#but oh my fucking god I hope I can stand without my aides

[gloomdivision]

I have a doctor’s appointment next Wednesday and that’s when I’ll find out if I can walk again soon, I’m really nervous because I hope I get cleared so I can walk at the iDKHOW show :( If I get cleared then I’ll be able to start walking a little and then be more regular the next week (week of show) so everyone please wish me luck

[sp4ceboo]

Maniac: OT8!Stray Kids x Reader

genre: a/b/o au, omegaverse, medieval au, ot8 x reader, pack dynamics, afab!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: you're your pack's only omega - when your alphas are taken from you, you refuse to rest until you're reunited with them

A/N: i loved writing this so come get your food i hope u guys like it <33

tw: 18+, a lot of smut (p in v, bath sex, knots and all that a/b/o shit, mentions of breeding ofc, 1 accidental pass out, oral - m&f recieving, face fucking, so much cum oh god, crying during sex, bit of mxm at points, somno but not much, lots of praise, one instance of finger sucking, manhandling, overstimulation, a spank, no mentioned protection because sorry it's medieval times, back scratching and biting, creampie, reader basically gets run a train on, a few 3some type things, dw there is also soft smut, guys please pee after sex), gore, blood, death, fighting, evil creepy dude, mention of past trauma, swearing, mistreatment of omegas, half assed editing, porn plot 50-50 split i reckon

wc: 12.98k

The moment the heavy wooden door of the smithy splinters and gives way, you bolt upright. Minho is already out of bed, the sheets still warm from where he was lying beside you, and you catch the glint of steel in his hand as he stands by the window, peering out at the street below; Seungmin is gone, his side of the mattress cold. Your heart stutters, and you stiffen at the all too familiar musky scent that permeates the air, rising up from between the rickety floorboards.

‘Goemul?’ You ask.

Minho nods grimly. ‘Who else?’

‘Fuck. He won’t leave me alone, will he?’

‘We won’t let him anywhere near you,’ he replies, voice low and full of anger.

You squeeze your eyes shut when Minho tucks an arm around your waist and presses you to him, pushing your nose into his neck; breathing in his scent - rain and sweet vanilla - you allow yourself a moment of comfort in his strong embrace before breaking away. A crash sounds below, and you grab your staff.

Jisung bursts in. You smell the fight on him before you see the bruising blooming across his face; there’s adrenaline spiking his scent and blood splattered across his front - not his, you note with relief. There’s a wild look in his eyes, the same look you saw the first time Goemul came for you.

‘He’s back, and with more troops,’ he gasps. ‘Chan says - ’

A chilling battle cry rings out, cutting him off.

Ice skitters down your spine. None of your pack are arrogant enough to have a signature war cry - there’s only one person that could be. Minho visibly bristles, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword before he shoulders open the bedroom door and you hear his footsteps pound down the stairs. You move to follow, but Jisung grabs your wrist.

‘Chan says you have to go. You need to run.’

You scoff. ‘Absolutely not. This is my pack.’

An edge enters Jisung’s voice. ‘And you’re our omega.’

You give him a look and he can see there’s no way he can convince you - you sprint down the stairs, him hot on your heels. Immediately, the smell of the fight overwhelms you as your feet hit the floor: at least twenty other alphas versus your eight, and a few betas fighting amongst the enemy too. Face twisted fiercely and teeth bared, Hyunjin barrels by, slashing at a stocky, snarling alpha with a rusted sword. It’s one of the ones Felix had scavenged for melting down, and you can see the wooden hilt is rotting.

Without hesitation, you raise your hand, and the attack runes painted there for an occasion just like this glow azure blue, so bright they’re almost white, and the alpha collapses, his heart ruptured in his chest. Panting, Hyunjin glances up and gives you a nod before diving back into battle, aiding Jeongin with the two betas tag teaming him.

You thrust yourself into the melee, fighting with both a sword you snatch off a fallen knight and your runes and staff. Energy begins to flow from you, leaking from your soul each time you use your runes - you’re careful to rotate your usage of the different ones inscribed on your skin, making sure you don’t tire a specific one, yet still you feel the itch of their overuse, and the knights pouring in aren’t thinning.

You catch sight of Goemul through the grappling bodies, and a flash of pure fear rivets you to the spot despite yourself. He’s locked in combat with Chan, but the spike in your scent catches both their attention, Goemul’s roar piercing through the sound of clashing blades. Chan hands seamlessly over to Changbin, and you feel his gaze pinpoint on you as he cuts through any attackers that try to stop him as he approaches.

You try to ignore his insistent stare, instead whacking one of the intruders over the head with your staff and forcefully bringing your knee up into his stomach. Chan is sweaty, his shoulders heaving from the fight, and guilt stings your chest - if it wasn’t for you, Goemul and his pack wouldn’t be here.

‘I thought I told Jisung to tell you to run.’

His voice is rough, raspy no doubt from shouting orders to the boys, and nearly drowned out from the din of the fight, yet you hear him clearly, attuned to the sound of your pack leader’s voice.

‘I wanted to stay and fight. It’s my fault, anyway.’

‘This is not your fault,’ Chan snaps. ‘We all knew Goemul would come after you.’

‘And yet you took me in anyway,’ you mutter.

He gives you a sharp look. ‘You need to run. We’re not going to last much longer. We’re tired, and we weren’t expecting it. We need you to break us out when they take us prisoner.’

You don’t think about the other option, the option that doesn’t include taking prisoners and includes death, instead breathing out an anxious: ‘What if I can’t?’

‘I know you can. I trust you, omega.’

Even in the midst of a fight, Chan knows what to say to put you at ease. He knows what is needed to look after his pack, and you know that he knows this, without doubt. You can see that your alphas are tiring, can see that this attack came as a surprise - Changbin is fighting with a hammer used for shaping swords, for fuck’s sake.

You swallow thickly. ‘I love you, Channie. Keep them safe, please. Keep yourself safe.’

Curtly, he nods. No promises. You turn on your heel and run.

You’ve been told all your life that omegas don’t fight, that omegas aren’t fierce. Omegas don’t retaliate, and they take whatever they’re given by their alphas without complaint.

Too bad that’s all been proven official bullshit.

The night is hostile. Clouds scuttle across the sky, polluting the moon’s pure silver light, and the soggy leaves beneath your feet muffle your footsteps - it’s cold, dark, damp, but you’re kept warm by the hot fury that you’ve been nursing since that night, knotted in a ball nestled right beside your heart.

Leaves are flattened beneath your boots. Wind weaves its way thinly through the tree trunks, singing lowly to itself. The stars are blotted from the sky, the moon a thin, faltering sliver. You walk onwards, staff sturdy against your palm.

Tonight is a perfect night for revenge.

Tonight you’re going to make sure Goemul leaves your pack alone for good, and tonight you’re going to make sure that you’re reunited with your alphas. It doesn’t matter that you’re an omega - you will fight. You can fight.

Your staff is testament to that. So are the attack runes painted in practised calligraphy on both your hands, the black ink winding up your forearms - you’ve added more since your alphas were taken from you, enough to extinguish the possibility of exhausting all of them. There are runes to boil a man’s brain in his skull, runes to explode his lungs even as he draws breath, runes made so you can protect your pack.

You are also half feral with the beginnings of your heat.

Blood rushes through your body, your heart pumping so hard in your chest you think it may punch through your ribs; your pupils are fully dilated, anticipating the fight. There’s a roaring in your ears, and intertwined in the thunderous, earsplitting noise of it is an insistent whisper: protect, protect, protect.

There’s no preventing this timing. Every second you spend without your pack, they could be hurting, bleeding, worse. All the preheat does is give you a vicious edge - the desperation of a cornered animal, the strength of one who has nothing else to lose.

You think this is what your ancestors must have felt, back when there were no cities, no castles made of rock, no swords or books, just the primal urge to hunt and fight and protect. You wonder if they smile down on you. You wonder if they slip silently across the narrow path before you, guiding you with ghostly hands, spurring you forward, closer to your pack, closer to the keep.

Closer to Goemul.

Once, he owned you. Owned you, because he does not believe omegas can belong - they can only be owned. You would spend nights curled on the stone floor, trying to rid yourself of his awful scent, nights where you would stare up at the pitiless rafters - even they smelt like him, wishing you were anywhere but where you were.

And then came Seungmin, carrying with him the scent of warm embers and freedom.

Somehow, here you are again, back on Goemul’s territory. You knew he wouldn’t let you go easily; you are proof to those he crushes beneath his boot heels that there is an escape.

There are two knights posted outside the keep’s wide wooden doors - thankfully ones that won’t recognise you. Faintly, you can hear the sounds of a feast within, yellow light spilling out into the night. Overhead, the clouds coalesce, and something in the air sharpens - the first patter of rain hits the tree canopy, muting your footsteps as you step forward.

‘Halt,’ one of the guards commands. ‘State your purpose.’

‘I’m just a blacksmith, sir,’ you reply meekly. ‘Looking to sell my wares to the lord and his men.’

The other guard grunts, sending a nod to the one who spoke, and swings open a hatch set in the big doors, the hinges groaning in protest. Ducking your head, you step into the great hall: it’s a huge, cavernous room made of rough, dark granite with flaming sconces fixed to the walls and violent tapestries hung between them; it’s where Goemul receives his guests.

Just the sight of the place makes your stomach turn, but it’s the heavy stench of musk that forces you to hide the shaking of your hands in the folds of your cloak. The musk in Goemul’s scent is heavy and suffocating, like a dirty, soaked blanket dumped discourteously over one’s head - nothing like Chan’s.

You glance around the hall. There are about three alphas to every omega in the room; the latter are interspersed throughout the former, either chained or collared - something that you remember all too well. Two lounge on the podium beneath Goemul’s chair, which is really more of a throne with its gaudy ornate carvings, their hands on him, their eyes brimming with fear.

You remember that, too.

And there, in the corner, you see them. Your nails dig into your palms. Your pack. Your pack. Crammed in a tiny cage, chained to a ring set in the wall, curled against each other. Nothing can hide the anger that rises in your scent when you see that Chan has pushed his way to the front, protecting his boys, bruises flowering across his face and neck and arms, dried blood smeared on his tattered shirt.

You know Goemul. You know that the cage is purpose built to hold prisoners used for entertainment.

Unmistakable now, fury soars on you, permeating the smell of the feast, permeating Goemul’s pungent musk.

Slowly, heads begin to turn. They don’t recognise you - you’ve masked your scent with runes scrawled down your collarbones and ringing your wrists, written over twice to hide the smell of your preheat. Still, they stare, with a sort of reluctant curiosity.

‘A blacksmith, my lord,’ one of the guards announces from behind you.

Goemul narrows his eyes, trying to see your face from the shadows of your hood. ‘What for?’

‘Looking to sell her wares, she said.’

He guffaws, and the sound of laughter ripples through those sitting at the banqueting table even though they don’t know what’s amusing him. Slowly, he gets to his feet, the two omegas scrambling to give him space - you see the glint of a chain pulling tight, fixed to the base of the podium. The guard beside you shuffles his feet nervously. Somewhere within the darkened cage, you swear you see someone stir.

‘What wares, guard?’

Gleefully, Goemul inhales like he’s feasting upon the guard’s fear as he realises you carry nothing, just the staff in your hand. You hear his muttered curse, the whoosh of air when he takes in a hurried breath, preparing to spill out apologies, not knowing how this has raised his lord’s wrath so intensely but knowing that he needs to beg and scrape if he wants to live.

‘Leave.’

Goemul’s voice hasn’t even finished ringing through the hall before the guard is tripping over himself to slam the hatch behind him, not waiting to see if his lord will withdraw his mercy. Slowly, Goemul settles back down on his throne, the omegas assuming their previous positions, their hands running over his legs as if to appease his anger.

You let your cowl fall back, revealing your features.

A murmur ripples through Goemul’s men.

He waits until they’re quiet. Around the room, the omegas watch you with wide eyes - you know they recognise you, you know they’re wondering why you would ever choose to return to this cursed place. Nearest to you, one jerks his head a little, as if to tell you to run.

‘I knew you’d come crawling back, my omega,’ he grins, smiling with too many teeth. ‘Although, I guess I do have something of yours, don’t I?’

‘I am not yours, Goemul,’ you hiss.

Lightning flares outside, followed by a strident clap of thunder.

‘Your pack is, though,’ he chuckles. ‘We had so much fun together, little omega. Channie and I are well acquainted now, since we had our nice pack leader to pack leader conversation.’

‘You keep his name out your mouth,’ you snap.

‘He bled a lot, though,’ Goemul muses, faking thoughtfulness. ‘I can’t seem to understand why.’

His dark eyes bore into yours, waiting to see your response. You can tell that he knows his goading is getting to you - he’s smiling that infernal smile, the one that makes you want to peel his skin from his bones and force it down his throat with a dagger.

Outside, thunder growls, low and furious.

You raise your staff. ‘You leave me no choice.’

Eyes locked on his, you bring it down. The oakwood hits the stone floor with a sound far louder than it should be, as if the very rock beneath your feet has split, rended apart down to the Earth’s very core. A muffled whoompf follows, and one by one, the torches in the sconces are snuffed out by an unseen force. Darkness descends.

All around, you sense scents spiking - they may be Goemul’s men, but they still feel fear; you doubt any of them have met someone who wields sorcery, let alone an omega. A hush falls over the hall, loaded with the anticipation before a fight.

‘A little bit of shadow won’t scare us, omega,’ Goemul calls.

You don’t reply. You’re busy stalking silently across the room, a key in your hand. It doesn’t matter that it’s not the one from the ring on Goemul’s belt - it’s covered all over with unlocking runes moulded right into the metal, something you forged yourself.

There’s a tinge of wild anger in Goemul’s voice when he speaks again. ‘Omega?’

When you reach through the bars of the cage, a warm, calloused hand is already waiting. Now that you’re close, you can smell their individual scents, the hurt and the exhaustion on them. Your eyes have adjusted to the gloom just enough that you can see Felix curled against Changbin, and although they’re both smiling proudly at you, eyes fierce, you can see the pain in their faces too. It sets bitter anger roiling within you, as deep and wrathful as the storm outside.

You know Goemul is listening. You hope he is, as the sound of a key in a lock and the clatter of chains rings out through the room. You hope he feels the control slipping through his desperate, clawing fingers as nervous whispers riffle through the great hall, as alphas reach for their swords, disbelieving that Goemul failed to make a single, lone omega submit to him.

And then, low and menacing and crystal clear, Chan growls.

You feel everyone in the hall freeze at the sound. There are no words to the deep rumble vibrating in his chest, just the white hot, primal fury of a leader whose pack has been hurt. Simply the tone of it roots half the men in the hall to the spot, the hairs on the backs of their necks rising, their palms slick with sweat as they stare wide eyed into the darkness.

‘Goemul,’ Chan snarls, stepping from the cage. ‘I swear I will not rest until you are dead.’

The last part comes out as a roar, and with it, chaos descends.

Before the echo of Chan’s voice has even died down, air whooshes past you - what must be Changbin and Minho shooting out of the cage. A strangled cry sounds as they finish off the closest two alphas, wrenching their swords from their belts to fight with. Someone’s hand brushes your waist as the rest of your pack members swiftly exit the cage: Felix, by the gentle scent of violets that washes over you, and yet on it you can almost taste the yearning to fight.

Your alphas are not vengeful. Protective, however, is a different story, and as each of their unique scents spread out across the room, meeting Goemul’s alphas that slash out blindly with their swords blow for blow, you know each of them are thinking of what all of you have gone through under Goemul’s orders.

Above it all, Goemul’s battle cry rings out, but you don’t flinch, don’t bat an eyelash - you’re ready for him this time, fresh runes all over your skin. Your alphas may be injured, but they’ve been cooped up in a too small cage for almost a week and they’re sure as hell fucking angry.

A feverish, clammy hand grabs your wrist. Hot air laced with the stink of ale puffs against your cheek. ‘Witch.’

You take a step forward, stabbing out with the butt of your staff and catching your attacker in the stomach. A throng of them have formed around you, angry and growling and still reeling that one omega has caused this much havoc, their movements uncoordinated and laced with more fear than any of them would ever admit.

Under the low illumination of the lightning strikes, you can just about see they’ve made a ring around you. Maybe they think that their numbers will prevail over your sorcery and they’ve got a quick kill, because some of them are smiling as if the fight’s already over. You almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

As you strike out with your staff, you think of Chan, welcoming you into his pack, back when all you could do around alphas was flinch - patient, soft spoken Channie, bloodied by Goemul and his men from shielding the boys with his body, half conscious from the violence.

You think of Minho as you break a man’s nose, Minho who said little to begin with but would always be silently checking on you, making sure you were comfortable, leaving you an extra blanket in winter before he eventually slept by your side, his body warm against yours, currently with a split lip and cracked ribs.

You knock a man’s sword from his hand, catching it in your own, and think of Changbin, always there to make you smile and feel safe with his big arms and tight hugs, always acting tough but in truth all soft and gooey on the inside, his knuckles now bloodied and face twisted in pain.

While you cut down another alpha that runs at you, you think of Hyunjin, who calls you his muse, who crafts the most beautiful ornate daggers back at the smithy, and who gave you his favourite one with a sweet kiss on your forehead and a promise to never leave you, painted with bruises that spread wide over his back.

Your stolen blade clashes against an attacker’s as you think of Jisung, your Jisung who never fails to make you laugh, never fails to wrap his arms around you from behind when you need it most, beaten until he blacked out, his eyes almost swollen shut from the bruising.

The runes painted on your palms glow bright while you think of Felix, who baked you sweet treats and wiped your tears every day that they fell, who healed your soul with his sunshine smile, nose bloody and near broken from repeated blows.

Fatigue makes your arm tremble as you swing your sword, but you fight on, thinking of Seungmin, who was the first to find you, the first to plant the seed of hope, always the one who dispels your doubts with the sureness of his words, his head now bowed and teeth gritted to fight to keep down the cry that builds within him from the pain.

Your blade gets stuck between an alpha’s ribs, so you whirl your staff in your hands and think of Jeongin, sweet, sweet Jeongin who would hold your hand after the nightmares, whispering reassurances and holding you until you could fall asleep again, his big hands carding through your hair, bloodied and beaten for nothing but sport.

You fight, and as you do, you think of your alphas. You let the insistent whisper from before rise to become a roar, rise to drown out the sounds of the battle: protect, protect, protect. It burns like liquor as it rushes through your veins, and you find it strengthens you, even as the energy spills from you through the usage of your runes; it guides your blade, guides your staff, ensuring your strikes hit home.

And then, all of a sudden, no one’s attacking you any more.

No one is running at you with swords, derisive words on their lips, no one is throwing punches at you or trying to sweep your legs out from under you so they can kick you when you’re down. You sway a little, half expecting someone to appear out of nowhere, but all the remaining alphas subservient to Goemul are fighting elsewhere or have fled - they weren’t prepared, instead lulled into a false sense of safety within their own keep. There’s a ring of bodies slumped on the floor around you.

Something wrenches in your gut, twisting. A warning: your heat will be upon you soon - the longest you have left is a few hours. Sweat suddenly pricks at your body. You need to finish this, and quickly.

Chan blurs by, exchanging hurled punches and vicious kicks with Goemul. You’re leaning against your staff for support, catching your breath, but as three alphas dive into the melee, clawing at Chan’s back and hauling him off Goemul, and as you spot the two omegas, still chained to the podium and cowering under a half collapsed table, unable to escape, you find you aren’t really that tired after all.

You’re on Goemul within seconds.

He grins. ‘Hello again, my little omega - ’

You punch him across the face. Hard. His head snaps to the side, and you grab his shirt, slamming him once, twice against the hard, unforgiving floor of his great hall, savage red fog hazing your vision, not letting up even when you feel the crunch of his nose beneath your knuckles.

‘You’re stupid, Goemul,’ - you spit the name he’s created for himself - ‘for underestimating omegas. You think you’re destined to lord over us all, when all you are is a fucking scared little pup clinging to control and power you don’t deserve.’

Despite it all, he laughs, and blood glistens on his teeth. ‘You’re driving yourself crazy, little omega. I can smell the heat on you - you can’t kill me if your body needs my knot. All you need to do is to ask for it, sweet thing, and I’ll give it to you.’

Your grip on him falters, and he flips you, pinning you to the floor beneath him. Struggling against his grip, you thrash, your careful runes long forgotten, crimson rolling in like mist over the hills, and something wide and primal yawns open within you - your lips pull back, and you bare your teeth at him, pupils dilating as you lurch your head forward, snapping at his throat.

Goemul dodges just in time, holding you at arms length even as you claw at his face and neck. All you can hear is protect, protect, protect and the hidden voice beneath it saying kill him and end it, make him pay, do it for the pack, for your alphas.

His eyes widen. ‘You’re a maniac.’

You look up, over his shoulder, past him, your laugh chilling. ‘Yes.’

Impossibly, his eyes open further, bulging, and a low, strained gurgle sounds from deep in his throat. Trembling, one of his hands comes up to his chest, and he looks down, surprise and fear contorting his features as his finger gets sliced open on the tip of the blade protruding from between his collarbones.

Goemul’s eyes roll back, and his body slumps over you, deadweight. Dazed, you gaze up at Jeongin, admiring his handsome features, albeit splattered with gore from the fight and covered with a look of disgust as he places a foot on Goemul’s back and wrenches his sword out. It makes a wet, sucking sound as it goes, and your alpha dumps the sword on the floor in favour of heaving the cooling body off you and pulling you into his arms.

Mint and lavender, clean and fresh and soothing, rush at your senses as you take a deep breath in. You’re clinging onto Jeongin so hard that it must be hurting him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding you just as tightly to him, burying his face in your neck, his nose right against your scent gland as he just inhales.

