, agreeing, hypnotized by Loki's dark words and his deep cadence. Louder now, Loki chides, "I didn't hear you. Wasn't that your plan?"

"Yes... yes, Loki.", you stammer like a repentant child. He smiles that leviathan smile fully aware of the sway he has over you now.

Reaching for the front of your bra, Loki murmurs, "None of this is for me, is it?" And you gasp, scandalized, as he breaks the elasticized straps holding the emerald band in place. His rough hands roam over your silken skin shooting an electric charge through you. It creates liquid heat in the lowest part of your belly and you flex your thighs together to relieve the building tension.

"What a selfish slut you are... so needy, so desperate that you'll do whatever I say, whatever I want, to get your release. I'll bet those tiny knickers of yours are sodden, aren't they pet?"

Knowing now that he wants to hear your voice, you exhale gently and agree, "Yes. Yes, sir."

He's standing as close to you as possible without touching your enflamed skin. You can feel Loki's breath fan over you as he charges, "Give them to me."

You're unable to tear your eyes from Loki's. An out of control heat, cold blue, burns there ready to set your soul on fire. It's exhilarating and still scares the shit out of you.

Without looking away you hook the filmsy strings under your thumbs. You lift one leg, then the other, until the glorified scrap was balled in your fist. Mortified at the moisture you felt on the fabric, you dropped the small bundle into Loki's open hand.

"The top. Lose it." With shaking hands you unhook the ripped and ruined garment freeing your heavy breasts to the cool air. Reflexively your nipples pucker from exposure, something that is not lost on Loki. You watch him lick his bottom lip in hunger.

But he still hasn't put a hand on you yet.

"Look at you now, my would be seducer. Naked, whimpering in lust, wet and ready to do whatever you must in order to climax. If good women think only of their lover's desires then what does that make you?" Loki wraps spun silk words around you, just like a spider might.

"Bad... Selfish." It's an admission you made from guilt. He was right. You were very bad.

"Yes. Selfish. Thoughtless. Wanton and greedy. And you will pay for it." Each word was flung at you ferociously with a stinging bite.

Shoving you, Loki forces you down on top of your freshly made bed. The downy softness caresses your bare back, a comfort, as you aren't sure what Loki has in mind as a form of repayment.

Quietly Loki starts giving you directions. "Lie back all the way. Spread your legs... Wider." He watches you from the foot of your bed, eyes savoring the lewd display of your form, drinking in the details of your debasement.

Swallowing the remaining wine from your glass, Loki orders, "I want to see all of you, my pet." And you want to show Loki your dripping body, aching for his attention. You need him to see how far your knees will part, how open and available you are for him. It's his praise you are keen to earn. To be considered Loki's good girl, worthy of his love, that was what you had to prove.

"Touch yourself." There's no room for debate in his whispered edict. Nervous now, you search his eyes, hopeful of finding some understanding there. You see only Loki's crystalline blue depths as you hear a second command, edged in acid, at your delay. "I told you to touch youself."

"Wh... what?"

"Use your hands. Just like you would do in the deep dark of night, darling." Lowering his tone to a carnal croon, Loki added, "Make yourself cum... for me."

Loki watches you nod gently, chewing on your bottom lip, as your lacquered nails graze over your extended neck. Wishing it was the hands of your lover on you, you palmed your breasts before pinching your tightening nipples. A pleasant sigh floated out of you as you tugged and twisted on your hardened buds.

"Hmmm... tell me, dove, what are you thinking about?"

"You... your mouth, Loki... the way you suck on me until it hurts so good. Ah!" Fluttering closed, you shut your eyes against the rising pressure of pleasure inside you.

"You look so scrumptious. Like a saucy little cake just calling out to be devoured... hmm... keep going." Loki's voice, normally so fluid and formal, is dusky with desire. Uneven breaths punctuate his sentences and somehow that pushes your own flames higher.

Bucking your hips under your open palms, you try to touch every inch of skin available to you. You slow down over the satin of your thighs. Eagerly driven to bring yourself off, you battle internally, knowing full well Loki wants this to drag on as long as possible.

