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cupid-styles · 2 months

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yours (ymls check-in)

in which y/n just wants to be harry's — officially.

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: parenting/family stuff (y/n and harry are parents), smut (breeding kink, slight size kink, literal one "mommy" mention, dirty talk)

ymls masterlist | main masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Parenthood is difficult.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so it takes Harry and Y/N approximately two minutes of bringing Clementine into the world to come to the same realization. Her loud wails break their hearts every time, sleep becomes a luxury, and breastfeeding takes an incredible toll on Y/N’s physical and mental health.

But in the same way that parenting is hard and filled with tears and confusion, it’s just as — if not more — rewarding.

Clementine is the best thing that’s ever happened to each of them. Harry can’t remember a version of his life where he wasn’t head-over-heels in love with his sweet baby girl, and Y/N has softened up a considerable amount now that she spends most of her day cooing to her daughter.

It’s not perfect by any means — Clem is a tried-and-true daddy’s girl and sometimes it hurts Y/N’s feelings. Clementine also inherited her mom’s grumpy exterior and, in the middle of a visit from Harry’s parents or Y/N’s sister, will starfish her body, going completely rigid until one of her parents takes her. (Harry always thinks it’s funny while Y/N is embarrassed by it. It’s something they’re working on as a family.)

Beyond their little trio, though, lies a larger situation that’s been conveniently tucked away since Clementine was born: Harry and Y/N’s relationship.

They never decided what they were after confessing feelings for one another. One day, they lived separately and were going the route of platonic co-parenting. The next, Harry moved all his things into Y/N’s, ended the lease on his own apartment, and painted the guest room a pretty pastel pink.

At first, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Y/N has never cared for labels on relationships, and their devotion to each other was blatant — they were parenting a child together, after all. He kissed her good morning, they held hands on family walks, and at the end of the day, they were crawling into bed together. She didn’t need a ring or a title to reiterate where she stood in Harry’s life.

Until… well, until the supermarket incident.

It was a rainy day, but Y/N wanted to pop into the store before they rounded the corner to head back home. Now that Clementine’s pediatrician gave them the okay to start trying out solid foods — or, as solid as baby food can be — Harry had gotten really into making it from scratch. Currently, their kitchen was a mess of sweet potato, apple, and green bean purees, but Y/N was trying to be supportive, even if the noise of the blender sometimes woke Clem up from her afternoon nap. She remembered him mentioning a new recipe he found for carrots, mangos, and bananas, so she figured they could grab the ingredients on their way home.

Clementine looked adorable in her cute little rain jacket and matching hat. Harry couldn’t stop taking pictures of her, and as they dipped into the produce aisle, stroller in tow, she remembered they needed another gallon of milk since they were trying to wean Clem off of Y/N’s breast milk.

“You guys can stay right here, it’s just in the next aisle,” Y/N said, arms stuffed with produce bags. Harry nodded, though his attention primarily laid on Clementine’s gummy smile. Y/N snorted to herself as she quickly shuffled off to the dairy section — the duo were two peas in a pod, but she didn't think she would want it any other way.

Glancing down at her watch, she put a pep in her step as she walked back to the produce aisle. They had about 15 minutes before Clem started getting antsy and whiney about her pre-dinner nap, and she didn’t want her to get upset on their walk home.

Only, when she turned the aisle, Harry and Clementine weren’t alone anymore — no, there were two women standing with them, cooing over their daughter.

“She’s so precious! How old is she?” one of them asked.

“Ah, almost eight months,” Harry replied bashfully, petting down the tuft of brown curls at the top of Clementine’s head. Y/N clenched her jaw. Why had he taken her hat off? It was supposed to protect her from the rain!

“So sweet,” the other woman grinned, reaching out to thumb over Clementine’s puffy cheek. The vision sent a pang of jealousy through Y/N’s chest — her baby wasn’t some kind of doll that anyone could just touch! Clutching the produce and container of milk in her hands, Y/N all but marched over to the stroller and threw them in the bottom compartment.

“Ready to go, honey?”

Harry blinked at Y/N, a world of confusion swirling in the green eyes he shared with his daughter. She stayed silent and still, knuckles white from gripping the stroller handle so tightly.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, leaning down to gently place Clementine back in her seat, “This is Y/N, Clementine’s mum.”

“Oh, your baby is so sweet! Harry was just raving about you!” one of the women nearly squealed. Y/N smiled tightly as she watched him buckle Clementine in.

“Okay, say bye bye, Clem,” Harry murmured. They’d been trying to teach her how to wave hello and goodbye, but Y/N would rather scoop her own eyeballs out than watch her do it for the first time with these women.

In fact, she was already pushing the stroller down the end of the aisle before they could even get the word “bye” out.

Since that day about two weeks ago, it’s been constantly replaying in the back of Y/N’s brain. Even though Harry didn’t think much of it (she knows this because he immediately started talking about nonsense on the walk home), for the first time, it plucked at a chord of insecurity that she didn’t even know she had. She’d always felt fairly secure in her relationship with Harry — he’d all but begged her for this life together, and he’d been incredibly involved from the moment she got pregnant — so how is that two random strangers at the supermarket tore this out of her?