Eventually, you jostle him, your senses coming back to you. You need to grab your staff; you can still fight, even though the ink of more than half of the writing on your hands and wrists has flaked off, the exhausted runes leaving light burns in their wake.

‘Where’s my staff?’ You mumble, wriggling in his grip. ‘I can still - ’

A hand smooths over your hair, someone coming up behind Jeongin so they can look you in the eyes from where you’re peeking over his shoulder, searching for the familiar oakwood. You blink. It’s Minho, his eyes soft, hair a mess.

‘It’s over, jagiya,’ he murmurs. ‘You don’t have to fight any more. We’re safe now.’

Eventually, his words echo in your head, beginning to register - over, safe now - and you go limp in Jeongin’s arms, burying your face in his shoulder and letting out a damp, shaky breath, hands fisting in his shirt. Your impending heat burns at your core, pulling you this way and that, but the nearness of your alphas grounds you, keeps you tethered to them.

You have just the presence to reach out to Minho, fingers brushing over his side as the healing runes written around the tops of your forearms flare to life, their glow different from the ones intended for attack - they’re the orangey pink of a rising dawn, like tiny suns pulsating beneath your skin. They begin to burn, uncomfortably hot as you heal Minho’s cracked ribs, then Felix’s nose and Han’s swollen black eyes, followed by all the injuries of your alphas that you can with the energy you have spare.

You’re panting by the end of it, drained. You’ve still neglected some of the less serious flesh wounds, but the well inside of you that was full to the brim with potency when you first entered the keep has run dry. If it weren’t for your heat fast approaching, you might have more energy, but you don’t, so that’s what you’re forced to settle with as you close your eyes and try to stop yourself from wriggling too much in Jeongin’s grip.

‘I’ll take her,’ someone says, and you’re being transferred into another’s arms.

Clean linen and cinnamon, crisp and familiar, crashes over you, and you nestle into Jisung’s arms, trying to absorb his body  heat as he kisses your face - the urge to nest is beginning to grow stronger, now that the adrenaline from the fight is leaving your system, and he’s so warm.

Somewhere far away, you can hear Felix’s low, comforting voice as he talks to Goemul’s omegas, and Chan’s too, instructing them and pointing them towards the east wing of the keep - you know at some point, they’ll want to talk to you, but for now you rest your chin on Jisung’s shoulder, closing your eyes and leaning your weight against him. Some of them remain in the hall, putting the bodies in neat piles up against the wall to be buried later or tending to anyone with injuries.

‘We’re going to find somewhere for you to nest now, baby,’ Jisung says into your hair. ‘Hyunjinnie is going to take you while we look.’

Another set of arms wraps around you, lean and wiry and smelling like roses and grapefruit but mainly roses, achingly close, strong enough to make you want to cry. He nuzzles at your neck, his long hair tickling your face and collarbones. Part of you is singing, happy only now that you’re surrounded by your alphas, happy that -

Hyunjin’s tongue flicks over your scent gland.

You know he doesn’t mean to set off anything - he does it a lot, just to calm you or show affection, but you’re teetering on the brink, hanging in the balance, and this is what tips you over. Just like that, your first wave of slick comes, and all of a sudden there’s an insistent ache between your legs. You stiffen in his arms.

‘Alpha,’ you whine, voice small.

Around you, you hear rather than see the boys pause. No doubt their instincts are kicking in, already perked up at the heady spike in your scent, telling them to look after their omega and knot and  breed and give you pups. There are the other omegas in the room, too, but even they freeze, affected by the possessive twang rolling off each of your alpha’s scents.

Hyunjin shifts just a little against you, and you feel his hardening cock heavy against your hip. A gasp escapes you, and it’s like the sound of it jolts your alphas back up to the present, because they’re moving again, hurrying, in a slight frenzy as they continue to help move the bodies and organise the rest of the omegas.

The fog of your heat is descending, and the rational part of you hates this timing - you need to look after your alphas, tend to their wounds that you couldn’t heal, but the animal part of you clamours over it, making you squirm uncomfortably, pushing Hyunjin away as you spin around, searching for a place to nest. You breath comes out in gasps: you can’t have your heat without a nest, but you don’t know if there are rooms free, if -

A firm hand sweeps up your back, landing on the nape of your neck and holding it, not quite scruffing you but breaking through your rising panic, making you listen. The scent of cocoa and gentle musk overcomes you, and when you look up at Chan, his dark, authority filled eyes pinning you down, another round of slick gushes out of you, and he smiles a little at your response to him.

‘Pack leader,’ you yip, ducking your head. ‘L - leader, alpha - ’

‘You’re going to be okay,’ Chan soothes. ‘Your alphas are here, okay? We’re going to get you to the bed Changbin and Jisung have found for you so you can nest. Just hang in there, omega.’

‘What about the other omegas?’ You ask, struggling to meet his eyes.

‘They’re in the other wing,’ he replies, then preempts your next words. ‘We’ll find new packs for them; we’re not going to replace you, sweetheart. Just let your alphas take care of you, yeah?’

Gently, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb along the scent gland at your wrist. A quiet, needy noise tears itself from your throat, and suddenly your legs are buckling - Chan catches you and scoops you up, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carries you through the passages leading from the hall and into the guest wing.

You’re lowered onto the softest mattress you’ve ever felt. It’s funny how all your time trapped in this keep, you never slept on anything but the cold stone floor - but now, your alphas are here, either still in the great hall, here with you or in what you understand is the bathroom next door, and Goemul’s dead, and you’re safe.

Chan kisses your crown and leaves you be for now as you hurriedly arrange the blankets. The bed is huge, wider than you are tall, yet you still crave your nest at home, items of clothing hoarded from your alphas tucked neatly amongst the bedding you’d padded it with - the sheets here are clean, but devoid of smell. It doesn’t compare.

You sit back on your heels. ‘The nest, it’s nowhere near good enough.’

Seungmin appears by your side, rubbing his thumb over the scent gland in your neck, his lips in your hair. ‘No, omega, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.’

The praise relaxes you, calms you, and you melt into his touch, leaning against him and pushing your face into his side, resting your cheek on his bare skin - like the others, he’d surrendered his shirt for your nest without complaint. His touch is feather light as he strokes your hair, and your eyelids droop a little.

Seungmin pecks your lips. ‘You need to sleep now, before your heat fully hits. We’ll all be here when you wake up.’

He watches you lay down, perching on the mattress so you have an alpha close to you while you fall asleep. Yawning, you curl up close to him. This will be the last proper rest you get until the end of your heat.

You close your eyes, the scent of warm embers washing over you.

You wake up sweating.

The ache between your legs has spread upwards and outwards, and you curl into a ball from the pain of it, eyes blurry as you blindly reach your hands out, searching for an alpha. You can hear yourself babbling, begging for a knot, begging to be filled up, because they’re all right there, curled up on the mattress, surrounding you, but they’re all asleep, all eight of them leaving you here in heat on your own, without a knot, and you can’t think beyond the need; you’re going to implode if someone doesn’t -

Sure hands unfurl you, flipping you so you’re spread flat on the mattress. The weight of one of your alphas traps you in place, and you moan, back arching when a hot tongue slides along the column of your throat, halting at your scent gland and sucking the sensitive skin there.

Sweet vanilla rolls over your senses. His teeth bite and suck at your collarbone, and you groan, head all jumbled with need, your body still locked up from the cramps as you fumble with his boxers, urgency rendering you clumsy.

Mercifully, one of your alphas has stripped you down to your underwear while you were sleeping, and you find you don’t even have the time to take them off, instead hooking your leg around Minho’s hip and grinding your throbbing core down on his hardening cock. Lightning pulses through your cunt at the way his lids half close in pleasure, filling you with the need to please your alpha, to be of use to him.

He tears your underwear off with a flick of his wrist. Your pussy is only getting wetter.

Dipping his head, Minho claims your lips, and the brush of his tongue against yours makes your head spin faster than it already is, your hands coming up to tangle with his hair as his hips roll to meet yours.

‘F - fuck,’ you choke out, jolting when Minho sinks two fingers inside you and scissors them.

His lips travel lower to trace down your sternum. ‘Gotta stretch you out for the boys, jagiya.’

You find yourself squirming a little; his fingers are curling, pumping in and out of you at exactly the pace you normally like, but your body is working itself up to the wild throes at the peak of your heat and you need more, so much more. You tell him so, and he chuckles, kissing you again like it’s going to distract you from the way he’s lining himself up at the entrance of your cunt.

Barely the tip of him is in before you’re clenching hard, painfully hard, scrabbling at the bedsheets and crying his name so loud it’s a wonder the boys don’t stir. He licks and sucks at your scent gland, relaxing you until your muscles ease up and he can move - despite all your slick, you still feel the burn of his cock. He’s stretching you out, just like he said he would.

Agonisingly, he pulls out, just to slam back in again, balls deep, punching the air out of your lungs. Minho fucks you roughly, like you need at the start of your heat, his cock reaching so deep inside you you think he might be in your guts - he’s not fast, just so intense that tears are forming on your lash line and you’re panting, fighting for breath.

Then, he’s forcing your legs up onto his shoulders, and the new angle makes you wail, because he’s destroying your cunt in a way that has your thighs shaking and your chest heaving, pleas for more spilling out of you uncontrollably.

Minho has a way of wringing pleasure from you, fucking you so good that you can’t do anything but repeat his name over and over; you feel yourself suspended on the edge, fire licking up your sides, so close, so close, so close -

Mid-thrust, he pauses.

‘Alpha,’ you scream, voice breaking pitifully. ‘Alpha, please - ’

There’s something half sadistic in his eyes when he looks down at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, teasing as he enjoys the way you struggle, bucking against him desperately, begging like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

‘Sungie’s woken up from all your noise, omega,’ Minho remarks impassively. ‘Maybe you should give him a hand.’

No sooner has he finished speaking than an achingly hard cock makes its way into your palm, and you cast your teary eyes upward, only half there as you witness Jisung’s head fall back in pleasure when you begin to jerk him, because thank all that is good, Minho’s moving again, tearing you apart and putting you back together with those powerful thrusts of his hips.

He’s hitting that spot inside you, and each time he does, paralysing bolts of pleasure shoot down your spine. Your orgasm crushes you with its magnitude, whiting out your vision, and through it, you blindly beg for his knot, beg him to fill you, beg him to stuff you with load after load.

‘That’s right, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let it all out for me.’

Tears finally spill over, trickling down your face, the pleasure leaving you rapt, brows drawn together and mouth hanging open, and still he fucks into you; you can feel the slight burn as his knot begins to engorge, and you know he’s so close, so almost filling you up.

Your thoughts grow indistinct the moment Minho spills hot inside you, his knot popping into place and locking you together. Jisung comes not a moment later, letting go with a short cry all over your chest, and if you were not full and happy with Minho’s knot, you’d be fretting about the waste. Instead, you close your eyes and murmur a pleased ‘alpha’, fingers brushing lightly over a bandage on Minho’s arm as the two of them begin to lick the come off you.

You must drift off, because when you resurface, Jisung, Minho and his knot are gone, most likely to the bathroom, and instead you can feel Seungmin’s long fingers working lazily between your legs, just enough to take the edge off the bite of your cramps. He’s got your back propped up against his chest, and you wiggle, bucking your hips up into his touch, inhaling the smell of warm embers.

‘What do you think you’re doing, omega?’

You freeze at the dominance in his tone. Remaining silent, you gaze up at him, wide eyed and head full of cotton as he pins you beneath him, the ravenous look on his face making your neck and cheeks flush. You can feel his cock against your thigh, but he doesn’t allow you to move, doesn’t move himself, just stares down at you, waiting.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable expanse of your throat - a display of utter submission. A low whine escapes you when his breath caresses your skin, his nose brushing against your jugular as he inhales your scent.

‘Good omega,’ Seungmin murmurs. ‘Our omega.’

‘Yours,’ you echo, and this time, he lets you buck against him.

Another hot rush of slick leaves you at the friction of his clothed cock against you, and you gasp his name, rubbing your cheek all over his neck and chest, trying to cover him in your scent. He allows it, letting you press yourself against him, desperation soaking your scent, your hands roaming his body urgently, trying to tell him that you need his knot because all your mouth can seem to do right now is say ‘alpha’, again and again and again.

In one smooth sweep, Seungmin gathers your wrists above your head and pins them there. A sound leaves you, so eager and pathetic that your cheeks flush and you struggle half heartedly against him, but he’s yanking off his boxers and running his fingers through your folds to transfer your arousal and make sure his dick will be wet enough. If you stay still, you think you might die.

Yet another round of slick is pouring from you. He chuckles, seeing your cunt clench as he spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock - you know he’s doing it to taunt you. Whoever goes first always makes sure you’re prepped.

‘Ready for my knot, omega?’ Seungmin coos. ‘Think you can take it?’

‘Yes,’ you whine. ‘Yes, alpha, yes, give it to me, I can, I can - ’

Your mouth snaps shut when he thrusts into you, your eyes widening and back arching as thrill after thrill races up your spine, making your cunt bear down on him, squeezing him tight and  greedily sucking him in further. The moment he starts moving, you know he’s not going to go easy on you.

Seungmin is going to make you earn it.

He releases your hands, letting you grab onto him as he fucks into you, fast, unrelenting. Almost sly, his fingers drag down your stomach so he can rub them over your clit in tight circles - your pussy flutters in response, clamping down on him. A muttered curse escapes him; you can feel every muscle of his back taut under your grip, the vein in his neck beginning to strain, yet all he does is go harder.

Something within you buckles. Not a second later, you come, clenching around his cock, squeezing him so tight he’s forced to grind into you further, your cunt refusing to let him pull out. You expect him to ease up, give you a moment to rest but he continues the moment he can, unforgiving.

Overstimulation sears at you, cutting through the cloudiness fogging your brain, and you yawp, scrabbling at Seungmin’s back, thighs jumping with every drag of his cock against your walls as you rake your nails against his skin in a way that must be hurting his battered, not quite healed body, but he doesn’t shake you off, doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Stop thrashing if you want your alpha’s knot,’ he snarls.

‘W - want it,’ you babble, trying to stay still for him. ‘Need it so bad, alpha.’

‘Then take it.’

He punctuates his words with deep rolls of his hips, and this time you can’t not move, because the pads of his fingers are back on your clit, torturous, creating friction so impossibly blissful that it hurts, and he’s hammering his dick into you, so quick that you can’t form words any more, and then - and then -

Once again, you come, and he slams his knot inside you.

Your back bows, your fingers twisting into the sheets until someone grabs your hand and squeezes it as tightly you are squeezing theirs. It’s not Seungmin’s, you realise - his are too busy propping him up, holding him above you. Turning your head to the side, you smile: it’s Minho, half asleep with his eyes almost closed and a silly little grin on his face.

Huffing, his breath ruffling your hair, Seungmin pokes at your face, bringing your attention back to him. You tip your head up and fit your lips to his, a warm, happy buzz engulfing you now that you’re full, and he lowers himself on top of you so you can lie there together, joined by his knot nestled inside your sated cunt as sleep tugs you both under.

You wake up to cacao and musk, lips closed over your scent gland, gently sucking. Whatever Seungmin’s knot and the orgasms he plucked from you did to appease your heat have worn off, and fast, because you’re sweating all over, hips moving against the firmness below you and you don’t know where you are, just that there are hands on your body and a mouth on your neck keeping back the flames.

‘Leader,’ you mewl, half crazy on his scent. ‘Alpha, need your knot,’

‘I’ve got you,’ Chan croons. ‘Alpha’s got you.’

It begins to dawn on you that you’re straddling his lap, grinding down frantically on his thigh, his hands cool where they coast over your burning skin, smoothing circles over your back. Taking your chin in his fingers, he tilts your face up until you’re looking at him. The moment you meet his eyes, you still, hips hovering over his.

‘You going to behave for me, omega?’

You nod so hard it hurts your neck. ‘Yes, alpha, so good, so good for you. Promise.’

‘Sweet girl,’ he coos. ‘My omega.’

Leaving trails of goosebumps behind, Chan’s hands slide down your torso, down to caress the curves of your hips, down to right where you need him. There’s a moment where he just holds your cunt, fingers pressing between your folds until you break and rock against the heel of his palm, chasing away the building pressure between your legs in favour of momentary relief, wobbly voiced pleas rushing from you as your slick soaks him to the wrist.

Nosing at your throat, he laves his tongue over your scent gland, one hand coming round to grip your ass as he positions you closer to him. When he looks up at you, you see the same haze that blankets your mind clouding his eyes - you must be nearing the peak of your heat for your scent to affect him so. He’s barely holding himself back.

‘Okay?’ He verifies. ‘Can take it?’

‘Y - yes, yes,’ you reply, grinding your hips down despite his steady grip on you, searching for his cock.

That’s all it takes for him to lurch upwards, sheathing himself in your heat like it was made for him. The remainder of the sentence on your tongue dissolves into a keening moan, your lips falling open, eyes unfocused and rolled back; he gives you barely a second to adjust to his thickness before he’s pounding into you, holding you in place above him with his nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

You grab at his broad shoulders, needing something to anchor you with the way he’s jerking your whole body up and down with every punishing thrust. Chan’s fucking up into you like he wants you to forget your own name, like he wants you to forget everything but the surge of his cock through your spasming walls; he’s got you dumb, mouth agape, the sounds that leave you wordless but pleading.

It’s as if your senses have narrowed to the giddying scent of your alpha and the promise of his knot in the snap of his hips against yours - you can’t think of anything else.

Dimly, you realise he’s speaking between the sloppy kisses he adorns your neck and chest with, groaning and mumbling against your skin as his teeth nip at your scent gland, stimulating you in a way that brings century old instincts to the surface - it has you shuddering, nails buried into the meat of his biceps as you twist your head back to bare your throat to your alpha.

‘Good omega,’ he’s gasping, words slurred, reaching so deep inside you all you can do is take it. ‘Made for me, omega - fuck, fuck, squeezing me so well - gonna give you my knot, sweetheart, give you my pups, gotta breed you, gonna - ’

Chan moans so loud it’s almost a howl, slamming you down on his cock to the hilt one last time, fingers furiously working your clit. The hot spill of his seed yanks you unceremoniously over the edge, and you feel your pussy constrict around his knot - he hisses at the feel of it, his chest, mottled with bruises, heaving as he comes down from the high, eyes beginning to focus on you.

Fuck, he looks good, all sweaty and panting and still a bit dazed, his curls ruffled and a dumb little blissed out smile plastered on his face. Tugging you close, he lets his forehead fall against your collarbones, pushing his face between your tits - you giggle as he sighs happily into their plushness, tucking your arms around him and holding him close, sated and so incredibly, wonderfully full.

‘So good for me, sweetheart,’ he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You preen at his words, and his hands move up from where they were splayed out on your back to stroke your hair, smoothing it down and untangling some of the knots with his fingers. Curling up as much as you can in this position, you lean your head on Chan’s shoulder, basking in the reassuring presence of your alpha.

Something warm presses against your leg, and you look down to see Jeongin, balled up facing Seungmin with his back pushed up against the length of your thigh, his angular face softened in sleep. Grinning, you brush a hand over his cheek, and he stirs, humming drowsily before settling again.

A hand rubs at the small of your back, and you turn to see that Felix has woken up. Despite the fact that his blonde hair is mussed and he’s squinting against the light of the torches in the sconces on the walls, he’s smiling sweetly at you, gaze bright and soft.

‘Felix, please could you grab that for me?’ Chan’s gesturing to a small platter on the bedside table.

Clambering over a slumbering Minho and Jisung and almost tripping up on Changbin’s outstretched leg, he retrieves it and hands it to Chan, who supports you with a hand on your waist so you can sit back and tuck into the slices of bread and cheese on the plate. You hadn’t realised how hungry you were until now - your stomach rumbles at just the smell of the food.

Through a mouthful, you beam. ‘Thanks, Lix.’

He leans over Changbin to kiss you sweetly, filling your nose with the scent of violets and sunshine. ‘Once Chan’s knot goes down I’ll take you to the bath, okay?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply. ‘I’m all sticky.’

‘My bad,’ Chan chuckles, rubbing his hands up and down your sides and making your brain all fuzzy.

By the time you’ve finished the food, Chan’s knot has come down enough to slip out of you - both of you groan when he pulls out, his come rolling down your thighs. You glance over at Felix and see him watching, and when you look down you can see he’s semi hard and sending you a sheepish grin.

A great yawn splits your face in half, and you stretch your cramped legs as you shuffle awkwardly off the bed, pausing to give Chan a kiss before he scoots down and tugs the blanket over him, nuzzling close to Jeongin. Lifting you up, Felix carries you to the bathroom - Hyunjin looks up from where he’s perched on a rickety wooden stool in the corner, holding something delicately in his hands and smirking.

‘That cavewoman omega in you really likes it when Chan fucks you like that, huh?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Go on and pretend you weren’t hard.’

‘Why are you holed up in here, anyway?’ Felix asks as he helps you into the wooden tub.

‘Changbin was rolling around in his sleep,’ he shrugs. ‘Didn’t want to stab him.’

Proudly, Hyunjin holds up the piece of wood he’s been whittling - it’s a lovely piece of limewood, light and creamy in colour, and it must be a maquette for a sword hilt he’s planning on making, because it’s carved with whorls and flowing arches, as if the wood itself is malleable clay in his skilled hands.

‘I like it,’ Felix says as he helps soap your back. ‘It’s pretty.’

Hyunjin gives him a look. ‘Of course.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, Felix, when did he ever make something that wasn’t pretty?’