Your hands close in on your succulent center. Cupping over your core, the moan you release is ragged and raw. You drag a finger through your slick slit, gathering the evidence of your excitement and spreading it up over your clit.

Tipping your head back, you inhale sharply when you make contact with your straining bundle of nerves. The firm pad of your finger circles the sensitive skin and you shudder. Into the game of self pleasure now, your right hand continues what you were ordered to start, your left has found its way to your chest and your abandoned nipples.

"Loki... Ah... babe... I... I..." You could hardly form words around the swelling steam of your arousal. Feeling the velvet walls inside of you pulse, desperate for the filling pressure of Loki's body, your orgasm was close. Eyes shut, finger moving over your bud in frantic patterns, you were seconds away from shattering.

Loki, wrapping a capable hand around your ankle and one over your hip, pulled you to the edge of the bed with one jerk. For a moment you panicked, arms lifting off of your blushing body to grip the sheets, trying to hold onto the satisfaction that nearly was yours. Anticipating your movements, Loki lifted your knees to wrap around his waist, his throbbing member teasing at your inflamed entrance.

"Look at me, little dove. You've earned your gratification. Now I am going to take mine as well."

Groaning with the force of his thrust, Loki collapses into you, your well oiled body accepting him greedily. His heavy presence alone is enough to trip your bliss and he sees your eyes widen as pleasure spasms through you. Snapping your head back in a soundless scream, you feel your body gripping Loki's, pulling his release from him as your limbs tug him closer to you.

His left hand tightens around your exposed throat, his power over you complete, as his right clamps onto the swell of your hip. "Where shall I cum, darling? On your magnificent breasts?" He rakes his nails across those bouncing orbs of flesh in ownership. "Or maybe on your soft stomach?" Trailing his fingers over your abdomen and circling your bellybutton for emphasis. "Or shall I cum deep inside of you? Filling you until your body overflows?"

Barely recovered from your first orgasm, Loki's graphic language and savage intent have you moaning. Your body is already gathering the ingredients of another climax from your over sensitized sexual system. "Inside me, please Loki. I want to feel you!" It's desperate and deliciously wicked to admit, but it is also honest.

"My dulcet darling!" Loki snarls as he drops his forehead to yours and drives into you harder than ever. You respond with a delayed groan of pleasure, your peak pulling Loki deeper, as he ruts against your womb. True to his filthy words, Loki's release is long and bottomless. His mouth finds you in a hungry rush, his firm tongue twisting with yours as thoroughly as your bodies were entwined.

Tangling his hands in your hair, Loki kisses your brow then down your flushed cheek and across the bridge of your nose. "You're going to have to let go of me, dearest.", Loki chuckles softly in your ear.

"Oh god, I didn't realize..." Clinging to his hard body like a barnacle post coital, you unwrap your arms first, shaking the feeling back into your limp muscles. Loki continues to kiss down your torso until he's kneeling between your legs. Looking down at the mess he's made of you, Loki hums, "So beautiful... so sinful. So mine."

Smiling ruefully, you tell him, "This isn't how I thought tonight would go...I had it all planned. And I am mortified about dinner. Turns out I am not so good at seduction after all."

Lifting a brow Loki answers, "You are more seductive than your realize. It's what made tonight's... pleasure possible. And dinner is easy enough to manage."

Your doorbell rings, surprising you. Loki raises a hand saying, "Allow me." So smoothly, he slips on his pants, heading towards your front door. You can hear a soft exchange, words of thanks, then the clink of glasses.

"I didn't think I could love you anymore." It tumbles out of your mouth thoughtlessly at the amazing sight before you. Loki is holding the bottle of wine, two goblets and a freshly delivered pizza. You sit up in bed reaching for the box, suddenly famished. Loki pours out two glasses of wine before joining you in bed.

"Tonight has been spectacular!" Loki toasts you as he pulls out a slice for himself. "Thank the Gods you burned the garlic toast!"

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