It bothered her so deeply to the point where she did something she’d never done before: Ask Lea for relationship advice.

“In the years I’ve known you, you have never asked me for help with a man,” Lea had said, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly met her hairline. Y/N grumbled as she wrapped her hand around her matcha, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She’d been able to sneak out for an afternoon coffee date with her while Harry took Clementine to the park. “You’re always so… sure of yourself. And you have a literal child with Harry. What gives?”

Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her lips together nervously. “You should’ve seen the way those girls were all over him. It was… gross.”

“It’s normal to feel jealous, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I am not jealous,” she muttered, “I just… he introduced me as Clementine’s mom. Don’t you think I’m a bit… more than that to him?”

“Of course you are. But you’ve never had that conversation, have you?”

“Like you said, we have a baby together. What else could you need?”

Lea smirked, “That’s all that you need. But he probably needs a bit more confirmation than that.”

Y/N bristled as she stuck her straw between her lips, taking a long sip.

“He knows we’re in a relationship, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “Dom and I used to hear all the gossip about you two before Clem was born, but since then, I think he’s just been focused on making sure you and her are both taken care of.”

“So what do I do?” Y/N asked through a sigh, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth.

“Talk to him,” Lea said easily, “But… maybe don’t do it in your rough-and-tough-Y/N way. Maybe… make it a little special. He likes that, y’know? Little romantic gestures?”

Y/N scrunched her face. Lea was right — Harry was all about the little things, like surprising her with flowers or waking her up with breakfast in bed on the weekends. And while Y/N was positive she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, she’d certainly attempt to find one if it meant making Harry happy.

. . .

A few days later, Harry walks into his shared apartment with Y/N to the scent of something delicious.

“Y/N?” he calls as he toes his shoes off in the entryway. They weren’t due for company, were they? He doesn’t think so, but with eight months straight of four to five hours of sleep each night, he had trouble remembering anything that wasn’t Clementine-related.

He follows the fragrance into the kitchen, where Y/N is standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of some sort of sauce. She jumps, hand over her heart, when he goes to greet her.

“Jesus fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, the wooden spoon nearly clattering to the floor. He smirks and lets out an amused laugh as he walks towards her, observing the array of pans on the stovetop.

“What’s all this for?” he asks. Y/N presses a hand to his muscular chest and attempts to block him from seeing anything.

“I’m making you dinner,” she mumbles, nibbling on her bottom lip, “Clem’s with my sister for the night.”

“Oh?”

She nods.

“Did I forget a special occasion?”

She shakes her head.

“Then how come I’m getting spoiled tonight?”

Her cheeks warm at that, but they both pretend her blush is invisible. “I just wanted to do something… romantic for you.”

“Romantic?” he repeats the word like it’s a bizarre concept and it makes a pit form in Y/N’s stomach, “That’s… sweet of you. Thank you.”

She nods, albeit a bit robotically. “Um. Yeah. It’ll be ready in like 5 minutes.”

“Sounds good,” he replies, “Do you want me to set the table?”

She shakes her head bashfully and Harry raises an eyebrow. “I already did that.”

Her demure nature makes a smile form at the edges of his lips and he reaches out to press a hand to her hip, squeezing gently.

“Y’okay?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at her. “You seem nervous.”

Y/N shrugs and it supplies him with a tepid answer. “I just wanna make this nice for you.”

His heart breaks a bit at that and he ducks lower to catch her lips in a short, sweet kiss. PDA isn’t irregular for them — not with touch being Harry’s primary love language — so it’s unsurprising to be on the receiving end of one of his dizzying kisses, even if it ends quicker than she’d like.

“This is already so special to me. I do miss Clem, though.”

She snorts at that as he brushes his nose against hers. “Of course you do. She’s your mini me.”

“Except when she’s making that grumpy little face. That’s all you.”

Y/N lightly bats at his chest before mumbling out to go sit down in the dining room.

Harry’s eyes widen when he sees the candlelit table — he can’t remember the last time they ate on actual plates, always opting for take-out containers or paper plates for the sake of convenience. He swallows as he sits down and listens to Y/N shuffle around the kitchen. He hears her curse, followed by what sounds like her emptying pasta into a colander — she always burns herself whenever she does that, and he can envision the slight grimace that appears on her face.

Just as he’s getting antsy and preparing himself to ask if she needs any help, Y/N appears from the kitchen with a big bowl of pasta. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she places it on the table, then stands up straight. She looks like a soldier waiting to be told to return to their duties.

“Um… I made us that roasted red pepper pasta you like.” she says, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s great,” Harry nods, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Sit down. You look like you’re gonna have an aneurysm. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Y/N grumbles as she sits down, and the sound of her grouchy voice makes him chuckle as he grabs her bowl to serve her, “I know I’m not, like… the most romantic person, or even the easiest person to be around, so it’s important to me that I make this really good for you.”

“I hate when you say that,” he murmurs before placing her full bowl in front of her. He moves to serve himself, “You’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around. You’re a great mum and I love being a parent with you.”