‘Hey, what about that time when - ’

‘No, it was pretty, you just - ’

Closing your eyes, you listen to the two of them bicker playfully, relishing the warmth of the water and the way it eases your sore muscles - you want to enjoy the momentary lucidity. You’re still somewhere in the highest intensity of your heat, and soon your body is going to want a knot again, even after having Chan’s so recently.

Right on queue, as if just thinking about it sets it off, your scent spikes, and you feel a wave of slick spill from you - it goes straight into the water, but both Hyunjin and Felix fall silent anyway, sensing your need from a mile away.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Hyunjin drags his stool closer to the tub.

Without further delay, Felix shucks off his boxers and climbs in. The water swills but doesn’t spill over, and he takes your chin and kisses you softly, careful not to lean too much of his weight on you; the moment he pulls back, Hyunjin is there, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth, and you moan around him when you feel the nudge of Felix’s cock head at your entrance.

All three of you groan when he slides in, and you turn your head to the side, unsurprised to see Hyunjin’s slender fingers curling around his cock, his carving abandoned to the side - your eyes glide upwards, locking on his as you suck on his thumb, still resting against your lips, and he visibly picks up his pace, face twisting in pleasure.

Hiding his face into your damp neck, Felix groans, low and deep, thrusting his hips forward until they kiss yours, so close that his pubic bone grinds over your clit. He fucks into you slowly and tenderly, and as he does, Hyunjin hooks his thumb under your chin and crams three of his fingers into your mouth up to the knuckle, grunting when your tongue swirls over them.

You’re still sensitive from Chan, maybe even from the two orgasms Seungmin coaxed from you, and the way Felix’s cock drags through you is driving you insane - almost as much as the praise they’re both showering upon you and the pump of Hyunjin’s fingers in and out of your mouth. Water is sloshing over the sides of the tub with each movement, and it’s as if you’re floating aimlessly, muscles lax and surrounded all over by this warmth.

Hyunjin comes first.

It’s Felix that sets him off: kissing you over the fingers buried in your mouth, his tongue sliding over them before he licks at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and suddenly Hyunjin’s coming with a gasp, wrenching Felix off your front by his shoulder so he can spill over the part of your chest that’s above the water.

That’s what makes you come.

The sight of Hyunjin bent double over you and Felix, jerking himself until he’s spent and then some to overstimulate himself, the hand that had been in your mouth gripping the side of the tub so hard his knuckles run white - it’s too much. Your pussy convulses around Felix, and only then do you find your words, gasping that you need a knot, begging for his come.

It’s all too easy for him to give you what you want - more water splashes out of the tub and straight onto the bathroom floor as he seats his knot inside you, plugging his seed in so not a drop is wasted. He flops over you, panting.

‘I didn’t expect it to come back so fast,’ you remark as the three of you catch your breath.

‘So much for the bath,’ Felix laughs. ‘Maybe we should draw another one.’

The next time you open your eyes, it hits you full force. The ache in your core is so intense that all you can do is flail, thrashing and writhing and crying, all tangled up in the blankets which are soaked with your sweat and twisted around your legs, all tangled up in the consuming flames of your heat. There are warm bodies all around you; you can hear their breathing, but none of them are responding, and fuck it hurts -

This can’t be happening again -

You squeak in alarm as someone manhandles you onto your front so quickly that your head spins, holding your arms down so you can barely move - you’re grinding desperately down on the mattress, and you can feel the sheets beneath you grow wet with your slick.

‘Stay still, omega,’ a voice growls. ‘You’re going to push someone off the bed if you don’t.’

‘Alpha?’ You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. ‘It’s not enough, please - ’

‘Binnie’s here,’ he soothes, tone gentler now. ‘Binnie’s going to take care of you, okay? Hands and knees for me, omega.’

Tears of relief trickle down your face and seep into the cloth beneath you - Jeongin’s shirt. You scramble to obey your alpha’s command, only halting when Changbin pulls you in for a quick kiss that leaves you dizzy, as if he sucked the air from your lungs and replaced it with pure, unadulterated need. Squeezing your ass, he fucking bullies you into position, manoeuvring you until you’re face down, ass up.

You fist the sheets in your hands, trying to stay still but he’s taking his damn time. Arching your back, you push back on him, feverish, reduced to the urges of your idiot omega brain that you can’t ignore for the life of you. Your thighs are trembling as he lines himself up, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

With a harsh stab of his hips, he ploughs into you.

You wait for him to move, wait for him to fucking destroy you, but he doesn’t; he just holds himself there, infuriating, playing with you, and you’re wailing and trying to push back onto him more but he’s got you in his iron grip and then he’s cracking a hand down on your ass and you howl and finally -

Finally he’s moving.

Changbin is railing into you, unrelenting. You’re clenching so hard around him, desperate for his knot that your vision keeps blanking out, your voice breaking as you call his name, and surely it’s waking up the boys, but you don’t really care because you need him, need -

‘Need it, alpha,’ you sob, ‘Need it.’

‘I know, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let your alpha take care of you.’

And then he gives you all you ask. He gives it to you, alright. He gives it to you so that the slick is running out of you and down your twitching thighs, he gives it to you so you’re hoarse from screaming his name - he gives it to you until you feel all limp and boneless beneath him, and still he draws you out, drilling into you like he was born to do it.

Just when you think he might be satisfied, Changbin hooks a hand under your arm and pulls you upright, pinning you against his chest and hitting a new, cataclysmic angle inside you; roughly, he bites down on the spot where you shoulder and neck meet, and his hands come up to cup your tits, pinching your nipples and sending jolts of pleasure through you. He’s fucking up into you endlessly and you can’t even remember if you came already because he’s got you drowning in ecstasy, losing yourself in it.

And then his fingers are on your clit.

You can feel his knot, pressing against your core, so close, so close.

Inside your stomach, something pulls up tight, and you come so hard everything goes black.

You come to about half a minute later, cradled against Changbin’s chest, his knot safely within your cunt, satisfying you, and he’s hugging you to him, kissing every inch of your sweat coated skin that he can reach. He shifts against you when he senses you waking, nuzzling against your scent gland as he kisses a hickey on your neck - most likely from Minho.

‘Are you okay?’ Changbin asks. ‘Did I go too hard?’

‘No,’ you reply drowsily. ‘Was good. So good.’

Your hand meets his, and you smile a little as you twine your fingers together. The scent of roses and grapefruit fills your nose, and you close your eyes at the feel of Hyunjin nestling closer to you, sandwiching you between him and Changbin, your breathing slowing as you drift off.

You’re woken by a puff of air against your clit. Hyunjin chuckles when the muscles in your thigh jitter at the feel of it, looking up at you from where he sprawls between your legs, grinning like he wants to devour you. Whatever you’re lying on rocks to the side, and you bleat in alarm and narrowly catch yourself, glancing over your shoulder to find that your head was  resting on Jeongin’s chest, who is now smirking at you, eyes glittering mischievously.

The feeling of two alphas looking like they might eat you does something to your cunt that has Hyunjin transfixed. He licks his lips and you get the distinct sense that he might accidentally pop a knot too soon if he isn’t careful.

‘You two look like you’re plotting something,’ you mumble, trying to ignore the attention your pussy is demanding.

‘Yeah,’ Jeongin confirms casually. ‘Hyunjin’s going to go down on you and I’m going to fuck your mouth.’

‘Oh,’ you say, and this time you can’t ignore the way you clench around nothing.

Hyunjin groans, and you feel the mattress dip a little as he grinds into it. He buries a finger into your fluttering heat, cursing under his breath, and your eyes widen as Jeongin props your head up with a pillow and straddles your chest, his flushed cock nudging your lips. Your tongue darts out, flicking against his head, and he adjusts himself so he’s kneeling over you.

Opening your mouth, you take him as far as you can, and almost like he’s rewarding you for it, Hyunjin’s lips close around your clit. Surprised, you yelp around Jeongin’s length, hips bucking into Hyunjin’s face of their own accord; in response, another finger is eased into your core and you suck in a sharp breath of air.

That’s the moment Jeongin chooses to thrust shallowly into your mouth. You gag and get embarrassingly close to coming - Hyunjin lifts his head, feeling your weeping pussy seize his fingers.

‘She liked that,’ he remarks.

You don’t even get to reply because there’s an alpha cock fucking itself down your throat, surrounding you with the scent of mint and lavender. You’re not sure when you moved your hands but now they’re curled under the backs of his thighs, your nails sinking into his skin as he uses your mouth, and he’s got your hair fisted in his fingers for better leverage - even through the haze of your heat you can see his knuckles are still swollen and cut up from the fight.

He must have been pretty wound up because you can feel him tensing under your palms, curses flowing from his lips as he wrenches himself out of your mouth and basically shoves Hyunjin out of the way. There’s a moment where you’re painfully empty, bereft of Hyunjin’s nimble fingers, and then Jeongin slams his cock inside you, rutting into you once, twice, before he comes, his knot swelling within you and filling you up.

‘So good for us, omega,’ Hyunjin coos, appearing at your side.

Cupping your chin, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him as he licks into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. Jeongin pushes him to the side, grumbling and barging him with his shoulder so he can press his lips to your scent gland, sucking a love bite just below it, his teeth grazing over your skin. You giggle at the look on Hyunjin’s face, cute and pouty despite the fact that you can feel his cock, stiff and leaking precum all over your thigh.

While you wait for Jeongin’s knot to go down, the two of them take turns kissing you, Hyunjin sometimes sneaking kisses to Jeongin too. It’s like you’re in heaven: stuffed full and content, with two alphas paying their utmost attention to you.

Finally, Jeongin eases out, and you feel the hot spill of his come - and maybe some of Changbin’s too - ooze from your stretched out pussy. He scoops up as much of it as he can and pushes it right back in, licking his fingers after: your body is wracked by a shiver at the sight, cunt aching to be filled again.

‘Need another load?’ Hyunjin teases, seeing the hungry look in your eyes.

‘Get on with it already, alpha,’ you snark back.

Eagerly, Hyunjin slots himself between your legs, gliding his cock head through your folds a few times before he plunges in. It shuts you up, fast. Throwing his head back, he groans, just a little louder than the wet, sucking sounds your pussy makes as he begins to move; there’s come slopping out of you with each thrust, smearing over the tops of your thighs and his, and he fucks it right back into you until you’re keening, bucking into him.

‘Shit,’ he moans. ‘Keep on fucking doing that, sweet omega.’

Breathless, you obey, rolling your hips to meet his so fervently that your muscles begin to burn, but it’s the good kind, the type of sensation that comes before your legs lock up, trembling uncontrollably as pleasure hits you so hard you go limp.

Pinching and rubbing at your clit in a way that is glorious, Hyunjin dips his head, giving you another kiss that tastes like you, and suddenly, at the touch of his lips to yours, you’re coming, shaking so hard that you’re shaking him. He groans your name, hands tangling in your hair to hold your face to his, and he travels a little lower to mouth at the hollow of your throat.

‘Taking me so well,’ he rasps. ‘Fitting around me just right, omega.’

A little jolt of lightning shoots through you as he lurches a little further into your cunt, coming, and there’s already so much seed inside you that a little bit seeps out around his knot, fat drops slipping down your skin. Sighing contentedly, you stretch your arms above your head as Hyunjin rests his head on your chest. You can feel the dull pain of your heat receding, giving way to a hint of lucidity, and now that the adrenaline is leaving your system, you start to feel aches flaring up all over your body.

Lifting your head, you keep a hand on the back of Hyunjin’s head so he doesn’t slide off you as you search for the familiar scent of clean linen and cinnamon, craning your neck as you twist to check he’s not among the boys dozing on the mattress around you. Just before you call out his name, the door to the room opens, and he walks in, cheeks full with some food he must have raided from the keep’s storeroom.

Jisung sees your face and immediately strides over. ‘Feeling okay, omega?’

You nod. ‘I think it’s almost passed.’

A stab of guilt punches through you. Jisung’s waited his turn, and there’s a chance that if you fall asleep now, you’ll wake up and find your heat has broken. He must smell the worry on your scent, because he leans forward and tucks some of your tangled hair behind your ear.

‘It’s okay, jagi,’ he reassures. ‘This is about you. Rest now.’

You’re already dreaming by the time he finishes his sentence.

‘Are you sure?’ Jisung clarifies again, even though you’re certain he can still smell the lingering honey of your heat on your scent.

‘Yes, alpha,’ you huff, unable to hide the petulance in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Please,’ you whine. ‘Need your knot, Ji, please, alpha.’

‘Okay, but you tell me if you’re too sensitive, alright?’

You nod, already bucking your hips which succeeds to do nothing but drag his cock head through your folds. You’d woken up surrounded by Jisung’s crisp linen and cinnamon scent, the low burning need for a knot clawing at your insides, subdued at least by the seven other knots you’ve taken but still insistent enough that you needed Jisung inside you.

A wretched cry leaves you as he seats his cock inside you - he pauses, throwing his head back, biting his lips to stifle a moan - and you feel him twitch from within your squeezing walls. You’re not surprised; he’s been stuck in a keep with his omega’s scent rubbed all over him, the mattress and his pack mates, driving him crazy.

‘Fucking hell, omega,’ he mumbles, nuzzling at your face before he kisses you. ‘Don’t know how long I’m gonna last.’

Jisung begins to move, slowly but deep, a little smile pulling at his lips as he looks you right in the eyes, lacing his fingers with yours where they rest on the pillows beneath your head. He’s gentle, aware that you’re sore, pressing feather light kisses to the hickeys decorating your skin - some of which you don’t even remember exactly who gave to you, your memories clouded by your heat - and slowing his pace if your face screws up or your fingers tighten too hard on his.

Wrapping your legs around his trimmed waist, you pull him closer, crossing your ankles at the small of his back. His hand trails down and begins to rub steadily at your clit, and you feel the stirrings of heaven beginning to rouse within you: your toes curl, and a drawn out whine escapes from your throat, urging him onwards.

Jisung’s fingers speed up on your clit. ‘Come for me, omega.’

You keen as shockwaves run through you, leaving you spent, out of breath, pussy raw. Fractionally, Jisung slows the pace he’s thrusting into you, whispering sweet nothings onto your lips like prayers - your fingers sweep through his soft hair, the rest of your body limp against the mattress as you gaze up at him, eyes glazed.

‘Alpha,’ you whimper - it’s all you have the energy for.

‘Shit, omega - ’

Jisung cums with a gasp, knot locking into place as he trembles above you, trying to control the way he rocks his hips , grinding himself impossibly deeper into you. A tear slips down your cheek and he licks it off, the tender look in his eyes leaving you all melty in his arms.

Your pussy flutters around him, constricting around his knot as he carefully rolls the two of you over for you to lie on his chest, legs curled up either side of him so you can soak up the feel of his skin against yours. His arms wrap around you, and another hand, calloused from hours working in the smithy, brushes over your back before lips press against your shoulder blade.

‘How’s she doing?’ Chan whispers.

‘Good,’ you hum, answering for Jisung and cracking your eyes open a millimetre. ‘Really good. Really tired, too.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m not surprised, sweetheart.’

Minho speaks up, saying something that makes Jisung’s wide chest vibrate beneath your ear with a quiet laugh, but you don’t really hear it at all - your brain feels like it’s made out of cotton, and your limbs feel light and airy, Jisung’s skin so soft it’s as if you’re floating on a cloud.

‘Love you, alpha,’ you murmur.

You don’t clarify, and they don’t ask, but they know you mean each and every one of them.

When you next rouse yourself, you’re fully lucid, and Changbin’s shouting at someone from inside the bathroom. Groaning, you rub your eyes, and a low, tired throb emanates from between your legs - solid proof that your alphas took care of you through your heat, like they always do. You remember it: most of it vividly, some of it in flashes.

Flopping your arms out, you’re met with unpleasantly cold sheets. A frown furrows your brow and you lift your head - now that you’re shaking off the last dregs of your heat and the long sleep that has left a small bit of drool on the pillow beneath your head, you can faintly hear your pack’s voices. From what it sounds, most of them are in the corridor or the great hall, and you can just about pick up other voices too: the omegas you rescued.

You can also hear Changbin, clear as day, muttering grumpily to himself. Snickering, you listen closer, catching something about Seungmin, that little shit and damn towel. You open your mouth, ready to call out to him -

‘Seungmin!’ He yells, so loud you jump. ‘I know you can hear me! Where’s my towel?’

With a groan, you heave yourself upright and pull on the first shirt available: immediately, Jisung’s scent wraps tight around you. Choking on a laugh that you fail to stifle, you shuffle to the edge of the bed and climb off, taking pity on Changbin, while - rolling his eyes so hard it looks like there’s someone behind them pulling them with strings - Seungmin bursts through the bedroom door.

Just in time to see your legs buckle.

He darts across the room and manages to break your fall as you crumple to the floor, muscles protesting. Unfortunately, you manage to take him down with you and he laughs, loud enough for Changbin to hear it and think he’s the one getting made fun of, but with a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes that you know is aimed at you.

‘You’re acting as if you didn’t contribute to this,’ you retort, attempting to pull yourself up.

There’s a steady burning in your thighs, and once you’re upright, you’re wobbling like a newborn calf. Seungmin snorts, knocking you backwards onto the bed and kissing you, fending off your hands as you attempt to punch him in the ribs. Eventually, he lets up, mostly because Changbin has started screeching threats from inside the bathroom that can be heard over your giggled protests.

He sorts out his mussed hair. ‘I don’t regret contributing whatsoever. In fact, I enjoyed it.’

‘You’re always so smug after knotting me, huh?’ You send him a rude gesture.

‘As if you didn’t - ’

‘Seungmin, I swear - ’

Both of you giggle, and Changbin splutters, hearing your laughter. Still chuckling, Seungmin scoops you up in his arms and retrieves a towel that’s been stowed behind one of the pillows, taking his time to open the bathroom door and hand it back to him. Seeing Changbin, his damp hair hanging over his eyes as he grumbles at the two of you, unable to fulfil his threats with Seungmin using you as a human shield, sets the two of you off again.

The sound of your laughter attracts your other alphas. They file into the room, and Chan smiles fondly as he sees you Seungmin’s arms. Jeongin walks over and nuzzles his face into your hair, kissing your earlobe and pausing there.

‘Legs out of commission after being fucked too good, huh?’

‘Jeongin,’ you hiss, slapping his arm. Seungmin has the audacity to high five him.

Chan attempts to hide a laugh. ‘I’m going to ignore that.’

‘Well, you better not ignore Seungmin stealing and hiding my towel,’ Changbin mutters.

Seungmin laughs again, and you get passed to Jeongin while he wards off Changbin, who is still clad in just a towel. Warmth fills you - it’s good to have your boys happy and playful after seeing them taken and hurt by Goemul. You’re whole again now that you’ve got them back.

Eventually, the two of them calm down, and Chan smiles at you in a way that makes your heart swell and overflow in your chest.

‘Ready to go home, omega?’

taglist: @0bticeo @hyunjinsjeans @sleepyleeji @milkslovehotel

fyi: goemul = monster in korean

[evera-era]

Hey love, hope you’re doing wonderful 💞

Can I request Ellie proposing to reader, thx.

hi! thanks sweetie, hope you are too!! ofc u can :)

warnings: fluff, nervous ellie !!

Ellie was fiddling with the small, velvet box when she hears the front door squeal. A few seconds pass before it shuts, then locks.

“Baby?” Your voice chimes out. “I’m home.”

The brunette quickly tucks the box away in the drawer. Her eyes dart around the room as she contemplates what to do next. She exhales swiftly before exiting the bedroom you shared.

“Hey babe,” She says. She turns the corner to see you with your hands full. You’re struggling to put the groceries on the counter.

“They didn’t have the ice cream you wanted, so I got rocky road. I hope that’s okay,” You comment as she quickly comes to your aid. She places the jug of milk near the fridge.

When she doesn’t reply, you look up at her. She’s nearly biting all of the skin off of her lip.

“Ellie?”

“Y-Yeah, rocky road is fine.”

You furrow your brows, setting the rest of the bags down. Once your hands are free, you reach for her face.

“Hey, everything alright?”

“Yeah,” She forces a relaxed smile, leaning against your touch. “Yeah, baby. Just wanna talk to you about something… okay?”

Your eyes widen. She notices, then reassures you.

“N-Nothing bad, just kind of important. I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

“Oh... okay.” You murmur. You watch as Ellie crosses the living room before retreating down the hallway.

A few minutes pass as you organize the kitchen. When you turn around after putting everything away, you find her standing in front of you, looking down at her feet.

Her head is filled with worrisome thoughts. What if she scares you off? What if you say yes, then later on change your mind? How would she even begin to cope with something like that?

“Babe?” You ask. Ellie blinks a few times.

“So, um…” She starts. “I’ve been thinking about it, and… I’m really, really happy with you. Being with you, y’know? I feel like I’m at home with you. Like, I don’t have to be someone I’m not. And I—“

She reaches into her pocket. Her heart skips a beat as her fingers brush against the box.

“F-Fuck. I’m just gonna say it, okay? I want you to be mine. Not just mine for now. Mine… always. Assuming, y’know, you feel this way too. And— And we can finally get a house together, a real fuckin’ house, and—“

She pauses for a second to get down on her knees. You gasp.

“Oh my god—“

She smiles softly, revealing the quaint little box.

“Ellie—“ You absentmindedly step back in an effort to steady yourself.

“Are— are you— Is this… real?”

“Yeah,” She whispers softly. “I wanna marry you, Y/N. I wanna wake up to you, every fucking day for the rest of my life. I— I never wanna be without you. I wanna navigate the whole damned world with you right by my side.”

You didn’t realize it, but a tear fell down your cheek. Your face feels like it could go numb from how hard you were blushing. Ellie looks down.

“Will you make me the happiest girl in the world, and—“

“Yes, Ellie,” You cry out. “Oh my god, a million times yes—“

You throw your arms around her, a surge of emotion rushing through your veins. She exhales into your hair, telling herself that she did it, that she didn’t die, and that you — the only thing that matters most — said yes.

She looks at the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears prickling at her eyes. She sniffles, then pulls away momentarily, fiddling with the ring.

“C’mere,” She laughs breathlessly. “So I can put this on you.”

You giggle, wiping your eyes before helping her stand up. You put out your trembling hand.

She slides the diamond ring on your finger before bringing your hand up to her lips and kissing it. Your eyes glisten as you get a better look at the jewelry.

“Oh, baby,” You murmur. “It’s beautiful.”

Ellie watches you, a grin spreading on her face as well. You kiss her passionately, caressing her cheeks so you can keep her close.

She presses her forehead against yours after you pull away. Her eyelashes flutter shut.

“I… I was scared. So fucking scared, baby.” She admits. “That… that you wouldn’t—“

“Oh, no, Ellie. Never.” You breathe out. “You had nothing to be afraid of. I love you so much.”

The two of you remain in the embrace as you catch your breath. You take a deep sigh, then smile up at Ellie.

“Was dreaming of this day, y’know.”

She chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Just didn’t know when. Definitely didn’t think it’d be today — I would’ve made sure to look the part.”

Ellie smiles at your words. Between the two of you, you were always more conscious of your appearance than her.

“I know.” She whispers. “Was gonna wait ‘til our next date night, but I… I couldn’t keep hiding it.”

You smile, nuzzling your nose on hers. “Well, it’s okay. ‘Cause now I have a reason to look real good… show off the ring, and all.”

“You always look real good,” Ellie says gently. You laugh a bit.

“Shh. You know what I meant.”

She nods, wrapping her hands around your waist before giving you another kiss. When she pulls away, she looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you so much, baby.” She murmurs. You look back at her, smiling from ear to ear.

“I love you too, Ellie. Always.”

[erwinsvow]

you write rafe so good and like you get me like sometimes i’m reading and i’m like “how’d they know😦” so HEAR ME OUT lifeguard!reader (bc i’m a lifeguard at a few country clubs) and i think rafe would be drooling and kelce and top would make fun of him and they’d like break all the rules like back flipping off the diving board just to get readers attention

oh my god first of all i completely adore you!! im so glad yess we must be little brain twins <3 i would love to know which parts made you think that! but here is the best i could come up with for a lifeguard au which is soooo cute but imagine.. its a pogue reader...

rafe knows every pretty girl who frequents the country club, he's made a point of making sure he does. so a fresh face in the crowd stands out pretty easily, especially one like yours.

you're pretty without trying, hair tugged behind you in a ponytail and a simple red one piece, the bottoms covered with denim shorts. it's not the usual kind of outfit for the club, but maybe you're headed out by the pool or something.

he can only see you from the back, though when you turn around, he sees the white cross on the front of your swimsuit. then he sees the boy in matching red trunks next to you, the whistle around your necks and a little first-aid box in your hands. a hot life guard, it doesn't get much more stereotypical than that.

you look around the club, following the boy who can only be giving you a tour of the facilty, with curious eyes like you've never been here before. it's only then a comment from top snaps him into a frankly startling realization.

"can't believe they hire pogues for this shit. wouldn't be surprised if shit started going missing by the pool deck."

rafe thinks normally he'd throw another line in, laugh at what top's saying, but he can't find it in him today. so he keeps watching, the sweet way you smile at a little girl who stopped you to ask for a bandaid, the way you nod while taking in something else in your training.

"alright. you've been staring at that pogue girl for twenty minutes. what gives?" kelce asks finally, after rafe ignores what they've been saying to him for the third time.

"huh?" he snaps back, tearing eyes away from you to look at his idiot friends.

"don't tell me you got hots for the lifeguard. what're you, thirteen?" they laugh, but rafe doesn't.

"shut up." he stands, downing the rest of his drink. "m'goin' to the pool. you loser can come and shut up or stay here and yap."

when he finally gets out there, you've shed the shorts, looking over the kiddie section of the pool with a watchful eye, taking the responsibility of watching brats seriously. he doesn't hesitate, jumping into the deep end with a huge splash, one that gets your attention.

you walk over, making sure whoever that was didn't just fall in, when two boys yell over.

"hey! lifeguard! our friend needs help!" you turn to look back at the boy who's been training you, wondering if you should dive in or wait since you're still in training, when you hear them again.

"not him! you! in the red. hurry!" you don't hesitate, though you're confused, jumping straight in and swimming over to the boy. he doesn't look like he needs help, in fact, he looks like he's floating.

"um, excuse me-" that's all you get out when you get close to him, because he scoops you up like he's rescuing you, carrying you out of the pool like a bride. you kick your feet, yelling out. "hey! put me down! you're not even drowning!"

he sets you down, and you wipe your face, staring up at pretty blue eyes and an arrogant face, once you recognize, one that your best friends hate.

"oh. you. i should have known."

"me? yeah, heard about me, have you? only good things, i hope."

"yeah, no. what the fuck was all that? i thought you were drowning."

"yeah, i was. thanks for the help." confused, soaking wet, and not appreciating his two little sidekicks snickering behind you, you try to get away, when rafe follows.

"so, uh, how long you been working here?"

"it's my first day."

"yeah, i thought so. i never forget a pretty face, so-"

"are you serious?"

"dead serious. and yours is definitely pretty."

"rafe," you say, leaning in closer so he can hear you clearly. "stop hitting on me. i have to work. some of us actually have to work."

"know my name already, huh? what else have you heard-" you roll your eyes, he laughs.

"i heard you're a good swimmer," you say, taking another step closer.

"yeah. from who?"

"i don't know. i'm about to find out." with one hand, you push his chest, and he falls backwards into the pool, the water splashing around your feet. you laugh, watching him bob in the pool, his friends laughing too. "good talk. hope we never speak again."

rafe gets out of the pool, pushing his wet hair back. he calls out after you.

"yeah we'll see about that."

[shhh-secret-time]

"i would love to see your take on stan/female reader/wendy…with the spice lol😙" - anon

Oh boy my first fic with Wendy~! And it's Stendy no less, lets fucking go! This request is a special one, because I seriously have never received a compliment so fucking funny in my life. The person who sent this I hope you enjoy it and god speed.

Warning: NSFW, Threesome, F/F/M, Strong-Language, Mild Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Oral

Pairings: Stan x Fem!Reader x Wendy

Come on down to Aspen Snowmass Ski Resort!

You flipped the little brochure over looking at the picture of large snowy mountains and giant ski slopes on the front. Inside the small packet were three passes and a small metal key tucked away in the pockets of the folded paper. Three passes for everything this large Ski Resort had to offer and more! How Stan got ahold of these tickets was a mystery.

*Tickets and Passes at a discounted price! You only need to sit through a short presentation! Ask for more information over the phone!

"Wendy, can you bring out that black bag? I need to tie it down on the car!" Speaking of the shaggy haired man.

"Yeah! Give me a second!" Another voice calls from the blue painted house, the front door propped open with a silly looking garden gnome. "Stan what did you pack in this?! It's heavy!" Wendy comes out with the large, long black bag that Stan requested.

"Skiing equipment." He pauses to take the bag from her, meeting her half-way from the car to the house. "First aid supplies too just in case."

"You're not going to go down K-13 again, are you?" Wendy puts her hand on her hips looking up at the man, she has her lips pursed slightly and her eyes lowered.

"Well...what's the point of going to Aspen if we're not going to ski?" Stan gives her his best smile as he puts the bag on top of the car, going out of his way not to look her in the eye.

You can't help but giggle at their interaction, they're both so cute when they get like this. You already know how this is going to go, Wendy is going to warn Stan that he needs to be careful and not get wrapped up in just skiing the entire time, and Stan is going to reassure her that he'll be fine and that he won't.

But before they can go through the motions, they both stop and look over at you. Wendy has the most charming smile on her beautiful painted lips and Stan has a lazy smirk across his. Your cheeks flush from getting caught, you look down at the bags by your feet and quickly scoop them up.

As you walk over to put the bags in the car a pair of arms wrap around your waist pulling you away from it. Pulling you towards his chest, Stan slots you in between himself and Wendy. Another pair of arms wrap around your arm, Wendy pulls your arm close to her chest.

"Watcha giggling about baby?" Wendy's the first to ask, an amused glint behind her eyes.

"You wouldn't be laughing at us, would you?" Stan follows up with his own teasing, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Maybe a little! I can't help it you guys are cute! Plus, I'm excited, a whole weekend with my favorite people~!" You chirp back at the both of them.

You rest your head on the top of Wendy's head and bring your free hand up to cup the side of Stan's face. Standing in the driveway surrounded by various colored bags, you're reminded of the wonderful life you live. Stan and Wendy have you swallowed up in this little hold, reminding you that you're loved.

Yeah, life was pretty great with your partners. You had a house on the street of Stan's childhood home. A dog with the softest fluffiest fur you've ever seen on a pupper, who was currently being watched by Stan's best friend. A warm bed, that would be cold without nestled bodies to keep it so. It was the three of you against the world.

Oh, and the stupid garden gnome, how could you forget Mr. Poppy. He was just as important to the family. No other gnome could hold open a door like him.

"Awwh! I'm excited too! I can't wait to try all the food and take pictures! It's going to be so pretty!" Wendy coos as she nuzzles her face into the side of your arm. "So, we better hurry and keep packing so we can get there in time for check-in."

She presses a kiss on the side of your cheek and then quickly places one on Stan's, who is still leaning on you. Stan only chuckles and goes back to tying the skiing equipment down, not before giving you both a little squeeze.

Wendy trots back into the house to grab the rest of the luggage as you begin to pack the car, Tetris style.

Once everything is neat and secured the only thing left to do was get in and decide who was going to drive. After a quick little game of nose goes, issued by Stan, Wendy was the one behind the driver’s wheel. Stan up front in the passenger seat and you in the back stretched out. Your softest pillow pressed against the car door and a blanket thrown over your legs. Stan's got his phone plugged into the aux chord scrolling through his endless playlists.

"So, what are we feeling, something heavy and loud, or energetic and feel good?" He asks just as Wendy backs out of the driveway.

You put the 3DS in your hand down on your lap for a moment, pausing your game for a moment. Harvest Moon can wait this was important. "Let’s start with feel good and go into heavy and loud. I say when we stop to get snack, we jump into something new!"

"Yes! Oh, I was just thinking about what snacks to grab! Whatever we grab nothing messy!" Wendy looks at you through the rearview mirror only to giggle when you give her a pout.

"Why are you looking at me?! I don't get messy snacks! Stan does!"

"Nah sorry babe, I'm with Wendy on this one." Stan chuckles just as he puts on a song.

"Of course you would be on her side to save your ass! You can't just agree with Wendy when it's convenient Stan!"

The car is filled with music and laughter the entire ride there. Stan trying to catch almonds in his mouth by tossing them in the air, only to miss when Wendy "accidently" swerved the car. Talking about each album selected and listened to, how it makes you feel and what you didn't like about it. It's mostly Stan just going on about different rifts and how it's impressive certain guitarists can pull of techniques, but hey it's what he liked. The two slowly take off their coats and throw them in the back seat, hitting you in the process. Protests are quickly cut short when you realize how warm they were.

 At one point Wendy had to pull over from giggling too hard at the image of you wrapped up in three coats, Stan's hat, her gloves, your blanket and pillow, and your shoes kicked off. Stan agreed to take over because taking you away from your comfy state would have been a crime, especially when Wendy calmed down and crawled into the back to lay with you. Laying across you, she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. You could feel her eyelashes brush against your skin the entire ride making you giggle and squirm. The both of you nap the rest of the ride, arms wrapped around one another, legs intertwined.

Stan would be jealous if it wasn't the cutest thing he'd ever seen. Just before he wakes the both of you up, he snaps a quick picture of your sleeping forms. It's his new lock screen. Maybe he can let both of you rest while he handles the check-in, after all he still has to drive up to the cabin.

The silver car pulls up to the cabin carefully pulling into the driveway. Colorado snow packed high against the side of the wooden building, a dim light flickering through the frosted windows. Stan leans back in the driver’s seat taking a moment to just enjoy the quiet. The soft sound of your breathing mixing and matching Wendy's in the back seat. He closes his eyes and smiles, thinking about how he had to claw his way to this point in his life but he's so glad he did.

He turns the car off and opens the door, the cold air nips at his skin as he leaves the warmth of the car. Maybe he can let the two of you sleep a little longer while he puts the bags away. It isn't until he has to untie the skiing equipment that you begin to stir, the cars gentle rumbling no longer present. Groggily you rub the sleep out of your eyes, the subtle weight of Wendy on your chest makes you hum. Your hands rest on the small of her back as you look around, the orange lights of the sunset peeking in through the car window.

It caresses the side of Wendy's sleeping face. Reds and yellows disappear behind the kisses you place on her face. Trailing gentle kisses down her cheek towards her jawline, subconsciously she tilts her head to the side giving you a little more access to her neck.

"Hm... Wendy, baby wake up." Your voice is still laced with sleep, knowing that if she doesn't move off you that you'll fall back asleep.

She stirs enough to let you know that she's slowly waking up, but when she doesn't get up and instead crawls up your body you let out a little hum. Contrary to popular belief, Stan wasn't the one that was hard to get up. Wendy was a little menace, doing everything in her power to stay asleep. Right now, she was using the fact that she knew she was adorable to try and catch a few more moments with you. It was working, but you could play dirty back.

Your lips continue to her neck where you pepper up and down the flesh. Your hands move up her shirt enough so that your fingertips brush against the exposed skin. She rewards your efforts with a little moan, pressing her body closer to yours. She can feel your smirk against her neck, her attempts to let her go back to sleep fall short.

You continue your assault on her neck, soft and feathery kisses turn heated. The sound of blankets rustling and being pushed off to the side onto the car floor, slips under the sound of her moans. You slot your leg between her legs bringing your knee up to keep her close.

"You gotta wake up pretty. I think we're here." The raspy purr of your voice sends a shiver down her spine.

Wendy rolls her hips against the fabric of your jeans just as you bite down on the sensitive spot of her neck. Your hand moves down her back again, sliding further past her hips to her the side of her thigh that's exposed. The short white skirt she put on today gave you a perfect look of those creamy soft thighs. Your fingers squeeze the flesh making her moan your name.

She leans up and tugs your jackets up, silently asking you to sit up with her which you do happily. Her hands push down the layers of jackets until they pool under you and leave you in just your tank top. It gives you enough time to pull away from her neck and work her shirt open, a few buttons near the collarbone. A glimpse of her brightly colored red bra pulls another purr out of you, your lips brush against her the valley of her breasts.

But before you can dive back into her, the car door behind her opens. Cold air claws at your exposed skin and the car light comes on. The interruption makes the cold sit in faster than it normally would.

"Having fun?" Stan's voice almost pulls you away from Wendy's chest, stops your wondering hand on the curve of her ass.

"Was just trying to wake our girl up. You know how she gets." Your response is muffled by Wendy, you look up at Stan with a playful glint in your eyes.

"Oh, I know. I was almost tempted to you let continue, but I figured you'd wanna get cozy by the fire."

"I-I'm not that bad!" Wendy tries to protest but it turns into a squeak when you bite down, leaving a bright red mark.

"Uh-huh. Stan's right though, we gotta get the bags inside." You slowly slide your leg out from under Wendy.

"Already got them inside." He says as he offers his hand to help Wendy out of the car, unable to take his eyes off the lipstick stain you left on her chest. "Checked us in too. I figured I'd give you guys a little more time. Kinda glad I did now."

Wendy's soft awwh's went away at the last comment. She rolls her eyes and pushes past him. "Thank you. Stan."

With her coat thrown over her arms she makes her way into the cabin leaving you and Stan in the cold to gather the rest of the coats and blankets. You both watch her walk up the stairs, her skirt swaying from side to side as she does. Stan looks down at you and smirks, there's a silent exchange of knowing looks.

"She's so cute when she's mad."

"Right? All pouty when she gets called out."

You take Stan's hand and pull him along to the cabin. He closes the car door and locks it with a press of a button. Wendy's already tossed her jacket up on the coat hanger resting beside the door, her shoes put neatly away in the corner. The crackling fireplace in the middle of the room was already lit and made the cabin feel so comfortable. It's almost enough to distract you from the warmth pulsing at your core. The little make-out session did more than just wake you up.

Stan shrugs his coat off his shoulders and grabs at the ends of the sleeves to tug it off further. That action alone shouldn't make you bite your lower lip but the way his muscles flex under his shirt and how he rolls his shoulders only encourages the feeling. You turn your head away from him and take a deep breath, a small part of you hopes that Wendy's struggling like you are.

And she is, she's running her fingers through her hair that's thrown over her shoulder trying to ignore Stan. Trying to ignore the look you give him and how it excites her, how Stan is blissfully unaware of the way you're both eyeing him. Poor Stan. Poor sweet dumb Stan.

He puts his jacket next to Wendy's and then takes yours from you doing the same. You smile at the kind gesture and go to explore the cabin. Maybe if you got away and cleared your head a little, you wouldn't burn up by your own desire. Walking past the living room and into the kitchen you took note of how cute everything looked, straight out of a little novel. The cabinets were a light brown color that matched the white kitchen counter perfectly, little shelves of cups and bowls tucked away. Although the ivy that hung down from the top of them was fake, it brought little splashes of green that made it look so pretty!

You turn back and walk back towards the living room. Stan and Wendy are sitting on the couch together, she's snuggled up against his side curled up. He's got his hand resting on her knee and his arm wrapped around her, she's playing with the fabric of his shirt whispering something to him. They laugh and he presses his forehead against her letting it rest there as they close their eyes, and just enjoy the presence of one another. Between the warmth of the fire and the love you feel for the two people in front of you it was almost enough to make you burn up. You smile softly and decide to give them some time alone.

After all you got to have a little time with Wendy first, it was only fair. Plus, you still had to see the bed! And what a bed it was! Dark blue blankets folded carefully over the bed, three pillows fluffed up to the point where they looked like clouds, and a giant white comforter that you just knew would keep you nice and warm. That and the mini fireplace in the corner, sitting there on a little platform with dried out logs of wood behind it. Bookshelves filled with various novels and decorations line the wall. Behind the bed is the largest window in the cabin.

You crawl over the bed towards the window, sitting up on your knees you look out at the frosted glass. Resting your chin on your arm, the sight in front of you is beautiful. Since you were asleep when he pulled up to the cabin you didn't get to really take in all the beautiful mountains that surrounded the area. The snow was starting to come down a little heavier now like it waited just for you and your partners. Dark green trees covered in that beautiful untouched sparkling snow.

With a happy little sigh, you flop back on the bed with your arms sprawled out, you stretch out to your fullest. The stretch feels good enough to make a little moan slip from your lips, your back arches up making the muscles feel better. Reminding you that lying in one spot for too long with another human on you isn't exactly the best for your body.

Your eyes open to the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Stan and Wendy walk into the bedroom only to spot you already on the bed enjoying the silk on your skin.

"Told you this is where she'd be." Stan says leaning on the doorway, his forearms holding him up on the doorframe.

Wendy looks up at him and giggles, "This place is beautiful! How were you able to book this place? It must have cost a lot."

"Nah. It's my parents, they bought it when we were younger. Dad caved and just bought this cabin after that time share experience." He shrugs a little, his fingers run through his hair a little pushing up the black locks.

"I guess I'll have to thank your dad next time I see him." You say finally deciding to lean up.

"Don't. For the love of god don't, it'll go to his head." The way he says it makes you and Wendy burst out into laughter.

She decides to join you on the bed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her petite form sinks into the soft mattress. Her hands pushed down on the bed forcing her up a little, the momentum causing her to bounce up and down on the bed. After she's satisfied enough with the bounce she leans back against your form. Your arms go to wrap around her waist pulling her close to your chest, you nuzzle back into her neck where your lips were moments ago.

She responds by pressing a kiss into your cheek. You retaliate with a little nip on her neck pulling a breathy giggle from her lips. The way it turns into a moan makes Stan's breath hitch in his throat; his eyes scan your forms. He watches the way your hand trails up her shirt slowly slipping the plastic buttons through the slots. Every button reveals more and more of her body, pushing it down to her elbows where it rests on the cubital.

Your hand comes up to the lace on her bra strap. Playing with the material before sliding down her shoulder, replacing the strap with your lips. Your other hand moves down to her thigh pulling the skirt up in the process. Stan's eyes widen when he sees the matching set of panties, stained a darker shade from her arousal.

"So pretty, did you wear that for us?" You whisper next to her ear as your fingers made quick work of moving up and down her slit. Adding just enough friction to make her roll her hips, trying to chase the pressure.

Wendy's pretty pink lip’s part to answer but it turns into a whimper and a moan. Her cheeks turn a bright red matching the lingerie that looks so beautiful against her skin.

"Come on Wendy, answer her. It's rude ya know." Stan finally breaks away from the spot that he was glued to. Finds it in him to walk over with that shit eating smirk across his face. He bends down and puts his arms on either side of you. He leans down and presses the softest kiss on her forehead. Compared to your hand and the way you’re squeezing every soft curve; his kisses feel so alien.

Ever stubborn, she goes to silent him with a kiss. It takes everything in Stan not to capture her lips in a heated kiss, but he's able to pull back and shake his head. Just far enough that Wendy can feel his lips ghost over hers, just enough to smell the gum he had in the car. The spearmint taste on her lips.