Y/N swallows as she listens to him, leaving her food untouched. He watches her and takes a bite of his pasta, chewing slowly.

“Is that… all I am to you?” she asks softly with low eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… am I still just a co-parent to you?”

He sets his fork down and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, we never really talked about it, I guess. But you know you’re more than that to me.”

“You’re more than just Clem’s dad to me,” she continues. “And it kinda hurt my feelings when you introduced me to those girls as ‘Clementine’s mom’ a few weeks back.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Oh. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I know.”

His heart strains at the thought of hurting her feelings, but he also knows that what happened in the supermarket was weeks ago. Had she been sitting on it and thinking about it all this time?

“I never want to make you uncomfortable, Y/N. To be honest, I don’t know how to refer to you but… I’d say you’re my partner, yeah? You’re my teammate in raising our beautiful girl and I love getting to live life with you.”

Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest. “But what if… what if you called me your girlfriend, too?”

Harry’s silent for a moment. He reaches out to place his hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

“Would you want that?” he asks. “I’ll only do it if that’s what you want.”

She looks up at him and nods. Her eyes are glassy and it makes Harry’s chest tighten. Suddenly, he needs to be closer to her, so he stands up and scoops her into his arms. At first she rejects his touch, mumbling out sentiments about still having postpartum weight, but Harry shushes her and pulls her into his lap.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Y/N.” he murmurs. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers and he keeps his hands as solid anchors on her hips.

“I want you to call me your girlfriend,” she says, lifting her gaze to look at him. “I don’t want you to entertain any other person or let them flirt with you or touch our baby. I just want it to be the three of us, always.”

If Harry’s being honest, he would have been content with living in this gray, in-between area with Y/N for the rest of their lives. He was happy — so incredibly happy to be in her life, to sleep next to her every night, to raise a gorgeous baby girl with her. He felt fortunate to be there for every moment, good and bad — but he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the day where she told him what was really going on in that pretty head of hers.

He presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says quietly, soft fingertips smoothing over the expanse of her hip, “You’re my girlfriend, okay? Not just Clemmie’s mum. You’re so much more than that.”

She nods her head and Harry smiles gently at how flustered she continues to be — it’s a side of her that he rarely sees, and the sight makes a low chuckle sound from deep in his chest.

“You’re silly,” he mumbles against the shell of her ear. “Isn’t that what you are? A silly baby desperate to be mine?”

Y/N bristles and swallows harshly, keeping her gaze low in his lap. His smirk only grows as he begins to press slow kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Everyone thinks you’re this pretty, grumpy girl, but I know better than that,” he continues, sliding his hands beneath her tee-shirt to feel her warm skin, “You’re loving and kind. The best mum I’ve ever seen. The best partner and the best girlfriend, too. Isn’t that right, mama?”

She gasps wetly and he feels her thighs threaten to clench, but his hips prevent her from getting any relief. He hums, satisfied with her response and, in a quick movement, pulls her shirt from her body and tosses it to the floor. Her swollen breasts sit prettily on her chest and he tries his best not to groan at the sight.

“Don’t tease,” she mewls. He chuckles as she grasps at the fabric of his own tee-shirt, the soft material in the tight clutch of her knuckles.

“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, though he knows the answer is an obvious and resounding yes. They haven’t had actual sex in at least a month, not with Clementine occupying 99% of their time. Even if he’s attempting to play it cool, his cock is hard and throbbing beneath layers of his clothing. He swears he can even feel the warmth of her pussy through her own clothes and it’s taking everything in him not to thrust up and grind against her.

“Yes,” Y/N pants, shaky fingers digging beneath the waistband of his trousers to pull his length out, “S-stop playing around. You know it’s been too long.”

Harry laughs lowly and lifts his hips up to grant her enough space so she can retrieve his cock. She doesn’t even bother pushing his pants or briefs down, swallowing tightly at the sight of the ruddy tip already leaking with pre-cum.

“Relax, baby,” he mumbles, grabbing one of her trembling hands and intertwining their fingers together, “Breathe, yeah? I’ll take care of my girl.”

Her pussy clenches at that — my girl — and she nibbles on her bottom lip eagerly when he pushes her soft shorts to the side to reveal her pussy. He wishes he had more willpower to look at what he’s been missing out on and his throat bobs when his eyes flicker down to the puffy clit tucked between her lips. He thinks they’ll both explode if he doesn’t get inside of her in the next two seconds, so he gives his cock a pump before he positions himself beneath her and slowly pushes in.

Immediately, she whimpers out and he stalls, his free hand pressing rigidly into the skin of her thigh.

“Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “Tight fit.”

“I know.” he mutters, glancing up at her to read her expression. “Do you need me to pull out?”

She instantly shakes her head, “No, no. Keep going.”

Harry leans up to seal their lips in a messy, wet kiss as he continues pushing in as slowly as he can. He supposes he should’ve spent more time stretching her out, but if there’s one thing he’s learned about Y/N over the past year, it’s that she’s always eager and ever determined to take him, even if it’s been weeks since their last time together.