"Ah no. Bad girl." Stan tuts as his fingers trace her lips; the pads of his thumbs brush over her lower lip. Wendy's lips wrap around his thumb pulling it into her mouth, her tongue swirls around the course digit. You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Stan's resolve break. He never could hold on long when she worked her magic.

Your hands slip down the band of her underwear, pushing the thin fabric past her hips and like clockwork, Stan helps you pull them the rest of the way down. He tosses them to the side before removing his thumb from her mouth. Not before pressing down on her tongue, making a pool of drool slide down her chin.

The way she looks up at him makes your heart slam against your chest and your body ache. Finally, after the slow drawn-out teasing, your hands pull apart her legs. Pushing them away from one another by the plump of her thighs. Her slit now bare to the man before her, her arousal coating her legs now that she no longer has the flimsy material to cover it.

Stan's on his knees in front of her, his arms tucked so snugly under her legs so that he can bring her closer to the edge of the bed. He lazily throws them over his shoulders and dips his mouth closer and closer to her aching heat. Just as his lips connect to the throbbing bud, you press a kiss onto her lips.

His lips twist and pull at the bud, a hungry tongue greedily swirling around to collect her arousal. The flat of his tongue presses into the nub until it wanders into her heat. Just as his tongue slips its way into her cunt, yours slips into her mouth. Devouring her in a different way. Every moan that escapes her lips is immediately swallowed by you. For as hungry as Stan was, you were starving.

The poor girl couldn't catch her breath. Between your kisses that already left her breathless, and Stan's jaw working her clit; she could feel the pressure in her core build up fast. It was like trying to ride out heavy waves during a storm. Colored nails intertwine with Stan's hair, tugging the locks up when he hits that perfect spot with his tongue.

"A-ahh!" Her moans pitch an octave, she bucks her hips forward against his mouth.

The kiss is broken just as her resolve comes crashing down. Stan can feel the way her walls throb and tighten around his tongue.

Wendy throws her head back when Stan continues, even with her climax coating his tongue it’s not enough for him. His eyes flutter shut with no intention of stopping. He'd continue lapping up every delicious part of her until his jaw ached.

She tries to push his head off, tries to close her thighs around his head. But he keeps his hands firmly on her thighs. When she tugs his hair again, he only lets out a deep moan which vibrates up against her cunt.

Little beads of tears begin to prickle at the corner of his eyes. The overstimulation was a painful pleasure. Her breath hitches in her throat, a silent scream dies along with it. The sound of Stan's mouth working its magic fills the roo. The heavy exhales coming from him as he struggles to catch his breath, the fact that he'd rather suffocate than come up for air makes you chuckle.

After Wendy cums around his tongue again, and the light mascara around her eyes begin to bleed down her face, do you tap the side of Stan's shoulder. "Alright cowboy let her go, I think she's learned her lesson." Stan's eyes meet yours, looking up through the darkened blues.

He flicks his tongue a few more times, pulling a cry from the poor woman. He moves his lips to the inside her thighs. A series of kisses trail down her quivering thighs, he hums softly.

Wendy's body is spent, you can tell from the way she's practically lifeless against you. Her mind is still trying to catch up from it's high. Your hands work on massaging circles on her hips helped to anchor her back down.

"I think you killed her Stan." You chuckle, pushing Wendy's hair out of her face.

"Ya think? I couldn't help it; she tastes so good." His purr sends a shiver down your spine as he leans up towards your face. "Wanna taste?"

When you nod and smirk at him, he bends down and finally captures your lips in a kiss. The difference between their kisses is night and day. Wendy's are always soft, passionate, playful ones. Stan's are hungry, firm ones; like he's trying to put all his feelings into one action.

You can taste it. Every bit of love he has for you on the edge of his lips. Wendy on his tongue. Desire in the way it twines with yours. Wendy's half open eyes watch, her mouth opened in awe. The way your tongues work in each other's mouths brings a red hue to her face.

Her blush deepens when she sees the thin string of saliva that connects your tongues snap. Stan's the first to pull away, lips still wet from everything. He cleans the corner of his mouth with his thumb and smirks.

"Hmm...he's got it out for you Wendy." When you call her name, she looks up. The confusion written on her face only makes you chuckle. "Because that wasn't enough, it's my turn."

She was going to die. Wendy Testaburger was going to die somewhere in Aspens. The comfy warm cabin was going to be her coffin, and her cause of death was going to be her two insatiable partners.

You don't give her much time to protest, not that she would anyway. You pull away from her and begin to strip down to nothing, Stan works on moving her back against the pillows. At least she'll be comfortable when she dies.

Stan whispers to her softly, "You can give us one more Wens. It's only fair, she didn't get her turn."

You smirk back at the bed as you toss your clothes away. She looked so cute in nothing but her pretty white blouse still wrapped around her arms. Beads of sweat starting to trail down her body, you know you're not the only one watching as they trace every gorgeous curve.

But you are the one that gets to settle between her legs. You crawl over until your face is inches away from her poor cunt. Your eyes find the marks Stan's left behind and decide that it's not nearly enough. Her pale skin made the red splotches pop so pretty, why not add a few more. So, you leave teeth marks and little bruises where Stan's mouth hadn't touched.

Stan's enthralled, but not enough to sit there and do nothing. While you worked your clothes off, he did the same. Dark blue jeans thrown to the side, faded band shirt alongside it. It isn't until he puts his hand on your hip that you realize he's propped up behind you.

Standing on his knees, he's pulled your hips up towards his aching member. Wendy's little whimpers and moans only serve to make his cock throb. His hands fist the flesh and pump it a few times. Watching your face get closer and closer to where moments ago he had his.

"Fuck that's hot." It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. At this point he's not sure he wants to, just pressing the tip of his head against your slit isn't enough. He needs you both to hear what you're doing to him. "You're so pretty like this. Eating our girl out like that, and fuck-" He paused to deliver a firm slap on your ass. "-this ass of yours."

The pain makes you moan out, the vibration shoots up against Wendy's clit. She cries out and bucks her hips against your lips, which you use to capture her clit. Lips wrapped around her abused bud.

"Oh god~" Wendy throws her head back, any work to get her to come back down from her fucked out mental state is thrown out the window.

Her moans encourage you, selfishly lapping and sucking at every nerve until you find a rhythm that causes her to see stars. Stan picks up on it, he waits until your tongue is flicking her bud back and forth before diving into your cunt. Firm hands keep your hips still, so he doesn't throw off your tempo.

Again, he doesn't even bother holding back his moans. Your arousal lets him slip past your folds and snuggly against your walls perfectly. He pushes until he's halfway buried deep into you, only to slowly pull back out. For as good as you're making him feel, he's so focused on the way you're making Wendy feel. Every time you moan into her, she arches her back, and every time she moans at the sensation it makes his cock throb. The cycle keeps the fire burning. Lust and pleasure wrapped so tightly together.

Wendy's mouth is lulled open, and her eyes are rolled up to the back of her head. Stan knows she's not going to last from looks alone. So, he begins picking up his pace. His snapping forward with such force it causes a ripple across your flesh. He's making it hard to focus on anything but the way his cock feels buried in you.

Thrust after thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge. You're dissolved to nothing more than sloppy tongue thrusts. Pumping in and out of Wendy like Stan is doing to you. Every thrust from him trickles down to her. Pushing you against her only to pull you back against him. But you're not the only one losing yourself.

Stan's been hard since he opened the car door and found you two in a heated state. He's been fighting the urge to fuck you both senseless since Wendy first came around his tongue. With every flutter of your walls, he goes harder and deeper.

After a particular strong thrust in just the perfect spot, you feel your resolve crumble. A white-hot flash goes across your eyes and down to the pit of your stomach. Your walls clamp down around him, trying to milk him for all he's got.

"O-oh fuck! Fuck you're squeezing me!" He growls so loudly when you do. He crawls over your form, sweaty chest pressed against your back, hips pushing you further into the bed. His mouth latches onto your shoulder where he bites down. Hard.

Wendy's fingers are in your hair pulling your head up towards her chest. She's already cum for the third time, possibly the fourth. She's stopped counting and all she can focus on is the way you both feel against her. She watches the way Stan drills into you until he can't keep the rhythm anymore.

His hips stutter, slap against your ass one last time and then he spills his cum into you. Thick hot ropes of cum paint your insides until it's dripping down your thighs.

Heavy breaths and shaky moans. Slow inhales and breathy exhales. Whatever energy Stan has left is used to keep himself from falling on top of you. He pulls his teeth from your skin, pressing a soft kiss on the mark he's left behind. A quiet apology.

Eventually he pulls out of you and falls to his side next to Wendy. His arms find home around her waist where he tugs you both towards his chest.

".... this vacation already rules." Stan breaks the silence, pressing a kiss into your temple.

"It's only the first night." You giggle, tossing him a lazy smile.

"Yeah, we still got the hot tub to test out." Stan says with a smirk.

Come on down to Aspen Snowmass Ski Resort!

"Insatiable. Both of you. I'm going skiing at least once or I swear to God." Wendy huffs but the smile on her face betrays her. The corner of her lips twitch as she tries to resist.

You might get some skiing done.

[anarcoqueer1994]

Dustin does not expect to see Steve sitting on his couch, shirtless, covered in blood and shaking when he got home from Hellfire. He was supposed to be spending the night at Mike's with the other guys but he forgot his bag, so he was going to stop home and grab it, Eddie waiting outside, offering to drop him off. He wasn't expecting Hopper, in uniform talking to his mother. He wasn't expecting Joyce Byers to be sitting next to the almost canatonic Steve, fussing over him, wrapping bandages over large gashes on his arm and shoulder. There were bruises everywhere, arms, stomach, face.

No one noticed him yet. And he was freaking out. He needed to tell Eddie, he needed to understand what was happening. Most of all, he needed Steve to be okay. Steve looked different. These weren't battle wounds from the upside down or Russians. This was something worse.

Without thinking, he runs back out the door to Eddie’s car, everyone but Steve looking up as the door slammed shut. Eddie immediately saw the panic in Dustin's face. He gets out of the car.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Eddie asks

"It's Steve...." and for the first time since Eddie knew Dustin, it looked like this was to much for him. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't much help, panic filling him at the sound of his boyfriend's name being spoken like that. Steve can’t be hurt, Steve was supposed to be waiting for him at his trailer."What do you mean? Dustin...What is happening?"

~~

They came home unexpectedly. Steve was just stopping by his seldom lived in home to grab some clothes and a few VHS tapes he wanted to show Eddie. But they came home. His father called him into the kitchen. He looked angry. His mother sat silently by, not even looking at him.

"Had a conversation with Mr. Hagan. He said Tommy told him you were hanging out with that murderer, Eddie Munson." His dad says.

"He's not a murderer and he's my friend." Steve says plainly, hoping they don't know more.

"Cut the bullshit, Steven. Tommy saw you two kissing behind the movie theater like a couple of faggots." Mr Harrington says sternly, the cruel word leaving his lips.

"Tommy doesn't know what he's talking about." Steve tries to brush him off.

Suddenly Mr Harrington is on his feet grabbing Steve’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. From this distance Steve can smell the alcohol on his father’s breath. "I don’t like liars, Steven. " he crushes his grip further into Steve’s shoulder making Steve wince at the pain. "You are to stopping seeing Eddie. Even you deserve better than trash like that. And no son of mine will be a faggot."

The toxic words hurt Steve more than his father’s grip. "No? Then I'm not your son. Eddie is a better person than you will ever be and I fucking love him." He spits.

With that Steve is on the floor, when he tries to get back up his father pushes him back down landing painful punches through out his body, the trauma leaving bruises and open wounds. He grabbed a beer bottle from near by when Steve tried to fight back, busting it over his head and digging the jagged end of the bottle into his shoulder. When Mr Harrington finally stands up, he lands one more painful kick to Steve's stomach. "Get out! Get the fuck out here now. You are going to fucking die you know? All you fags eventually die of AIDs. Good riddance And don't take the car, it's in my name." His mother sat quietly doing nothing.

Steve can barely make out what his dad said, just knowing he had to leave. He struggles to get himself up, limping painfully to the door, holding his torso. He is vaguely aware of the blood trailing down his body.

He makes it outside. He doesn’t have a plan on where to go. He just starts walking, but eventually 3 blocks later walking gets hard, and he collapses cradling his stomach. He throws up, it's too much. But then a car drove by, headlights hitting him. It's Claudia.

"Oh my God, Steve!" She says getting out of the car. He can't even respond. He lets her usher him into her car, taking him back to her house. He knows she calls the ambulance(and the Sherriff, Hopper.) She asks him what happened but he can't talk. Everything is too much.

Joyce shows up with Hopper, delicately pulling him into a hug. He doesn't fight it. He is aware Claudia is talking to Hopper, aware of Joyce, but he just wants to die. This wasn't supposed a burden. He wasn't supposed to make this there problem.

But he hurts. His body is on fire. And the thoughts of his parents finally confirming what he already knew, that they do not love him, is destroying him. His father thinks he'll die of AIDS.

A thought crosses his mind. Oh no, he was supposed to meet Eddie. Eddie is going to worry. He tries to speak but finds that no words come out. Then he hears the door slam but he can't acknowledge it. Moments later he loses consciousness.

~~

As Dustin stands at Eddie’s car trying to explain what he saw, they both see an ambulance pull up. Thier worry gets worse, both instinctively follow the paramedics inside. There they see it. Steve unconscious on the couch, Claudia, Joyce and even Hopper panicking. They all watch helplessly as Steve is loaded on a bed and rushed out of the house.

They all crowd into Claudia's car except Hoper, giving them a police escort to avoid the lights. It's a long night of waiting in the ER, as doctors try to stabilize blood loss and the concussion. The waiting room gets fuller as Dustin and Eddie get ahold of thier friends. Around 4am, the doctor comes out, says he's stable but sleeping. Tells them they could go home. Of course, none if them do.

When the hospital tries to say that it's family only for staying over, Hopper flashes his badge. All of them crowd into a tiny hospital room.

~~

Steve wakes up around 8am. His head is killing him and the rest of his body doesn't feel much better. He's bandaged up covering the wounds from the glass. He feels tight bandages against what he is sure is broken ribs. Memories from last night flash into his head, guilt and shame flooding in.

He feels a weight against him. He turns his head gently to see Eddie laying next to him in the small hospital bed. Eddie is careful to lay against but not aggravate any of Steve's wounds. He carefully looks around, and he wants to cry, not sure out of happiness or guilt.

All his frineds were there...his family, asleep. Joyce and Hopper were crowded onto a hospital pull out cot. Robin took the chair near his bed, Nancy on the floor with her head in her lap. Claudia sleeps in a chair in the corner. The kids, Dustin, Max, Lucas, Mike, Will, El, and even Erica were sleeping against the wall on the floor. Jonathan and Argyle were even there, sleeping against the other wall.

His movements must have been enough to wake Eddie, who admittedly could barely sleep anyways. When he sees Steve is up, he whispers "Thank God..."

This is enough for Steve to look at him. Yellow and brown bruises staining his beautiful features, and Eddie, afraid to touch him, carefully puts his hand against Steve's cheek. "Baby..." He whimpers, on the edge of tears " I am so glad you are awake. I was so fucking scared, Stevie."

Steve tries to flash a smile but it falters when he sees the fear in Eddie's eyes. "I'm sorry...I didn't want to worry you."

"Oh sweetheart" Eddie coos, heartbroken that Steve is apologizing. "You have nothing to say sorry for. That bastard who did will be fucking sorry though." Eddie’s voice goes uncharacteristically dark, hatred boiling up for who ever did this.

"No Eds..." He whispers. "He isn't worth it.. "

"Who was it?" Eddie asks, fully intending on going after them.

"My dad..." He says softly. "And if you go after him, " his voice starts to shake "He's got the money to lock you up a long time....and then I'll lose you too. " A stray tear rolls down his face, causing Eddie to pull him in gently, whispering "Okay baby...I won't....you won't lose me."

Robin is the next to wake up, hearing Steve and Eddie talking. She immediately stands up, walking closer to the bed, waking up Nancy. "Steve..." her voice sounds hoarce, like she was actually crying.

Steve looks at her, and smiles "In the flesh..."

And just like that, she is ducking down hugging Steve. "You had me so worried, dingus." Steve wraps his arms as tight as he can given the circumstances, not wanting to let go.

After they finally pull apart, Nancy is squeezing his hand saying. "I'm so glad you are okay..."

One by one they all wake up, relief covering their faces seen Steve awake. Claudia immediately offers her home, knowing about the Harringtons and taking an educated guess on what happened, suspicions confirmed when Steve has to give his statement to Hopper.

Dustin's eyes were blood shot when he woke up, obviously having cried. He see came up to Steve, smiling but a little tear still in his eyes, seeing Steve like this. Steve flashes him a smile "Going soft on me, Henderson." He jokes.

"Shut up." He laughs before leaning down and hugging Steve. "I am so glad you are alive. Who else is going to drive me around?" He laughs but hugs Steve like his life depended on it.

The other teenagers all hug Steve, so happy he is alive. Everytime Steve tries to apologize for making them worry, they brush them off.

Over the next week, Steve stays at the hospital to recover. They all pop in to visit, with Robin, Eddie and Dustin practically living there. Unfortunately, due to money and lawyers, his dad is going to get away with it.

But it's okay, he has his real family. He comes home to Claudia's house, guest bedroom set up for him. Eddie and Robin are there everyday helping him recover. Eddie even spends the night, just holding him, drowning away the nightmares he has replaying that night.

But overall he's happy. He has people that love him, he has "parents" that love him. He does not need Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. He has all the love he needs right here.

[disappointingcabbage]

TDP Season 6 Episode 1 live reaction, spoilers under the cut

Who is this man crying?

What the fuck it’s Aaravos

Ok so Aaravos showing actual emotion was not on my 2024 bingo card

Genuinely why does his crying sound autotuned

There’s another startouched elf??? Who is she?????

Why is the intro still Viren getting statued??? He’s dead

Oh ok his statue got disintegrated

Yup he’s dead

Terry my beloved

O h n o he’s gonna find viren’s body

Bro why are you sobbing over this racist motherfucker

WAIT WHAT

HE’S ALIVE ????? WHY IS HE ALIVE????

oh no Claudia’s covered in blood

NOOO THE LITTLE MOTH GREMLIN SHE DID THE SACRIFICE

Oh damn Viren is fully redemption arcing and he has Regrets

“No parent wants their child to suffer for them” first of all tell that to Soren. Atone for your bullshit. Second of all you’ve clearly never met my mother

Ah shit Aaravos convinced Claudia to let him out

Viren’s actually putting his foot down and saying no. I never would have predicted this pre-s5 but now it makes total sense and I love that the writers are sticking with his character development

Oh ew this show is actually going to get me to like Viren I hate that

He’s going to Katolis to turn himself in. Based tbh.

Claudia what the fuck though like girlie your whole point of everything was to get your dad back and he’s fine now why are you still going along with Aaravos

Oof her voice acting in this scene is incredible though

Also she’s still missing that leg. I hope she gets either a cool prosthetic or an even cooler mobility aid.

Soren has opening blindfolded for some reason. The reason is either going to be A Secret Meeting for Very Not Good Ominous Reasons or something very funny

Based on the tone of the scene I’m assuming it’s the funny option

LMAO LORD BREADSANDWICH SOREN I LOVE YOU

Oh it’s just a season 5 recap in the high mage’s office

Oooh they’re deciding what to do with aaravos’s prison

I get he’s on the high council and all but why is Barius here???

Callum wants to destroy the prison, Opeli wants to assemble a multi-kingdom task force to protect it, and Barius wants to hide it

I’m with Callum or Barius tbh, the multi kingdom task force idea exposes too many people to potentially be manipulated by aaravos.

However, hiding it means that it can be found probably and exposes everyone who already knows about it to Aaravos, and destroying it runs the risk of freeing him accidentally.

Soren with the LOTR reference 💀

Rayla has the same issues as me with destroying it

Ezran has decided to hide it in katolis, smart choice

oh no, Zym’s sad about Zubeia

Callum wants to visit this ancient faction of skywing elves for info on A) yeeting the pearl out of existence and B) un-coining Rayla’s family (please let them out)

Callum is right to be afraid of aaravos manipulating him tbh

Awww one of the baitlings sleeps in Callum’s bed

Oh god aaravos nightmares oh FUCK WHY ARE YOU SLEEPWALKING

what the fuck what the fuck whY IS HE IN THE PEAR WHAT WAS THAT IMAGE OF AARAVOS YEETING THE PEARL F E A R

Rayla do NOT dismiss Callum’s concerns like that

“I have an idea” *fucking sprints away to enact said idea without elaborating* peak autism moment

I’m sorry, you want to stop aaravos with the power of pastries?

“Sometimes I wonder where my mom is too” SOBBING

awwwww bait has a little four poster bed that’s so cute

AHDIEJXIEKF BARIUS DID AN “is it real or is it cake” WITH A FUCKING PEARL DECOY IM WHEEZING

Ooh anti spell blankie

“I have my blankie 😎” Callum I would die for you

Soren and zym are going on a quest to find Zubeia and Callum and Rayla are going to see the Celestial Elves but more importantly, each questing squad is taking a baby bait with them!!

If the one going with Soren isn’t Hat I will be very disappointed

Claudia why are you ominously standing over Terry and trauma dumping

Claudia what are you doing with the staff

Claudia no please don’t hurt him if you hurt him it’s transphobic

Oh ok she’s just walking her toxic ass out of the relationship cool

Terry don’t wait for her she doesn’t deserve it

[bredforloyalty]

for someone who has never really listened to oasis before, what are the most incesty songs?

i feel like i'm not the expert i'm just one of the disciples hxdgy but thank you for asking me <33 i hope i can offer something while demonstrating that i got my wits about me. for the most part. it's kind of an inherently contradictory pair of goals but i'll have a go at it anyway lmao 💪

i mean, it's just not easy to say because i've low-key been BAMBOOZLING you all and oasis is a band with very normal music and very normal members*. and for example that post that goes something like, noel writes songs and says they're about his wife and then the song is like 'brother our love is so forbidden run away with me' is, while really funny, a huge exaggeration obviously (💀🩷) but as i said tumblrinas have a god given right to delusions and to biased interpretation and all that!!! it's funny and good for the ecology of this site and i have that god given right and i do it too. so that's where i stand, take this with a grain of salt etc. also sometimes it comes alive with the context and not without it, you won't find an inbred by ethel cain here HXSGCY

now that i got my disclaimers out of the way; the obvious one and the one that i must have conditioned myself to have a funny painful visceral reaction to (because i didn't use to) is guess god thinks i'm abel, written by liam. i couldn't find an archived version of the 2005 mojo issue that this was in, but:

"It’s biblical innit,” explains Liam. “Cain and Abel… it’s me and our kid. Or me and you. Two people who are the opposite, who become one."

Are you holding an olive branch out to Noel?

“It’s nice to put a band aid on it for a bit, knowwhatimean? I love him, I adore him, more than anyone else in the fuckin’ whole wide world. But we also don’t speak that much. We don’t have to speak. But that song is basically for him. It’s like, shut the fuck up, give respect and you’ll get respect back. Life, brothers and sisters, that’s what we all want isn’t it, respect?”

i had already been listening to this since before uhh a few weeks ago or whenever it was that i got these worms, because. you would not believe which of my playlists had it. and by that i mean you could guess with great accuracy (i think i've been vocal about my beautiful journey with claustrophobic familial relationships and about what kick-started me in that regard). come on. and i'm an older sister i've always liked the abels of the world

oh and i should mention my sister lover! it's my sister lover

and then there's if we shadows, honestly might be my favorite.. just favorite, period. definitely is out of the more uh acoustic and less rock and roll ones. "nobody knows what's wrong except me and my brother"

+ acquiesce. i find this one funny because people assumed it was about the two of them, with "we need each other" and "we believe in one another" in the chorus, because noel sings that and liam sings the verses on it (and it's not often they share songs like that and it's like they're singing to each other). noel called this "total fucking bullshit" and said it's about friendship lol and another time he said liam assumed it was written to him but it's actually to his girlfriend

i'm outta time. another one by liam, i just wouldn't rule it out that he wrote it with someone in mind. and i'm sure he wasn't completely oblivious to the problems they were having before the break-up sooooo.. you know

live forever. i mean that was their career i would say, the high points must have been like that (about 9 minutes in: "on stage, i just want him. and it's only me and him. when he turns to me and i turn to him at, like, one guitar break or whatever and, like, we just both look at each other, and that's what it's about for us. [...] not like i'm fucking dissing the rest of the band or anything like that but it's only me and him"), looking over at your brother who is the other half of the band in a way the other half of you as well and knowing you've created something permanent and in that very moment too you're creating it together and you're on top of the world. sorry if that sounds insane ,, as i said , contextual, it's live forever well it's just live forever

*: gaze upon any insane mutual's (or my own) oasis tag and make your own judgment on this lol

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Can I get more full wolf shift with pining derek please ??

You sure can!

He Speaks in Petals by calrissian18

(1/1 I 4,727 I Mature I Sterek)

“You think what you once were is what you always are. Growth is not only for trees, little Hale.”

Stiles Stilinski, Animal Whisperer by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 5,558 I Teen I Sterek)

When Stiles gets bitten and becomes a werefox, he discovers that he can understand what animals are saying.

2. Diamonds by brokenes

(2/2 I 12,170 I Teen I Sterek)

The pack is up against a monster that manifests itself as your worst fear, but what if Derek's fear had already come to life? What if he'd already lost Stiles? And it was nobody's fault but his.

Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(4/4 I 14,149 I Teen I Sterek)

Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him!

“Stiles?” Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. “That’s not a d—”

Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scott’s direction since Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly.

“What are you doing here, Derek?” Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.

Star-Crossed by cloudsarefluffy

(4/4 I 32,949 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek clears his throat quietly, resuming his plan on retrieving the boy’s mythology book, “Y-You dropped this…”

“I know, but- thanks.”

The boy snatches the book out of Derek’s hand with his mortification filling the air in a sharp, heady scent that has Derek’s wolf mentally salivating, “You’re welcome… Uh, do you know where the tutor session thing is supposed to be?”

“T-That’s me,” with another addition of pink to his cheeks, the boy rushes to correct himself a little, “I mean, I’m the tutor here and this is supposed to be- oh god, I’m really butchering this, aren’t I?”

Turning Year by Stiles_Hale_38

(19/19 I 42,733 I Explicit I Sterek)

Every year, people turning eighteen in Stiles' village will transform into their animal, a gift from the Gods. Stiles is hoping that he is a fierce animal. He wants to continue the Stilinski legacy and transform into something big and strong, something he is not.

Stiles discovers there is an entire world outside of his village and along the way he meets Derek Hale, a strange wolf without a pack, who aids him along his journey.

The New Normal by midnightcas

(27/27 I 63,392 I Teen I Sterek)

After Stiles gets hurt...again, Derek puts him on the metaphorical supernatural bench. Meanwhile, Stiles tries to have a normal life and make normal friends. But when a new pack comes to town and the Hales start getting threats, things start to get a little....not normal.

Bruises and Hickies, Stitches and Scars by ElisAttack

(12/12 I 89,808 I Explicit I Sterek)

“You’re my lawyer, Derek. What are you going to do, draft up a contract for yourself?”

Or the one where Stiles is a professional dominant, Derek is his lawyer, and their professional relationship suddenly becomes not so professional.

Also, faeries.

run and hide by whiry

(36/36 I 174,966 I Teen I Sterek)

"Unlike Derek, Stiles still remembers the first time they met. He remembers the confusion at the pull in his chest, tugging him to the boy with big ears and light eyes. He’d been in the grocery store with his mother and Derek with his, and they had all been minding their business, but Stiles had a niggling in the back of his head directing him toward Derek. And when their eyes met for the first time? Stiles’ heart about exploded. He remembers grabbing his chest and gasping and his mother running over and Derek’s mother running over. The boys didn’t even say anything, and poor Derek looked so confused, and Talia and Claudia simply looked at their boys, looked at each other, and immediately set up a time to meet. And that was how it started."

or, stiles and derek suck at being mates, a new threat comes to town, and stiles has to desperately try to save everything he's ever loved from total destruction all while trying to get through his sophomore year unscathed.

When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter

(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.

When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.

He's wrong.

Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?

With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.

Manipulated by DearDaisy (Scribblesnpaws)

(30/30 I 221,251 I Mature I Sterek)

Nine years ago, Scott kicked Stiles out of the pack. Stiles left and never returned. But now his dad has been hurt, so Stiles returns to take care of him. No one knows the truth of what happened back then, not even Scott or Stiles. But that's about to change.

[ronearoundblindly]

What if reader is older than Steve, like...10 years maybe(?) She could see his shyness, ambitious and gentle when they first meet. She never thot Steve would fell for her because of their age gap and she's insecure about herself...

Or the soft dark one...

Goddess!reader could cure Steve's illness and let him could join the military, but the price is he need to remain his virgin.

And if he break the rules...

what kind of "punishment" you think reader would do to him?😌😌💖💖💖

oh. my. god.

thots. n;dsdfieronviriv. THOTS. ndviniusniuelrhbvoer. THOTS. nzkdvuheiunruvps;dn;irfiunrfu.

Holy shit, bae. Here I am, minding my own business, writing some angst and romance, and you hit me with this glory. Gurl, WAT???

Super-Human Resources (Posted separately. Here, enjoy this cool 1k of softdark!smut from a gn!god!reader)

Warnings for zero editing, not overly-explicit filth, marginally subby!steve/bratty!steve, extreme orgasm denial, and FYI, I'm still going to hell.

Beg For My Mercy

He was so desperate that he didn’t think it through. The trade seemed so simple: health for sex. If he were strong, all these weakening maladies stripped away, he could help win a war. He could save so many lives. How could that possibly be only as valuable as forgoing sex? Why should Steve Rogers care about sex? He’s never cared about it before. The trade is genuinely too good to be true. It’s so easy, and he takes it.

And he gets everything he wants. He’s strong. He wins wars. He saves people—unfathomable numbers of people—and then it gets…complicated.

Steve gets attention. He gets accolades and commendations, awards and offers, including some other offers. They’re so easy to brush off at first. After decades, it gets a lot harder. He finds someone attractive, and then he has to stunt the relationship before anything escalates. Since he can’t explain why, they always distance from Steve afterward. He doesn’t blame them. He is starting to crack.

Steve skirts the edges of the rules. He tries to get away with as much as possible that doesn’t count as losing his virginity, which is a surprising amount actually, and that also works for quite a while. He’s just not satisfied. It feels too good to rub his aching cock along that precipice of danger, and he can’t resist.

And then he sees you.

No one else can see you smirking at him standing naked and sweaty above his temptation. His eyes are alight with fear and bone-crushing desire.

“There’s a price if you do this, Stevie,” you say, sweet like honey, thick like the honey can drown him.

He thinks, but Steve thinks with the wrong head and sinks into a tight and overwhelming heat. Fuck, how did he live so long without this?!

So he’s satisfied for a while that night. His partner gets taken care of, coming multiple times, and…Steve doesn’t. He can’t. Eventually, he has to make some excuse to get his date to leave because his dick hurts. He's still rock hard and dying to come.

He can still see you, the entity lurking in shadowy corners, that smirk still on your face, and so he thinks he understands. He can find the loophole.

Up until now, he could masturbate all he wanted; it’s not penetrative sex, so it should work. He takes himself in hand and tries everything that feels good. He can’t get there. His balls are so full and swollen that he’s crying. His skin is raw when he finally lets go. Steve's so tormented by this pressure cooker of need unable to explode inside him that he growls and pummels the pillows and mattress beneath him.

“Please,” he screams, burying his blotchy red face in the sheets. “Please HELP ME.”

The squeaking bed springs snap under his strong punches, and he crashes to the ground, desperately yelling for release until his words are incoherent.

You step forward, eyes softer with sympathy, and Steve looks hopeful, so hopeful for your aid.

“Are you ill, dear?” Your coo rips a whimper from his throat and a tear from his eye.

He can’t even touch his shaft anymore, so Steve clamps a death grip on his inner thigh and prays the pain shifts him beyond the horny wretch he’s become.

“It hurts,” he gasps. “Please.”

“But you didn’t keep your promise. You cannot follow directions, Steve Rogers. Why should I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I needed—“ he cuts himself off in a moan when he watches your eyes drop down to his lap and stay there “—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats in whispers.

You get closer and closer with each pathetic hiss of apology. The flush of pain and denied pleasure rages hot under the skin of his entire body, but this is what you wanted all along. You’ve been patient. Now he’s right where you want him.

“Are you going to do what I say?”

“Yes,” Steve groans, low and hungry.

“Do you promise?”

“Yes—oooh god.”

You lean down to his ear, knowing only he can feel the featherlight wisps of your touch along his arm. His heart stops in anticipation.

“Come.”

He’s fucked in mind, body, and spirit instantly, spurting into the air as if gravity’s gone from around him. It hurts in the most euphoric way. He can’t handle the ecstasy and devastation colliding at once. Steve finishes untouched and collapses to the broken bed. He grabs the sheets surrounding him and bites down because it’s not stopping. He’s wrung dry for what feels like hours, all the while feeling nothing but the cool air of the room around him. From the grey edges of his vision, he nearly passes out, his throat hoarse from shrieking out with each tensed pulse of orgasm. It’s the best worst experience, and he won’t recover from it in his long, long lifetime.

His heaving breaths slow as you continue to watch him, hovering above his glorious body, enjoying the wreckage to full effect. Once he’s composed enough to unhide his face, eyes still unfocused and glassy, you drag a gentle hand down his chest, and he shivers violently.

It’s finally time to tell Steve what he’s sold his soul for, what he owes you in return for this kindness, what the price for your pity is.

“You will never come again without my permission.” Your soothing, sweet tone rakes dangerously over his spent body. “Never. Not once. I will be here every time, and you, Stevie, will have to beg for my mercy.”

and whoops, I completely forgot to say thank you for the love! 🥺💚🥰 You're too kind to me, bebe.

More on my Masterlist, and if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and/or reblogging! It's like getting a hug every time 🤗

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Delicate

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Description: Eddie gets himself hurt and comes to you for help.

Warnings: mention of cuts and scrapes but nothing graphic

Word Count: 874

Notes: (mild)hurt/comfort, female reader, reader is described as gothish/punkish but it's only for like a second. It's been a long time since I've posted any of my work, figured I may as well try again since this funky little guy is the only thing I can think about right now!

“Eddie?! Jesus, what the hell happened?”

It was late. Very, very late, and thank god your parents were in Indianapolis or there’d be hell to pay for the pounding on the front door at this hour. Standing on your front porch in the rain, with a busted eyebrow and a split lip, was Eddie Munson. He was soaked to the bone, too, and you could see a slight tremble in his fingers. You hoped it was just from the cold.

“You should see the other guy,” he laughed softly. 

“Come inside, man, we need to get those cuts cleaned out or they’re gonna get infected,” you said, moving to the side and ushering him in. He gave you a small nod as he passed, eyes wandering around the entryway.

He’d never been to your house before.

“First Aid kit’s upstairs, c’mon,” you said, starting up the stairs with Eddie in tow. You both made your way down the hallway to the bathroom. The walls were littered with pictures of you and your family from years past. Eddie’s eyes followed the frames as he walked. He especially liked the one of you circa 1973 wearing a family member's much too large leather jacket; he made a mental note to ask you about that one later.

You led him into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit. “Sit.” You pointed to the edge of the bathtub and Eddie planted himself there, wide eyes looking up at you as you washed your hands. You sat opposite him on the closed toilet lid and placed the plastic box of the kit on your lap. You cracked it open and ripped the corner off of an alcohol wipe packet. 

“This is gonna sting like a bitch,” you said quietly, leaning in closer to get a better look at the cut across Eddie’s eyebrow. 

“I’m sure it’s not that-Fuck! Jesus Christ, that does hurt!”

“I tried to warn you!” You let out a small laugh.

Despite the stinging on his forehead and the pain from his split lip, Eddie laughed too.

“I woulda thought you’ve had your fair share of busted heads before?”

“Yeah, well, guess I’ve just never had a good enough nurse to properly patch me up.”

“Ha, ha,” you sarcastically quipped as you tore open another alcohol wipe and dabbed it on his split lip. Eddie winced at the touch. “What happened, Eddie?”

“Oh, you know, wrong place wrong time,” Eddie responded, trying to deflect the question.

“Eddie!”

“Okay, okay, look I-” he started, pausing for a moment and pointing his gaze to the tiled floor. “It was just some idiot assholes, alright? Nothing to worry about.”

“So, these idiot assholes, they just beat you up unprovoked?”

“C’mon-”

“Answer my questions? Please?”

Eddie let out a sigh. “Look, they were picking on some poor kid, I just- I gave him a chance to run off.”

The two of you locked eyes as you carefully placed one of the small bandages across the cut on Eddie’s eyebrow. 

You and Eddie were close friends, you had been for quite some time, but he’d never been this close to you, with your face only a few inches away from his. Your movements were precise, careful. 

It was odd, Eddie thought, to see you like this, in pajama shorts and no makeup. Without the smudged eyeliner and black denim, without the silver chains and ripped tights, you seemed softer, less bold and harsh than how you usually came off. 

“What?” You asked, as his dark eyes bore holes into your face, eyebrows knotted. 

“You’re just being so-”

“Being so what?”

“Delicate.”

“Well, yeah,” you said, closing up the box and standing to put it away & wash your hands again. “You’re already hurt, I don’t want to make it any worse.”

“It’s just,” Eddie stood up as well. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything delicately in my life.”

He was right, too. The number of jars and drinking glasses he’d broken through the years had to be nearing the hundreds, at least, and in sixth grade health class his egg baby was dropped within the first two hours of getting it. He'd been upset for a week. 

“Well, what about when you play guitar?” you question.

“Woah, okay, nothing about what I play is ‘delicate’!” Eddie said with a smile, hands thrown up in defense. “My music is hard, alright? These fingers make heavy metal shit!”

“Okay, okay!” you relented, laughing. “You have hard, metal fingers and nothing about them is delicate.”

“That’s not really what I meant, but sure, yeah. Hard metal fingers.” Eddie’s smile seemed to light up the space between you two. There’s a lull in the conversation; neither one of you knew what to say next, but neither one of you felt the need to say anything, either. You and Eddie caught each other's eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the world consisted of only the two of you. No asshole parents, no douchebag bullies, no monsters-just the two of you. Another moment passes.

“My, uh, my parents,” you stuttered, breaking through the silence. “They’re in Indy for the weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Do you wanna spend the night?”

[idy-ll-ique]

unlike any other

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x maid!f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (AH THE HOLY TRINITY)

warnings: mention of blood, mention of wounds,,,,,,,,, sex (but only a lil bit)

requested: nope

word count: 1.8k

summary: bucky barnes, among many things, owns a strip club. y/n works there as a maid, but she has only recently joined so she has no idea who he is. one day, she catches him napping in one of the private rooms after closing time and, not knowing that he owns the place, asks him to leave because it's a "staff only" room. mesmerized by her, he leaves without a word but a few days later, she finds out who he truly is. sparks fly? sparks fly.

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

James Barnes was tired.

All he wanted to do was go home and get a good night's sleep, but this moron in front of him was proving it to be very difficult. "What aren't you getting about my plan, Johnson?" he growled, a deep glare etched on his face as he disdainfully stared at one of the men who worked for him. "Why are we doing this at all?" Oh, Johnson has quite the mouth on him, can't wait to break all his fucking teeth.

"Are you the boss or am I?" Bucky countered, putting his arms up, exasperated. Johnson was about to reply when Bucky decided he was too tired to deal with him at all. "You know what, how about we talk tomorrow, hm? Leave, now." With an audacious huff, Johnson got up and left the room. As soon as he was gone Bucky groaned loudly.

"That man," he muttered to himself, "Is a fucking idiot. I'm gonna have to talk to Sam tomorrow, why did he even suggest—" Bucky then relaxed back onto the couch he was sitting on, leaning further and further back until he was simply lying down, head resting on the armrest.

James Barnes was tired.

And he needed a fucking nap.

James Buchanan Barnes. He commonly went by the name Bucky, and he ran the biggest, most affluent mob in the city. Currently, he was at a strip club that he owned, which also had private rooms for… basically hooking up, but he never used it for that, using it only to hold meetings with potential allies or his men.

He dozed off on the couch but was able to sleep for only about 30-45 minutes before someone was shaking him awake.

---

“Phew, last room! Why does this place have so many rooms?” Y/N grumbled to herself, opening the door to the private room. She was a maid recently hired by the club, and her job was to clean up all the private rooms after the closing time. They paid her well so she didn’t mind doing the job. When she opened the door, though, she noticed a man sleeping on the couch.

All his clothes were still intact and his hair was also done nicely… She scrutinized him for a while longer, taking note of his handsome, chiselled features and how he dripped of power even when he was asleep. Finally, a few minutes later, she decided to wake him up. However powerful he might seem, the rooms after closing were for staff only and he needed to leave.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N gently shook his shoulders, startling him awake. He blinked his eyes open and in his hazy state of mind, he thought there was an angel standing above him. “What?” he yawned and Y/N offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room,” she told him and he blinked.

She didn’t know him? “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry,” he complied, sitting up. He took in her appearance as well; she was wearing a cheesy maid’s costume that fit the aesthetic of the strip club perfectly, yet there was a sort of innocence to her, the kind that would make even the most cold-hearted and powerful of them all want to cater to her every whim without question.

“Uh… see ya around,” she raised her eyebrows and Bucky offered her a quick smile, getting out of the room. “Behaving like he owns the place,” Y/N scoffed to herself as she began cleaning up the mess in the room starting with the empty alcohol bottles. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, though- his handsome face could make anyone’s heart melt. As the thought passed through her head, a small smile bloomed on her face.

Oh stranger, I really hope we meet again soon.

As Bucky drove home, he, too, thought of the maid. Who was she? Why had he never seen her before? And why didn’t she know him? That night, as he went to bed for the second time, all he saw in his dreams was a lovely maid’s costume and a pretty, pearly white smile.

---

“I’m firing that guy,” Bucky told Sam determinedly. A few days had passed since Bucky’s meeting with Johnson and he was more determined than ever to get rid of the guy. Something about Johnson seemed off. “Wh- You hired that guy like a week ago, what happened? He used to work with Pierce and Rumlow before, he can give us valuable intel-”

“What if he never stopped?” Sam quieted at the retort. “He told us how horribly they treated their own men,” Sam answered a little while later. “What if he’s lying?” Bucky asked impatiently. “Give him a chance-” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Bucky sighed and Johnson poked his head in. “Got a minute, boss?”

“Oh sure, come in, we were just discussing you! Have a seat!” Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s sudden cheerfulness as Johnson happily bounded into the room, plopping down on the couch. “What were you discussing?” he questioned. “How I was just about to fire you,” Bucky smirked and Johnson’s face fell.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, causing Sam and Bucky to glance at each other. “Hello…?” All of a sudden Johnson stood up with a fit of rage. “Damn it, Barnes, you ruin everything!” Bucky shouted triumphantly as Sam gasped. “I knew you were a fucking two-timer, you son of a bitch!” Bucky yelled at him. “And you made it so easy!” Johnson laughed dryly.