When he’s finally all the way in, his balls snug against her bum, their kiss slows, though it doesn’t seem like Y/N has any plans to separate their mouths. He doesn’t move a muscle, even if he knows his cock is throbbing from the tightness of her pussy. And then, after what seems like an eternity, she nods.

Slowly, he begins to fuck up inside of her and breathy moans depart from her swollen lips. Harry’s mouth catches each one, punctuating every whimper with a gentle peck.

“There you go, mama, take my cock. You’re doing so good, aren’t you?”

She only responds with a lilting whimper and he moans, feeling the way her pussy clenches around his length. It’s not the dirtiest sex they’ve had — not by a long shot — but god, if it doesn’t feel incredible knowing that they’re completely devoted to one another.

“You make me feel so good,” she mewls, making his eyes nearly roll back, “I love your cock— ‘s so good, Harry, want— want you to give me another baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing her hips hard, “Can’t just fucking say that stuff, baby. I’ll bust before you even cum.”

“D-don’t care,” she shudders, but he can tell she’s reaching her peak by the way her thighs begin to tremble, each of her muscles tightening. “Cum inside me, m-make me a mommy again.”

His chest vibrates with a deep groan and he reaches between them to pinch at her pearly clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. He’s seconds away from bursting himself, but he refuses to finish before she has a chance to.

It barely takes a few loops around the bundle of nerves before she’s shaking in his lap, her pussy tensing around his length as she moans out his name over and over again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and he presses his forehead against her sweaty shoulder, shuddering as her orgasm triggers his own. As requested, he pumps his cock deep inside of her as he comes, pushing his seed as far as it’ll go. She whimpers from the sensation as pants fall from her lips, shivering every time he thrusts another rope of cum into her.

They’re both shaking by the time both of their orgasms taper off. Harry wraps his arms around her sweaty form, pulling her chest against his.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You and Clem. We’re a family.”

Y/N nods, echoing his words. “Yours.”

They settle into a comfortable silence; Harry’s softening cock still inside. He’s unsure of how how long they stay there, but he does know that they’ll have to move eventually so he can clean her up. It’s only then that she sits up to look at him, her eyes soft and tired.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you get me Plan B tomorrow?” she asks, biting her lip. “I think Clem is… more than enough for me right now.”

He laughs and nods his head.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.”

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the-consignment-cafe · 2 years

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nirvanawrites111 · 1 year

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Claim Me (Sub!Minho x Dom!Reader)

Pairing: Minho x Reader

No pronouns used. y/n is AFAB

Word Count: 2209

Smut warning: Pegging, fingers, phone sex, orgasm denial, handjob, cum eating, very light degradation, Y/N is called mistress, Idol AU

Minors Do not interact, please and thank you!!

"Tell me... I'm yours, mistress, please." Minho whimpers through the phone.

He's trying his best not to wake anyone up in his house. Sure, he finally has his own room, but the walls are extremely thin. The last thing he needs is anyone hearing this conversation.

His hand is wrapped around his aching length. He wants nothing more than your hands tightly squeezing it until he oozes his release just to lick it off your hand.

You've made him like this. Never had he explored this type of desire with anyone else. But, with you, he opened himself completely to serve you and allow you to explore this side of him.

Minho strokes his length nice and slow as you instructed, even though he wants to speed up and come. So, he can sleep and rest for his show tomorrow.

The calmness and seductiveness laced in your voice are enough to tip him over the edge and push him to the limit. But, out of respect for you, he won't come until you tell him to.

"Minny, I've told you several times you aren't mine until I've had your ass," you explain calmly.

All Minho wants is to be yours and not belong to anyone else. He wants to be the source of all your pleasure and be exclusive with you.

But, he knows that he has to earn that spot. That isn't something that will just be given to him.

"Yes, mistress," Minho replies, still palming his dick and listening to your voice.

The thought of you pegging him has him throbbing. He wants to be bent over his bed with his hair in your hand and throwing it back on your strap. He wants that more than his next meal.

"Now, since you seem not to follow the rules. Stop touching yourself. We will pick up tomorrow when I come over to see Changbin, good night," you end the call without further explanation.

The call ends, and Minho lays back against his pillow. His eyes are up at the ceiling, and pre-cum oozing out the tip. Why do you have him so eager and thirsty for you? Sure, he can have anyone, but none hold a candle to you.

He takes a deep breath and sits up on the side of the bed. He grabs his underwear off the ground and looks down at his dick.

You will know if he masturbated, so he decides not to push the envelope further or cross that boundary. He puts it back on and sends you a text.

Minho: Good night, mistress. Thank you so much for your time. I promise tomorrow I will be good for you.

***

You know that you must deliver a hand-painted jacket to Changbin today, so you will be in to see Minho. It's been hard keeping this secret from Changbin.

Maybe, because you and Binnie used to be friends with benefits a while ago.

You know you want to explore with Minho, but you're unsure how you will accomplish this without Changbin finding out.

Sure, it would be easier for Minho to visit your place. But, with how nosey your roommate is, you would rather not chance it. You don't want him to have a scandal and lose everything because of you. So, you don't mind coming over to him.

You knock on the door, and Changbin answers. "What's good, Y/n?" Changbin asks you, and by the way, he's looking at you. He probably thinks you want him.