“Why you-” Bucky swung a punch at Johnson’s face, breaking his nose. “What have you told Pierce?!” Johnson retaliated right back by kicking his knee into Bucky’s abdomen, making him fall back. A fight soon broke out between all three of them, so loud that the commotion could be heard from outside.

Approximately 20 minutes later Y/N, who was passing by the room at the time, heard the loud noise and stopped in her tracks. It sounded like… two people fighting. It wasn’t her cleaning time yet, but she still rushed to the door, opening it up with such force that the door loudly banged on the other side. At this, the fight instantly halted.

Bucky was holding an unconscious Johnson by the collar, his fist an inch away from Johnson’s jaw. Both of them looked pretty beaten up, with blood all over their faces and clothes. Sam, meanwhile, was half-lying on the couch, clutching the side of his abdomen with a pained look on his face. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth at the sight of them.

That was when she recognized the man from a few days ago. Oh shit, he does own the place. Bucky immediately got up and dusted his suit, staring down at a passed-out Johnson with a sneer. “Sam, take him to Wanda, she’ll know what to do with him. And please, for the love of God, go to the hospital.” With the help of a few others, Sam and Johnson left.

It was only Bucky and Y/N in the room now. She continued staring at his face in horror and Bucky chuckled, wiping away a trail of blood near his lips. “That bad?” She snapped out of her trance. “You…” Bucky gave her a wry smile. “Bucky Barnes at your service. And you are?” Y/N blinked a few times before answering. “Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” Bucky looked around.

“Well, Y/N, if you’d be so kind as to fetch me a first aid kit.” She instantly walked out of the room and got the first aid kit for him. When she returned to the room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, his jacket and shirt removed. Even his torso was covered in black and blue bruises. "It looks bad," she blurted out.

"Will you help me clean up?" Y/N couldn't deny him. He was her boss, after all. She sat down next to him and wordlessly started cleaning the blood off his face. He didn't so much as flinch, which Y/N found to be extremely impressive. After all the blood was cleaned, Y/N grimaced when she saw his broken nose. "Your, um, your nose…" Bucky easily grabbed his nose in both hands and clicked it into place.

Y/N flinched badly at the action, making Bucky laugh. "Come on, princess, it's not that difficult," he teased her and she shook her head, a smile blooming on her face. "So, um, I'm sorry about that day," she mumbled as Bucky kept the first aid kit away. "Sorry? For doing your job? Don't do that."

She looked up at him. "No, I- I should've known it was you, and I just… maybe I could've been more polite-"

"Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room," Bucky quoted verbatim, "You couldn't have been more polite." Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she shuffled her feet. "Please don't fire me," she whispered under her breath, yet Bucky managed to hear her. And when an opportunity presents itself…

"On one condition."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and nodded excitedly. "Anything you want." Bucky smirked and sat back down next to her, placing his hand on her bare thigh. "Go on a date with me," he breathed out, leaning close to her. Y/N's breath and heart rate hitched at his forwardness, but she didn't have the will to deny him.

He was good-looking, he was rich, he was polite, why not give it a try? Y/N offered him a small smile. "Um, okay, I'd like that a lot," she agreed truthfully and Bucky grinned, pressing his lips to hers without wasting a moment. Y/N kissed him back, cupping his face with her hands.

In the heat of the moment, Bucky bent forward until the back of Y/N's head touched the armrest; still, they didn't pull away from each other. Bucky sneakily got his hand under Y/N's blouse, the skin on skin contact making them both groan. "Ugh, you really are very pretty, you know?" Bucky whispered as he unbuttoned her blouse and threw it away.

He stared in awe at her bra-covered breasts, his shaft twitching impatiently. But, just as he was about to unbuckle her bra, the door swung open. Bucky immediately hid Y/N under him and looked up at a horror-struck Sam, who ran out of the room screaming, "At least lock the door next time, asshole!"

Y/N giggled when she saw Bucky's flustered face. "He's right, you know," she whispered cheekily and Bucky playfully narrowed his eyes at her, attacking her neck with kisses and love bites.

"Talk to me like that again and you'll be in for a long night, pretty face."

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, boss."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed it!

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Can u write an au where carol’s cat (goose) keeps sneaking into fem!reader’s apartment and so carol and reader communicate with each other thru notes they put on goose’s collar and they eventually fall in love (((:::::::

Goose's Best Friend

Summary: After a stranger's cat injured in your apartment one night, you decide to attach a short note to its collar to give your apologies. They lead to something you could have never expected.

Pairing: Army Pilot!Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2,792

It was the middle of the night, 2:57a.m., to be exact, when a loud crash shook you from the clutches of sleep. You sat up with a groan, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision enough to look at the clock on your nightstand. You swung your legs off the bed, eyes catching the shattered lamp on the ground. Fighting off the temptation to leave it on the ground for tomorrow, for fear that you might forget about it and slam your bare feet into the shards scattered around the floor, you slid your legs into some sweats and stood up.

You weren’t expecting, when you turned on the light, for something to move. When something darted around the corner you actually let out a high-pitched yelp, flying backwards and hitting your elbow hard off the corner of the nightstand. You felt tingling rush into the tips of your fingers as you tried desperately to comprehend what had just happened. Your breathing had already increased, and your heart was racing inside your chest. You took a hesitant step forward.

Despite being alone in the apartment, you flushed beet red in embarrassment when you found the creature you’d been so terrified of. The orange tabby cat stared up at you with wide eyes, letting out a quiet mew. Immediately your heart softened, its beat slowing down to a normal pace. When the cat made to step toward you, though, you immediately noticed the limp. Your eyebrows furrowed and you knelt down, letting it come to you. You reached out for its front leg, and it let you take it into your hand.

“Oh, sweet baby,” you muttered softly, wiping a bit of blood out of its fur with your thumb. “Come on. I think I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

It surely didn’t understand what you said, but it followed you when you stood up. It limped into the bathroom behind you, settling once it reached the tile floor. You reached into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the red case, propping it up on the countertop and opening it up. Quickly, you located the roll of bandages and the scissors that came with it. You pulled it out and got some wet paper towels. Once more you knelt down on the ground next to the tabby.

A black collar around its neck caught your attention. You reached out for the silver tag that hung from it and spoke aloud. “Goose. Well, Goose, there’s no phone number here for your owner. Guess I’ll have to fix you up and trust you can find your own way home, huh?”

He meowed in response.

You continued to wrap up his leg. When you finally finished, you tucked the first aid kit away again. You clicked your tongue a couple times in an attempt to get him to follow you again. The both of you headed toward the kitchen, where you rummaged through the fridge for the leftover chicken from dinner the night before last. You pulled some out and set it in a small dish on the floor, a sort of apology for your lamp having done such damage to the poor animal’s leg. He helped himself quickly. Meanwhile, you dug through one of your drawers.

You popped the cap off a pen and cut a small strip of paper, struggling to keep your writing small enough to fit.

There was no number on the collar, so I opted for this. Goose found his way into my apartment and had an unfortunate mishap. I patched him up and gave him a treat. I hope that’s okay. He should be alright.

Hope he feels better soon.

You rolled the note around the tabby’s collar and taped it in place. He’d finished his treat by now, so you led him back to the apartment door. When you opened it, he cast one glance back at you, eyes shining as if in gratitude, then scurried down the hall. Just as he turned out of sight, though, someone else moved into your peripheral vision. You could have scoffed when you saw who had wandered into the hallway. She spoke before you could close the door.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Fuck off, Danvers.”

“Captain Danvers,” she hummed, a wide smirk on her face as she twirled her keys around her finger.

“In your dreams,” you scoffed. “And next time you’re using your stripes to get random women in bed, be a little quieter, would you? Some of us around here have self-respect.”

You closed the door before she could respond to that.

You and Carol Danvers had hated each other for as long as you’d lived there. The two of you were like hot and cold, or night and day. She liked loud music and late nights whereas you liked a nice book and an early night. You were quiet and soft-spoken, and Carol was a bully. In fact, she was your bully. You’d never endured such teasing and taunting from anyone else before. It wasn’t her harsh words that got to you, though. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure what it was that got to you. Maybe it was her arrogance, or maybe it was her ignorance for anyone around her. It didn’t matter.

Carol Danvers brought out a side of yourself that you didn’t know existed. You’d only have to hear a single word fall from her lips or see a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, and instantly any semblance of a good mood would dissipate and fade into annoyance. The hatred you held for her made your blood boil in your veins at the mere sight of her stupid, cocky smirk. You sometimes wished you could just reach out and slap that stupid smirk off her stupid face.

You pushed the blonde from your mind, heading back to bed. Hopefully, the coming day would be one that didn’t involve the blonde captain.

*

It was three days later that a quiet meow caught your attention. It tore your gaze from the TV, and you glanced toward the source of the sound. The face that was watching you immediately brought a smile to your face. You pat the couch beside you and the tabby jumped up, settling onto the blanket. You ran your hand across his head, watching his eyes close in content. You were about to turn your gaze back to the TV when you noticed the paper around his collar. It wasn’t the same one you put there. You reached out for it and removed it, careful not to rip it, and unrolled it. You flicked on the lamp.

Sorry about him. He wanders around the building. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten into someone’s room. If you fed him, he’ll probably come back to you (which I don’t mind, so long as you don’t mind that he’ll keep coming back). That’s how I know you’ll get this. So, thank you for patching him up. The vet would’ve cost more. You were right. He was just fine.

Rolled up with it was a twenty-dollar bill. You chuckled, immediately standing up off the couch. You pulled a small treat out of the fridge as you passed it, Goose trotting into the kitchen at the sight. You handed it to him and he took it happily, chowing down as you stood up straight again and continuing on your journey toward the notepad on the counter. Once again you ripped a small piece of paper out of it, ripping the cap of the pen off with your teeth and holding it there as you brought the pen down to meet the paper.

It seems so. You were right. He came back. He’s a sweet boy. I truly enjoy his visits. I don’t get many of them, so he’s welcome here whenever he pleases. And I don’t need this. Keep it.

You knelt down on the ground to Goose once again. He sat still for you as you wrapped the bill around his collar, wrapped the note around it, and then taped them both in place. Once more, you led him back to the apartment door, opened it up for him, and let him into the hallway. He rubbed his head against your calf once more before dashing out of sight. You shut the door behind him.

*

You huffed as you stormed into the lobby of the apartment building. Work had not treated you well that day. All you wanted was to head upstairs, put on your coziest pyjamas, order takeout, cuddle into the couch, and watch a movie or two. It was all you needed to wash away the horrible day and ease the stress that was weighing so heavily on your chest. You only wanted to pick up your mail before you did, but apparently, the universe had other ideas.

“Looking for some mail from your mommy?”

Danvers was the last person you wanted to deal with today. You didn't even bother to grumble a response to your neighbour, who was still in uniform as she stepped up beside you and unlocked her own mailbox. You were going to step away without a single word, but once more, you didn’t get your wish. Carol snickered at something, making you slam your box shut with far more force than necessary.

“What, pray tell, is so fucking funny?” You snapped.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. Nice keychain.”

The keychain was a souvenir one you’d gotten from your trip to Disney with your family a few years ago. It was a picture of you and your brothers all wearing Mickey Mouse ears and sticking your tongues out at the camera. If anyone else had said the words, you would have blushed and thanked them. When Carol said the words, you shoved the keys in your pocket and shot a glare so harsh that it would have killed if it could have.

“You’re a dick, Danvers.”

“Captain Danvers,” she corrected once more.

“Look, this whole army pilot thing might work on those girls you pick up from god knows where, but I’ve met you,” you sneered. “You use this uniform for detestable things, Danvers. It’s disgusting.”

You stormed away.

When you unlocked your door and stepped into your apartment, however, you found that you wouldn’t need pyjamas or takeout or movies to make you feel better. Your new best friend was sitting on your couch as if he had been waiting for you to arrive home. You dropped your bag at the door and moved to sit with him immediately. After stroking his head absentmindedly for a bit, you noticed the new note.

Take it. Please? Come on, you’re going to make Goose sad if you don’t. You’re going to make me sad if you don’t.

Attached with the note, again, was that same twenty-dollar bill. You rolled your eyes as you moved into the kitchen once more, handing Goose a few of the cat treats you’d bought for him. He accepted them happily as, for the third time, you prepared to write a note for Goose’s mystery owner. You didn’t even bother to sit down, hunching over the counter in a way that your back probably wouldn’t have thanked you for. You scribbled on the paper.

I’m sure Goose won’t mind at all. As for you? Well, I don’t really know you, do I? Just keep the damn money, will you? You know, Goose is going to gain a few pounds if you keep sending him back here.

Sincerely, Goose’s new best friend

After a few pats to the head, you sent Goose off with that. He was back later that day.

Goose’s best friend,

Goose does mind. He wants you to keep it. Please? Besides, if we keep attaching it with scotch tape to a wandering cat, it’s going to get lost. You wouldn’t want that, now, would you? I sure wouldn’t. As for the treats, I’ll make sure to walk him a bit more. Wouldn’t want to lose my new favourite pen pal over a couple extra pounds on the cat.

- Goose’s mom

This time, there were two twenties attached. You chuckled at that. Goose was gobbling down his treat as you wrote.

Goose’s mom,

I think that’d be quite a sight to see, you walking Goose down the street. Guess if I ever see Goose leashed and with some random woman on the street, I’ll know what you look like.

- Goose’s best friend

P.S. Just donate the money. Seriously.

As if it were habit by now, you reattached the bills, added your note, and sent the tabby out the door once again. You headed back to what you’d been doing.

It wasn’t long before the next reply.

Goose’s best friend,

Here, I’ll help you build the image. I’m 23, blonde, and about 5’6”. I’m in the army, so I’d probably still be in uniform after work. Oh, and Goose’s leash is blue, and he has a grey harness for walking.

- Goose’s mom

P.S. I split the $40 between the humane society and the local shelter

You once more had to laugh at the stranger. Of course, you immediately moved to respond. As much as you didn’t want to kick Goose out, you wanted her to get your answer as soon as possible. You grabbed your notepad.

Goose’s mom,

You sound cute.

- Goose’s mom’s best friend

It was a short note this time. You were having fun, though, and you wanted to tease your new friend a little. You attached the note to Goose and let him run off.

Once more, Goose returned with a new reply.

Best friend,

You didn’t give me anything in response. I’m offended.

- Goose’s mom’s best friend’s best friend

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way she’d signed her newest note. A pang of confidence hit your chest. You scribbled on the note.

Goose’s cute mom,

Let’s go for coffee then. 2B. I’m free when you are.

- Girl with a crush

*

You regretted sending that last note. You’d never gone more than 12 hours without communicating with the mystery note sender. You’d grown quite fond of the little pieces of communication you’d exchanged with her. It was actually the highlight of your day, on most days. Since sending that last one, though, you’d yet to hear back from her. It’d been four days now. You were quite upset about it, and decided the best way to fix that was some loud music. Maybe it’d piss Danvers off as much as she pissed you off.

When there was a loud knock on the door, you immediately assumed that you’d sure pissed someone off. Of course, they’d complain about you and not her. Everyone loved Carol fucking Danvers. You wished you could whirl the door open and shout at whoever was on the other side, but knew yourself better than that. You’d probably open it up and apologize, then turn the volume down and wallow in your misery to the sound of softer music.

That is, if it were anyone but Danvers.

“What? Just now realizing how damn annoying it is to hear loud music blaring from the apartment directly below yours?” You rolled your eyes. “Fuck off, Danvers.”

You went to slam the door, but she stuck her hand in. It must’ve been a little harsher than you meant to, because she shook her fingers out when she retracted them. You didn’t apologize, because you didn’t even feel bad. She deserved it after giving you two years of hell having to live in the apartment below her. You’d not have been surprised if one day she invited an elephant into her room just so she could make as much noise in your apartment as possible.

As you were about to make another snarky remark, though, you noticed something. That cocky glint that was usually shining in her brown eyes was missing. She wasn’t even meeting your eyes. Her gaze was cast to the door beside your head, locked to the bronze numbers that were screwed into it. You raised a single eyebrow, waving your hand in front of her face to get her attention. She blinked as if coming out of a trace, looking back to you.

“What do you want, Danvers?” You snapped when she wouldn’t speak.

She didn’t answer. She only held out a small piece of paper. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but took it from her. The handwriting was one you’d seen so many times.

Goose’s best friend,

Coffee it is. But I’m paying. I still owe you.

- A girl who also has a crush, Carol Danvers

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader

Series: Don't forget who you belong to.

Chapter 2 - Give me your answer, do

Underthecut - NSFW, Male Masturbation, Oral - Male Receiving.

Brahms sat idly in his living room, leaning back in his large leather recliner. Feet shuffling along the Egyptian carpet, thumbs twiddling as he hums Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre,

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you." He smiles as he thinks of her. How her hair shines in the sun, like a halo above her head. Her eyes sparkling whenever she laughs, how the corner of her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. How her smile makes his heart skip a beat.

Brahms sucks in a breath, his hum-singing continues, "There are bright lights the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell." He sits up straight, eyes on the unlit fireplace, the gold gate held an ornate Chinese dog welded on the front. He looks above the fireplace to the mantel, the rows of photos in their ash wood frames.

His face is stern as he glances at a particular photo. He, a half-smile as his hand rests on his son's shoulder. Lawrence when he was a boy of eight. Lawrence's other shoulder had a delicate white hand upon it. Gerti, her lips dark with her favourite shade of lipstick, her slight freckles littered her face, her silky blonde hair up in a beautiful age-appropriate bun.

His hum-singing fades as he continues to stare, the family photo, the family in the photo appearing as sharp and elegant as their social standing. That day, Gerti had scolded him all morning, her eyes wide and glossy, her alabaster skin held a blue and yellow hue under her eyes. Her fingers were cold and clammy.

"For the love of everything, Brahms, hurry for once." Brahms flinches as he can still hear her screeching, "Lawrence, get the cat's paw out of your mouth and stop pulling its tail!" He chuckles,

"I miss that cat," Brahms laughs to himself. Never one for pets but how that scraggly little beast could make his son laugh in the most jovial way, warmed him greatly.

His amused grin falls as his eyes lock with Gerti's. Grabbing the photo, his thumb ghosts over her image, remembering how once soft her skin was. His stomach churns as a chill seeps into his bones, shaking him in his spot.

He places the family photo back on the mantle, right next to a photo of her. Her hands grasping each other, face tilted slightly, a timid smile upon her face. "Sir, I don't need my photo taken!"

"Y/n, as my employee of a year, you are practically family." Brahms let out a shaky breath as his mind replays the conversation. "And you may call me, Brahms. You address Gerti by her full name."

"Gerti and are intimate in ways that have allowed us to be close."

"Pray tell may I watch these intimate moments?" His cheeky reply had cost him an ear full from his wife when she had found out. Brahms still never understood why women used such charged words to describe a close friendship.

Brahms left the living room, a stirring in his gut had him heave. He wanted to call upon her for aid, 'Fetch me a water with some ice, and actually bring some black tea and one of our lemons from Italy.' he clears his throat at the thought of dryness being washed back by the cold refreshment.

He had given her a few hours a week for personal time. Free to be spent however she pleased. Ever since the death of his wife and Lawerence attending Rugby School for Boys she had more free time. Much to Brahms immense displeasure.

Brahms had taken to stalking her on her days off. Wanted to see what she got up to. Where she went and specifically with who. He would linger twenty feet behind, always darting behind stalls and other tall men to hide, he even took to wearing a coat that he kept hidden in hopes she would not recognize him further.

He stared in amazement at how well she helped an old lady onto the trolley all the while juggling her belongings, refusing a 'tip' "It's the nice thing to do." in reference to helping others.

His cheeks flushed whenever she stopped to smell the flowers, literally. A quaint smile as she turned down the offer for a free one from the vendor. She often stopped to sniff the white and yellow flowers. He had noticed Daisys were her favorite.

He seethed when one day you were stopped by a handsome Youngman, his tall lean frame stood confidently as his dark brown eyes held a softness as they looked down at you. He had overheard the name in a distinctly American accent, "Dan, yeah I'm studying medicine with my colleague, I'd introduce you but..." He hated that you always walked near the campus, hated all the young men eager, too eager to chat up a single young lady.

Dan had never gotten farther than chaste conversations and one quick feather-light kiss on her cheek.

Brahms wondered if he should up and move, just to be a little further away from the university, away from the young men, away from one of them stealing her away. She was his, he had just yet to convince her. Ask her, even bring it up in any conceivable way.

One occasion made the blood sear in his veins. He should have been more away, should have been more vigilant of this Dan fellow. He watched from a distance as Dan rounded the corner and collided with her. His tall body fell over hers, his hand had just managed to catch the back of her head, softening to the blow to the ground.

"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" Dan's eyes wide in shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

She laughed, "No, no, it's fine," Brahms gritted his teeth.

"No, it's not." Dan pulled himself and her up, his hand holding her in a firm grasp. "I am so sorry." He scratched the back of his head, his expression doleful.

"Accidents happen." She assured, grabbing his hand still wrapped around hers. " It's okay Dan."

"You remember me!" Dan's brown eyes lit up. A Radiant smile over his face as he stepped closer to her.

Brahms seethed as the scene played out before him. She smiled, he smiled. She laughed, he laughed. The words between the two began to fall effortlessly between them both.

He watched despondently. How she could let herself relax so easily in another man's presence. How her demeanor shifted around Dan. Those stiff shoulders eased themselves as Dan placed his hand on her shoulder and winked.