Changbin has a luxury Balenciaga tan sweater and black pants that perfectly hug his muscular thighs. Not to mention the Cuban link around his neck.

"Nothing. I got your jacket." You lift the bag to show him, and he invites you in.

"Perfect. You are a lifesaver," Changbin hugs you. His firm tone body feels good against yours. But, you can't help but imagine what Minho would feel like.

You sit in the living room, and Minho comes out in an oversized hoodie and tight boxer briefs. He walks into the kitchen. "Hey, Y//n," he greets you, but it is short and sweet.

"Hey," you reply.

"This is going to be perfect for my photo shoot, Y/n." Changbin is so engulfed in your artwork.

Changbin is busy trying on the jacket, and he goes to the bathroom down the hall to look at the details.

Minho comes into the living room with a blanket. He sits next to you. Now, this isn't the first time you've been over here. So, it's not like Changbin will think anything of it.

"Touch me, mistress," Minho whispers in your ear, and he's clearly horny for you.

"No moaning, either." You grab Minho's face, and you remove your jacket. Minho turns on the television.

Your hand goes under the covers and over his boxer brief. He's already hard for you, but you aren't surprised.

You hear Changbin on the phone arguing with someone. But, you don't care. Whatever it will take to buy you time with Minho is all that matters.

Your hand dances along his crotch, and you rub your palm against his hard-on.

You watch Minho's face to see if he will disobey you and moan. You tilt your head and give him a stern look.

He's been whining for weeks about how much he wants to be yours, but he has to be able to follow directions if he wants the privilege of being considered yours.

You feel a bit of pre-cum stain on the front of his underwear. You continue rubbing him until you feel the wet spot grow. You watch Minho swallow hard, trying his best not to moan, and it's cute. Commendable at best.

You remove the blanket from Minho's lap, and his eyes grow. "Mistress?" he whispers. "What are you doing?"

"You don't trust me?"

"I do... completely."

"I got you, don't worry."

You reach your hand into his underwear and stroke him fast. You like the slick sound of your hand rubbing him.

You use a bit of his pre-cum to make the interaction smoother.

Minho bites his lip, and he looks down at you working your hand faster. His breathing quickens, and his hips start to buck, but you hold him down with your other hand. You want to make this last as long as possible.

You can tell that he wants to moan your name so badly, and he appears to be fighting himself internally to be the obedient slut that you want.

"Moan for me," you taunt him.

Minho lets a low whimper as he enjoys your skillful stroke that he's thought about for weeks.

He's been dying for your soft and perfect touch against him. Feeling you connect with him like this is making his head spin. All while his roommate is in the other room.

"Mmm.. sounds so good, baby. Do you want to come?"

"Yess.. mistress." You can see the desire in Minho's eyes as he nods eagerly, desperate for release.

His body is tense, and his breathing is heavy as he edges closer to the brink of ecstasy.

You can feel his muscles tightening under your touch, and you know that he's close.

"Y/n?" Changbin yells from the other room.

"Yes?" you ask, but you don't stop stroking Minho. You want to finish the job. It's the least you can do. You can see how needy Minho is for your touch.

"Baby, I gotta go to the studio. I swear they can't do shit without me."

"Come," you lean over to Minho and whisper. You put your tongue in his ear as he comes all over your hand.

"Lick," you tell him to clean it off, and he does it perfectly.

You toss the blanket over him and move to the other end of the couch as you hear Changbin's footsteps approaching from the different rear of the apartment.

Changbin appears in the living room and grabs his keys off the wall. He comes over to you. "Can you wait for me?" Changbin asks.

Changbin is starting deep in your eyes; you know he wants a taste of you like old times.

"Of course. I'll be here."

"Perfect. Thanks again for the jacket. I'll see you soon," Changbin kisses you on the lips. He leaves out of the apartment.

You stand up and grab your leash out of your bag. You put on Minho's collar around his neck. "You did really good, baby. He didn't suspect a thing. Let's go."

"Thank you, mistress."

Minho gets on his hands and knees. You walk him into his bedroom and close the door behind you. You lock the door just to be sure.

You toss Minho onto the bed and stand over him. You want to do so much with him. But, those other things can happen another time. Right now, you only have time to fuck him.

"You've been training, right?" you question him. The last thing you want is for him not to enjoy his first time.

"Yes, mistress. I have my plug in now."

"Can I see?"

Minho removes his hoodie and then peels out of his cum-filled boxers. His body is perfect, and he turns around to show you he's indeed plugged.

"So, do you want me to claim you?"

"Yes, mistress." Minho nods.

You can feel your own excitement growing as you take in the sight of him.

You climb onto the bed and straddle him, running your hands over his chest and down to his hard dick.

You kiss him deeply, feeling his hands grip your hips tightly. You break the kiss and move to his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

As you go down to his chest, you take one of his nipples into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before moving to the other. Minho moans loudly beneath you, urging you on.

You continue down his body until you reach his plug, which is still firmly in place. You run a finger around it before slowly pulling it out, eliciting another moan from Minho.

"Please, mistress. Fuck me."

"Gladly. Let's start with a finger, first."

You stand back and grab the lube off his dresser. You unzip your skirt to reveal you're already wearing your strap. He stares at you with his eyes widened at the sight of it.

You apply the lube generously to your strap. You proceed to lube your fingers, so that you can feel him first. You tease his ass a bit with one finger. A cute moan escapes from his lips. You could listen to him moan all night like you've been for the last couple of weeks.

"How does it feel?" You ask him.

"Good.. I think I can take another."

You challenge his request and stick another finger inside of him. You move your fingers and lean down to kiss him. He looks so good sprawled out on his bed with a collar around his neck.

You can feel his body tensing up as you continue to work him with your fingers. His moans are getting louder and more desperate, and you can tell he's close to the edge.

"You are so naughty… about to come just from my fingers. I like this side of you."

You remove your fingers from him and pull his legs closer to you.

"Ready to be claimed?"

"Yessss." Minho whines out.

You position yourself at his entrance and slide into him inch by inch. "Relax, baby. I got you."

You could easily go rough on him, but you consider yourself gentler than most. You start slow to get him used to having someone inside of him.

As you continue to move in and out of him, you can feel his body start to respond. His muscles relax, and he begins to moan softly. You take this as a sign that he's ready for more, so you quickly pick up the pace.

Minho locks eyes with you, and shudders underneath as you set a steady rhythm, each thrust pushing him closer to the brink. He's writhing beneath you, completely at your mercy. You lean down and bite his neck as you pound into him relentlessly.

You don't want anyone else on your strap, just him.

As you move in and out of him, Minho's moans fill the room. You can feel his body tense up as he approaches his release. You quicken your pace, knowing he's almost there.

"God, you're so beautiful like this. Taking all of me like a good little slut."

"Am I your slut?" Minho innocently asks.

"Yes, all mine."

"This is all I ever wanted."

"Then come for me."

Leaning closer to Minho, you slip your tongue into his mouth, and he moans into your mouth as he comes. Minho's body shudders as he climaxes, his moans growing louder and more desperate. He comes hands-free just like you taught him to.

You pull out of him and lie next to him. You pull him into your arms. "You belong to me, Minny."

He nods, his breathing still heavy. "I belong to you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. You smile, running your fingers through his hair as he catches his breath.

#sub!kpop #sub!idol #sub! idol #sub!idol x reader #sub!skz #dom!reader #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #skz smut #lee know smut #sub!minho #sub!lee know #minho x black reader #kpop smut #ambw smut

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bitchfitch · 10 months

Text

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.

#hashtag meet cute

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uhohbestie · 18 days

Text

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 18]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite the tensions between them. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 18 - On their own again, with everything that implies, Grian is forced to grapple with the consequence of his actions, and realises– maybe too late– the magnitude of what he's done.

📝 Words: 4,375

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 18 on AO3

—

Quietly, Grian crawls out of his sleeping bag and rolls it up.

A part of him can’t help but notice how many supplies he has. How difficult it is to fit his sleeping bag in amongst them.

At the very least, the grocery run wasn’t for nothing.

There’s no effort to make any semblance of a meal. No bleary conversation on what to have, no fond commiseration over favourite snacks they once took for granted and now may never have again, and no fake cooking show banter. If Scar’s eaten something, he did so before Grian got up.

Or maybe he also doesn’t have an appetite.

It takes a couple of minutes before Grian straightens up, hefting Scar’s backpack onto his back, not yet having returned it after the mess that was last night. He feels the weight settle heavy on his already sore shoulders.

“I picked up some of the Reese’s you like,” he offers, the words stilted in the grey light of pre-dawn. The sun hasn’t yet broken over the horizon and there’s a lingering haze around them—not quite a mist, but something unfocused and arid, atomized in the stillness of the desert.

He used to lay in a bed with so many pillows it felt excessive. He used to sleep in until noon.

That world is gone now. Out of reach, like so many other luxuries from a time before that will never come back again.

Scar fails to give him any sort of reaction, refusing to look at him.

“Let’s get going,” he says, and it sounds like he’s talking to a stranger.

—

Aaaaand we're back! With a new chapter, even! As sad as we both are to say goodbye to Karlnapity, I can't even express how satisfying it was to write Grian finally realising he has to lay in the bed he made for himself. Oh, Grian :') If only the words "I'm sorry" existed in your vocabulary.

You can read the whole fic thus-far in the link below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)

#trafficshipping #scarian #life series fanfic #zombie au #TAMN #TAMN fic

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redisaid · 6 months

Text

Learning by Doing

Uh, hi there. You guys voted for me to do bonus smut months ago and I forgot about it. Then I remembered and now we're here. Bon appetite. Have some very late pre-Third War elf love hotel sex magic fluff smut.

4709 Words

Read it on Ao3!

“This is a sex hotel,” Jaina observed, her hand still lingering on the ornate doorknob of the bedchamber of what was to be their private villa for the week.

“It’s a sex resort,” Sylvanas corrected, the buckles of their bags still slung over her shoulder jingling as she stepped behind Jaina to be greeted by the same view she was taking in. “There’s a hot spring, massage parlor, restaurant. You know, all of those sort of things.”