Brahms cursed, the university's chapel bell rang out. Every thunderous clang shot through Brahms. Every clang was a reminder he had another place to be. The dreaded desk in the dreaded little corner of his office.

He turned one last time, eyes watched as she smiled with a warmth he'd never seen, how she leaned into Dan as his smile shined bright.

Brahms walks up to his maid's room, thanking Gerti for installing a sense of comfort in Y/N as to never locking the door.

He jiggles the door handle, "Hm..." Again, "Weird," his eyes narrow, "Bloody thing is locked." He jostles the handle, "Bloody woman..."

Click

"Ah, there we are." He hums in approval as the door creaks open. Forever grateful for the previous owner teaching him how to easily unlock a door in the house without a key "Rickety ol' tings" Brahms mocked the man's heavy accent.

He inhales as he enters her room. The simple little abode warmed his heart. Her bed and the nightgown left upon it stirred his loins. He walks to the bed, grabs the nightgown, bringing it to his nose, he growls as he inhales, her natural scent lingered on the garment.

Brahms holds the garment in his teeth as he shucks off his pants, freeing his painfully erect cock. The thoughts whirl in his mind as he plops onto her bed, sighing with content as he sinks down into the mattress and a sneer as he grips his cock.

The same bed she slept, where when the night calls for it, he knew she'd sleep naked. "Fuck..." He growls through the nightgown, ripping it from his mouth to place it over his chest. Her bed, her bed where she no doubt has touched herself, even if briefly in a beautiful sinful manner.

Does she shy away as she dipped those delicate little fingers into her dripping pussy? Does she bite her cheek to stifle her pitchy moans when that jolt of pleasure shot through her?

Brahms collects some spit in his large hand, sucking in a breath as his cold spit touches his cock. His hand pumps eagerly around his thick member, a low groan as the image of her crawling up to him floods his mind. He sighs as he pictures it as her hand gripping him, gasping at how large it is,

"Brahms, my fingers can't even wrap around it!"

"That's okay, love, use those pretty little lips and that wet little tongue to help you."

"What if my make-up smears?"

"Oh, love, that's what I want." Brahms throws his head back, thumb circling his swollen head, picturing it as her delicate wet little tongue. He grips himself harder as he swears he can feel her lips wrap around his cock.

His low groans and breathy moans fill her little room, her name falling from his lips, "So beautiful, Y/N. My love, so perfect, mhm, yes, further down your throat, moaning around it."

Brahms breathing hitches as he pictures her, clawing at his chest as tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I'm a little nervous," She says as she rubs her glistening pussy, inches over his leaking cock.

"You got this, my love." Brahms keens,

"Will it fit, Brahms?..." She bites her lip, a hand groping her beautiful chest.

"My love, just relax, I have you." He pictures gripping her hip to ease her down onto him, gripping his cock as he imagines her warm pussy gripping him.

Audible slaps from the fisting of his cock, mixing with his now desperate pleas and moans fill her room. She's on top of him, her chest flushed against his, she's commenting on how she loves the feel of his hairy chest, praised-filled moans as she comments on his pecs flexing under her.

Brahms bucks his hips into his hand, "Hold you close." He moans as he pictures rolling on top of her, her legs wrapping around his lower half, arms pulling him in close, whispering in his ear,

"Brahms cum in me, cum in me, make me yours." He grips squeeze around his cock, imaging it's her pussy clenching around him, "I love you, Brahms."

He hisses as his body shakes, muscles flexing, toes curling as he snarls out his release. The image of her accepting his seed sends heat washing over him. His cock pulses in his grip, his cum spraying over her nightgown, the remaining spilling down his fingers and cock.

His temples pulse, his ears ringing. His toes unfurling as his legs ceased in their shakes. He squeezes his cock a few more times, hearing her breathlessly thanking him, "It's so warm in me. Thank you, Brahms." He swears he can feel her nuzzling into his chest as if she was there.

Brahms coughs as he sits up, shaking his head as he gingerly throws his legs over the side, placing his feet on the door. The nightgown falls over his cock. He snorts, using it to clean himself. He stands up, placing the nightgown where he had found it. A wicked and mischievous grin spreads over his face at the thought of her wearing his spent at night.

He grunts as he retrieves his trousers, pulling them up in haste, tucking his chub back in. A content sigh as he eyes the bed and nightgown. She wouldn't be sleeping alone for much longer.

Brahms snaps his attention to the trill of his front doorbell. He clicks his tongue as he makes haste to the door. He debates on if he has time to properly clean his hand, decides to just wear a fancy white-glove he leaves, conveniently, near the front door instead.

"Coming! My Maid is out currently," He sucks in a breath as he pulls a glove over his right hand, he cocks his head quickly before opening the door. "Sorry, it'd have been answered sooner...who are you?"

Brahms stared down at the short man before him. His brown hair combed expertly to the side, his brows immaculate under his thick glasses. He wore a glowering expression, his lips in a tight line.

The man clears his throat, "Herbert, Herbert West." Brahms makes note of his American accent, "I believe this paper is for the lady of this residence." Herbert whips the paper in front of him, his expression changing to say "Well, hurry and take it!"

"Mr. West."

"Herbert."

"Herbert, If by Lady you mean, Gerti? She passed awa-"

"I don't mean your dead wife."

Brahms's eyes narrow at Herbert. He opens his mouth the speak.

"I mean, Y/n. She is the only lady living here. So Dan tells me."

Brahms's jaw slackens, "Dan." He says more to himself.

"Yes, it's an invitation to a formal at the university. He already invited her. Just wanted to make sure she got all the details, it's all there on the paper." Herbert whips it again in front of Brahms.

Brahms yanks the paper from Herbert, eyes scanning it wildly.

University of London

Residents of Handel Mansions we formally invite you to bring along the most beautiful dame for the start of our fall formal.

September 28th, 1900

Entrance fee 1 pound, with a beautiful dame on your arm the fee is waved.

Brahms stares back at Herbert who pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Well," Herbert begins, "I figured be best to drop it off for Dan. He's been awfully busy." He flashes a smile to Brahms as he turns, "Dan also says to let Y/n know he wishes her luck at her new job on Robitaille's farm." He turns back around to Brahms, "Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr.?"

Brahms pauses, clearing his throat, "Brahms Heelshire."

Herbert clicks his tongue, "I knew that." He walks down the stairs, a pep in his step, "Was nice meeting you Mr. Heelshire."

Brahms stares at the short man walking away, nodding to a man walking past. He turns back around, slamming the door behind in, the frame shook.

He stares down at the paper, eyes reading it over and over again. "A formal." He starts, "That Dan..." His breath catches in his chest, "A job?" he questions aloud.

He collapses against his door, slumping over as he crunches the paper in his hands. His thoughts raced to her, cursing himself for not intervening that day she ran into Dan. Wishing he just took the reprimand from his employer and raced in to shove Dan away from you. Creating some fantastical lie as to why he was suddenly there.

Brahms's thoughts slip to his son. Lawrence, his green eyes shine whenever he and Y/n play. He hugs her like he did his mother. How y/n always promises to play with him, tuck him at night. How were you going to tuck him in if you were to be away? How were you going to be there to kiss his little cheek as he falls asleep?

"How are you going to be there for me?"

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

extra chapter. all i can breathe is your life.

Summary: It's discount, disco Tuesday and you've decided to drag Wilbur along too!

~3.4k words. masterlist.

---

he finds himself wrapped in one of your adventures, you being determined to find inspiration to keep writing music and living life the way you always loved. he didn't get any of it, but you were his friend, and he didn't mind all that much when it was you.

at the moment, you'd taken him out for a drive, refusing to tell him where you'd be going but beforehand you'd painted shapes onto both of your faces, with neon green and yellow and pink paint. diamond and hearts on yours, clubs and spades on his, not to mention the outfit you demanded he wear. demanded is a loose term, you merely gave him a look, puppy dog eyes, and he folded like a lawn chair.

the paint had dried and left his face feeling itchy but every time he raised a hand, you'd slap it down. "if i have to hold your hand, i will, don't test me, will." you had teased but you definitely felt your breath stutter at the thought, and he wasn't fairing that much better. holding hands?

much to his surprise, he found himself standing in a short line for roller skates, lights dim and people skating in a large rink. you had paid for the tickets and everything, insisting all he had to do was skate. how hard could it be?

for him, unnecessarily.

the moment he stood up with the skates tied to his feet, he could barely stand still, threatening to fall over in three different directions. his long legs have finally backfired on him from all the times he's mocked you for being shorter.

but you, you glided through the air, stopping by his side as you steady him, a little giggle in your breath. and he could see the outfit and the paint coming together. while everything else had dimmed, the paint and clothes glowed. and you didn't look so bad like this.

not to mention the skirt you chose for tonight, with shorts underneath of course, but it was hard to remind himself that you're just friends.

that you didn't wear it for him, why would you when you're just friends?

he whines inside of his head, so cruel, as you help him to the edge of the rink, holding onto the wall. most of the skaters stay close to the inside of the circle, lucky for you two as you guide him to the edge of it, feeling the breeze from everyone.

you cut slide backwards as you hold both of his hands and guide him through the motions. "just one foot in front of the other, like you're sweeping dirt behind your feet." you say, but as he tries to kick his feet, he trips himself and falls into you. you curse as you both tumble to the ground, wilbur's face shoved into your stomach and your knees wedged into his armpits.

"you okay?" you call over the music, ignoring the slight ache in your elbows and butt, patting his shoulder.

he lifts his head and is met with your face staring him down and all he can see is the paint and the whites in your eyes glowing. and he can't think, nothing processing. is that what a god looks like, he vaguely hears in the back of his mind.

"wilbur?"

without another second to think, he's scrambling off of you, as much as he can with the skates tied to his feet still, but he can see a slight impression from the paint, somehow, in your white shirt.

you don't notice, only snickering as you pull yourself to your feet and he just so happened to be looking up and oh fuck.

he can see up your fucking skirt.

and it doesn't matter that you're wearing shorts, because he's still fucking looking. until he covers his eyes and attempts to stand without any aide. god, he knew he was a pervert but shit. not that he could forget the sight when it's burnt in the inside of his eyelids.

"oh my god, you're so stupid," you laugh and tug on his arms, and drag him back to the wall, getting him to stand eventually.

he groans, leaning his forehead against the wall with both of his hands gripping the sides as tight as he can, "how am i supposed to skate if i can't even make it past the entrance? what was the point of bringing me?" he says, looking up at you as you survey the area, and you just shrug, a small smile playing at your lips.

"it was a discount tonight, figured you'd might enjoy learning," and you're tugging his arms again, looping one of your arms into his to help guide him. "and besides, you'll never learn if all you do is mope and whine about it!" and you press on his back and chest, getting him to stop slouching and telling him how to balance his weight the best way for him, before nudging him forward and watching his arms lock up, feet straight as they roll right towards the chairs lining the walls.

he falls to his knees when he reaches the chairs, and you don't hesitate in calling him dramatic, stopping right in front of him as he pulls himself to sit.

"i think-" he gulps down air like it's water, "i think i'll sit here for- for a minute." you try to pull him up but he shakes his head, insists that you get a headstart into skating, he'll probably figure it out after watching you do it anyways.

you skate away, only after he reassures you once more he's more than okay sitting for a moment.

and you make it look more than easy. you skate across the glossy floor like it was made of butter, weaving your way in and out of the crowd as if you had places to be. and in a brief moment with no one in front of you, you slow down, arms lowered to your side as you enjoy the chilled air, a smile growing as you begin to move your legs and arms again, doing two more laps before you come back to wilbur.

he doesn't have much to say.

"wow."

and he just accepts the punch to his shoulder, rubbing out the ache as you laugh.

"it's just practice, that's all it is."

"you probably practiced like a professional, knowing you." he teases, eyes flickering from the endless moving mass, glowing in the darkness and back to you.

"to be fair, my parents loved taking me here as a kid, didn't help that they knew the owners," you shrug, chest heaving a little bit as you spoke, your breath not yet even.

"that does help," he says, fingers pressing into his knees as he briefly wonders when this place will close. not that he's not having fun, it's just that he doesn't know how to skate at all. and maybe it doesn't help that skating comes to you like breathing does. "so what's-"

"-alright, skaters, it's time for the first special skate, the couples round, if all the single people could please safely exit the rink-"

"oh that's our cue," he says and as he stands you tell him to just hold onto your shoulders, you'll lead him out of the rink. but just as you get to the halfway point, you're singled out.

"to the strange couple, please refer to the default hand-holding, and not the conga, thank you,"

your brain short-circuits to the point where you miss the exit and, on accident, rejoin the circling mass of skaters. wilbur, who's right beside you, is panicking.

"y/n- i can't- i can't do this- i can't skate," and he's breathing too hard as his limbs begin to lock up, you shake out of your stupor and gently take his hand into your own and try to distract him, going from telling him you believe in him, telling him to just bend his knees and you'll guide him like before. then you offer something else up.

"if we get through this lap, we'll do anything you want and i can't say no," you tell him, and it's unbelievably hard to say anything but yes please get me out of there.

and all he can get out is a strained yes, quiet as anything over the music that reverberates through their chests, over the sound of the wheels against the floor.

but you guide him through it, slow and towards the outside of the rink, where most of the couples weren't, and its painful to watch him stiff as anything, barely holding himself together. but as the time passes, you find yourself back at the exit, and he doesn't hesitate to latch onto the closest free table and sit down. he's swallowing mouthfuls of air, maybe a little bit dramatic you humor to yourself, but for the most part he looks tired already.

you stand next to him, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair. "you did so good, wilbur, you made it," he doesn't say anything as he leans his head back as you work your fingers through small tangles. doesn't say anything as the praise burns at his groin, and hopes the dim lights and his physical exhaustion covers the fact that he might have a praise kink.

you lean down to whisper in his ear, "alright, we got through it, what would you like to do now?" and it takes a lot for him to hold back begs and whimpers, but he manages to say something along the lines of food.

you lead him back to your original table with your shoes sitting on top, you ask him if he wants to take the skates off and he doesn't even hesitate to pull them off as soon as he's sitting again. you have to laugh, but then his head rolls around his shoulders and looks at you with dark eyes and it catches in your throat.

eyes wide and mouth open, he knows that this view is dangerous, but keeps looking. though, you seem to pull yourself together and give yourself a thorough shake, your fingers, hands, arms, and torso wiggle in your seat. shaking off whatever it was that had you frozen.

"alright, come with me to get food?" you ask and he nods, standing up and finds that standing without a death machine strapped to his feet is much easier now. with the challenge gone, he starts to walk and then finds you latching onto his elbow with glowing, puppy dog eyes. "drag me?" you pout and he gives in, so easily, you wonder if he would ever say no to you.

your skates facing straight, he pulls you down the pathway between tables and finds himself at a bar area, you barely stopping from slamming into his sides, and he has to wrap an arm around you to settle you still.

you stay still alright, his arms warm from the exertion, and the slight sheen coating his skin makes you want to wring him out like a hand towel and at the same time, you want more than his arm around you.

but you're not toeing the lines of your relationship right now, you're fucking ordering food.

"what can i get for you today?" you skim over the menu above the employee's head, and will answers him curtly, you responding just as quick, handing over the right amount before waiting for the food itself by the edge of the bar.

you lean your knuckles into your cheek, breathing out a dramatic sigh to get wilbur's divided attention. he barely turns around at the sound of another sigh and by then, he's got an unimpressed look printed on his features.

"what is it going to take for you to loosen up? you move as if your bones are popsicle sticks held together by glue."

"you don't know my bones," is all he says before nodding to the employee handing him his chips and water, not even wasting a second before opening the bottle and drinking half of it to soothe the dry itch in his throat.

"you didn't answer my question, will," you inch closer to him to sing it in his ear, but he turns his face to look at you, instead of forward, and you're now nose-to-nose, so close together, just barely a breath's distance.

your breath hitches and he hears it, above everything else, he hears it and just barely closes his eyes and closes the distance. you don't move until you realize where you were again, and you're pushing on his shoulders, skating across the floor with the bag of pretzels and bottle of water in your hand. wilbur walks behind you confused, more along the lines of afraid of the car ride home where you inevitably stop talking to him and demand he never speak to you again. had he read all the signs wrong? did you hate him?

you yank the shoes off your feet, taking the pair and wilbur's to the front, pulling on your converse as you left the rink with him trailing behind you, feeling more than ever like he fucked up. he knows he fucked up in his life before but it never felt as big as this.

the sky is dark and feels unforgiving as you, but you're taking the drinks and snacks and throwing them into the back without him saying anything.

and then you're closing the door and looking at him with your hands still open, as if you're still holding something, and he's about to ask a question, ask if you're okay or something like that, when you yank on the collar of his shirt and press your lips against his firmly, leaning your back against your car, hidden away from potential onlookers.

he braces himself with both hands landing on either side of you, your mouth distracting him more than he'd ever thought. fucking hell, he thinks, your lips soft, warm, and he can't help but chase after yours when you pull away for a second. you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes, and then you're leaning into him, hands sliding up to cusp his face, before tucking your head under his jaw and lips attaching to his neck, sucking and biting and soothing the bites with long swipes of your tongue.

wilbur feels so warm- so hot as you continue to leave hickey after hickey, it feels too good and he grinds his hips against yours, feeling a moan bubble in his throat when a hand covers his mouth, "don't let them know what we're up to, mkay?"

he almost whines beneath your hand but you're right back to his neck, pleasure spiking up in his spine every time you bite down and every time your tongue flattens against every lovebite.

eventually, the sound of the doors constantly swinging open and closed grabs your attention than the trembling man under your hands and mouth, leaning back as you look at the mess you made of him.

"wanna head home now?" you whisper, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.

home. not your dorm, not his apartment, home.

he nods, barely holding it together as you lead him back to the passenger side, closing the door and heading towards the driver's, a little pep in your step. you nod at the other skaters leaving and they give a slight nod back, unbeknownst to the man you're slowly ruining that sits in your car.

getting in, you're faced with a mess. glancing at his neck, you reach back and down for something soft, pulling it up, you see it's your old jacket, something you had for years and… something to cover your friend in for now. "here, if you get cold, because i'm feeling hot." you hand it over to him, before turning the ac up all the way, cranking it to the maximum settings and feeling the bitter cold on your very warm skin.

it was an excuse, of course, but you weren't going to tell him that as you see him very quickly pull it over his head. had you gotten it in a size that fit you, it might not have fit his long torso, but oversized? perfect on him.

you don't see him pulling on the edge of the hoodie, breathing deeply as he could to take all of your scent in. something akin to weed and cinnamon. something home would smell like, he figures.

it takes twenty minutes before you reach the dorms, and it takes another minute before you're inside your designated one, finding rosie and jared curled into the sofa, jumping at every turn in the horror movie on the tv.

"we're back," you say, as you head into the kitchen and pull out another bottle of water, drinking it in as you're well aware of the eyes you have burning into your skin.

swallowing the last gulp, you throw away the empty bottle before looking the man in your hoodie in the eyes and seeing just the very edge of hickeys peek out from the collar. stepping close to him, you reach up to his face and grasp his chin fairly soft, pulling him down just enough to kiss him slow and deep. when you pull away, the dried paint is dripping slightly down his cheek. you swipe it away as his eyes stayed shut.

"we'll be in my room, call us if you need us," you say but they were too absolved in their scary movie, too busy to notice the man practically shaking under your touch.

leading him to your room, like the thousands of times before, and leading him to your bed like the thousands of times before, but this time you give the door a slight kick before it closes. this time you kiss him and let him press you into the bed, hands burning everywhere they touch on your skin.

the nerves in his body feels shot when you reach under the hoodie to press your cold fingers against his skin, pressing against his stomach and gasping into his mouth when he does the same, flicking your shirt up a little to dig his fingers into your hip.

pulling away to breathe, you slow down, your heart pounding against your chest as you come down from a high that you knew would become a problem later on. you lean your head back into a pillow as he slows down too, his sticky forehead against your bare shoulder.

"would-" your mouth sticks together but you push the words forward, "would you be okay if we went to sleep right now?"

you didn't want to ruin anything more than you already did. knowing yourself, you probably confused him. you knew he had feelings for rosie but damn it if you didn't try at least. now look at where it's got you.

you don't see him nod, only feeling the bed dip as he moves off of you and moving to lay down in front of you. he gives your arm a nudge and when you move it, he leans into you, curling into your side as he gives you no room to think. all you could think about was him.

breathing in his hair, you smelt the shampoo from before, the slight smell from the rink, and then the damp feeling of sweat stick to his hair.

yeah, you would need to shower again in the morning. and yeah, you'd probably need to talk about this again. but couldn't you at least enjoy the way he can't seem to leave you alone? Can't you relish in the fact that he wants to be near you and not her. letting you mark him up. you could enjoy it, if not for a second. for the moment, you could enjoy the feel of him grounding you.

as for him, he doesn't know how much luckier he can get. so as your breaths slow in between, he sticks his head into the crook of your neck, just breathing you in and relishing the close proximity he has once again.

he may not have gotten to bury himself inside you but this is fine all on its own, head feeling light from how close you are together.

he presses a kiss to your skin before letting himself sleep in your arms.

(you almost cry when you felt his lips against your collarbone. wondering if this is the modern version of torture and who's administering them from above.)

...

taglist: @fxnxtical @ghostburlovebot @ollie-overscore @roygbivvie @beehive-syst3m @boiled-onionrings @mayempress @bringm3th3n1rvana @yui-san0 @comonlokbut2 @lurkey-lurker @tiredofsatansbullshit @serendipityryn @facelessmatchstick @sewagespaghetti @dogsandrocketsocks @unhelpfulghosty @struggling-with-time