The view in question was of a massive bed, bigger than any Jaina had seen before, which dominated the otherwise warm and tidy room on the second floor of their own little spire. Unlike the sitting room across the way, which was completely lined with these, this room had only one large window facing a sea view, conveniently far from the bed. There was a doorway opposite it, no doubt leading to a bathroom. None of these things, however, gave away the purpose of the room.

No, that would be the arched alcove above the bed, inset with glass shelves, underlit by tiny magelights. From left to right, an assortment of bedroom accessories unlike Jaina had ever seen were on display, from more aggressively obvious ones such as a selection of dildos and restraints and paddles, to things she had to guess at the purpose of, like that rack of colorful potions in intricate little glass bottles.

And while Jaina would say that she didn’t necessarily dislike surprises, she was quite certain that this was not the destination she’d have guessed, or had any way of guessing, when her girlfriend had posed the idea of taking her on a surprise vacation. In fact, she had assumed and planned for much the opposite.

“You ass,” she said to the girlfriend in question, turning to find the Ranger General of Quel’thalas herself grinning and holding one hand up in some sort of apology.

“If you don’t want to be in a sex resort, then we can go,” Sylvanas offered. “Or we can just enjoy the spa activities and take this time to relax.”

“I packed for the outdoors. Hiking, hunting, fishing,” Jaina explained her offense. “Things one assumes their ranger paramour will take them to when they’re thinking of surprise vacation destinations.”

“You had talked about wanting to spend more quality time together,” Sylvanas retorted, her free hand still in the air, but shoulders shrugging regardless. The buckles on their bags jingled again. “And since you did so while you were about to pass out on my chest last time we--”

“I meant in general. And yes I talked about it in bed, and yes I enjoyed myself very much that night, but this was just not what I expected. I packed trousers and a sturdy jacket, not robes and negligees,” Jaina went on.

“Luckily, for this type of vacation, you don’t really need clothes,” Sylvanas noted, grin widening to the point of growing lopsided, the white of her fangs on full display.

How could Jaina stay annoyed at a face like that? The stern mask of the Ranger General had been gone before they’d even landed on the beach of this island resort, replaced by the goofy grins and cocky smirks of the woman few knew Sylvanas Windrunner to be. But Jaina got to see her, in bits and pieces like this, and regardless of the venue, would have enjoyed having a week of her to herself. She had to admit that doing so in a luxurious beachside private villa sounded much more pleasant than doing so in the mud of the forest floor.

“I can hear the gears grinding in your head,” Sylvanas noted. “So, out with those thoughts. Are we staying?”

Jaina leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Put the bags down, you unbelievable ass.”

A quick tour of the room told Jaina several things. One was that the large bed was both soft and firm at the same time, and the coverings that adorned it were a fine, soft linen. The connected bathroom was bigger than she expected, with a large soaking tub that faced a window overlooking the sea that would definitely see use later. It housed a collection of towels unlike any Jaina had seen before, but one she already found herself being grateful for. And as one might expect from a resort in the north sea, so near the Isle of Quel’danas itself, the entire place was buzzing with magic, absolutely alight with arcane energy. From the magelights that gave the rooms a soft and inviting glow, and could be brightened or dimmed with a mere word, to that rack of potions that still captivated Jaina, some aglow with that very magical energy.

Even her elven girlfriend seemed extra charged with arcane here, as Jaina exited the bathroom to find her sinking into the bed, eyes closed and limbs akimbo, seemingly testing the comfort of it.

Jaina took that opportunity to kick off her much too outdoorsy boots and climb atop her to explain herself. “I’m not mad,” she noted with a brief kiss on the bridge of Sylvanas’ nose. “Just surprised.”

“That’s the point of it being a surprise,” Sylvanas laughed beneath her, opening her glowing grey eyes to reveal that yes, the blue arcane sheen of them was a somewhat brighter shade here, somehow. “But I take it from the fact that you’re on top of me that it isn’t a bad one?”

“No. I think I can make the best of it,” Jaina told her with another kiss, this time aimed at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for booking it.”

“You’re most welcome,” Sylvanas said with another laugh. “And if you’d like to take a moment before we start the festivities, there’s snacks and champagne in the kitchen.”

“We’re in a sex resort, Sylvanas,” Jaina noted, this time kissing the other corner of that devious little mouth, which had curled upward into a smirk. “You didn’t bring me here to eat snacks.”

“I suppose I didn’t,” Sylvanas answered, pulling her into a proper kiss.

Teasing the sharp tip of fang with her tongue, Jaina wondered at how they’d ended up here, or together at all. A chance meeting in Dalaran had seen her befriending Sylvanas not long ago, introduced to her in a hurry at a restaurant by her younger sister and Jaina’s friend Vereesa. The defender of the high home of the elves herself then was suddenly full of excuses to come back to Dalaran after that, excuses that eventually led her to the bedchamber of the Kirin Tor’s newest agent not long after that. And now to celebrate the first year of their relationship, they were sinking into the bed of what was apparently a sex resort.

And Jaina didn’t mind it at all. This, she decided firmly, was much better than camping in the woods.

“What do the potions do?” was Jaina’s immediate question upon breaking that lingering kiss.

Sylvanas laughed beneath her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold Jaina in place through her laughter. “I saw you eyeing them. That’s the first place you want to go?”

“I can sense the magic in them,” Jaina told her. “And frankly have never encountered magic geared toward sex before. Call it an academic interest.”

“Always academic with you,” Sylvanas teased, plainly ignoring the request to fiddle with the buttons of Jaina’s sensible cotton button up she’d worn expecting a day filled with a different kind of physical activity.

The labels on the bottles were no help. Though Jaina could read the Thalassian script with ease, the names on them meant nothing to her. Serpent’s Kiss? Leviathan’s Hunger? Cloud Nine? Even in a place as nice as this, the names might as well have been the same as some cheap love potion sold on the docks in Boralus to lonely and ignorant sailors. Jaina could only hope these weren’t just tinctures of low quality rum and lavender, not that she had any idea what was in those dockside love potions, not at all.

“You’re avoiding my question. And here I got the impression that you once frequented this place. At least you seemed to be very familiar with the way to this villa of ours,” Jaina noted.

“I’m just good with directions,” Sylvanas misdirected, freeing the first and second buttons from their hold on Jaina’s blouse.

“The receptionist said, ‘Welcome back General Windrunner’,” Jaina pointed out, taking her gaze from the potions to grab Sylvanas’ hand and stop her quest to rid her of that sensible cotton shirt.

“I may have frequented this place with other guests in different times,” Sylvanas acquiesced. “But I especially thought you might enjoy it, and must confess I’ve wanted to take you here for some time now.”

“So what do the potions do?” Jaina pressed, and slid Sylvanas’ hand into her partially open shirt in appreciation for that honesty.

“There are a lot of them,” Sylvanas noted, the warmth of her fingers tracing upon Jaina’s clavicle as she leaned back to look up at the rack of glowing colors. “Where to start?”

“Surely you have a favorite?” Jaina asked.

The wicked smile that lit up Sylvanas’ face told her she did. “I didn’t think we’d talk about the potions right away. I was planning on saving that for a little later in the trip, but you did ask.”

“In the interest of furthering my arcane studies, I think that I must insist, Ranger General,” Jaina demanded, propping herself up into a sitting position to cross her arms while still straddling the elf beneath her.

“Then let us not leave you uneducated any longer, my lovely Kirin Tor Agent,” Sylvanas said as she sat up with Jaina, balancing her in her lap, but also turning to pluck a potion off the rack in a flair of dexterous grace.

Sometimes, it was worth it to have a lover who was a devious little ranger at heart.

Said potion was Serpent’s Kiss itself, a glowing teal mixture in a vial shaped like a snake curled around a tree branch. A display of glass artistry that was worthy of something far more grand than a sex potion, but Jaina had to remind herself that this was Quel’thalas she was in. Everything was beautifully crafted and ornate, and if anyone would make pretty vials for their magic sex potions, it would be the elves.

Jaina decided then that she rather liked dating an elf. Well, she’d decided that many times before in this relationship--once for the access to new artisanal cheeses alone that came along with her visits to Quel’thalas--but decided again.

Sylvanas swirled the vial for her, still grinning like a cat that caught the canary as the contents glowed brighter for her efforts, and whirled in a storm of arcane sparkle.

“Let me preface this by saying that we do not have to make use of this, though I think you’ll enjoy it too. I shall tell you that for one, I drink it, and the effects last for four hours, or until I drink another potion that will reverse any of these, that clear one over there by the towels. As for the effect itself, that is best left to be learned by observation, if you’d like,” she offered.

“Then drink it,” Jaina challenged, finding an eager grin making its way to her own face. “And let me not linger waiting on another surprise.”

“Clothes off first,” Sylvanas said, and reached for those buttons again with the hand not holding the vial.

The bottle of glowing blue-green liquid was nearly lost three times in the process of their undressing. Jaina caught it the first time it slipped from Sylvanas’ hands as she pulled her sleeveless shirt over her head. Sylvanas took it from Jaina the second time and nearly dropped it in helping her shimmy out of her leggings. Her solution to this was to hold it in her mouth, but her fangs proved unwieldy to the point where she had to catch it again in the process of removing Jaina’s bra.

All in all, Jaina was almost laughing too much to be as turned on as she was by the time they were naked.

It was always like this with Sylvanas. The other lovers of her youth had been so serious in the bedroom. Sylvanas rarely was. She was serious everywhere else, a stern and hard woman who was difficult to please in the training grounds and apparently impossible to defeat on the battlefield. But in the bedroom, alone with Jaina, she laughed. She grinned. She smirked and whispered wicked things and terrible jokes in the same breath to the point where Jaina didn’t know whether to sigh in pleasure or in disgust at her lover’s abysmal sense of humor.

But she sighed all the same, and loved her more for it.

Sylvanas gave the vial one more shake, exciting another surge of arcane glow from it before she popped the cork and downed the contents. “Again, there’s no pressure to do anything you don’t want to,” she stated as she took a deep breath after swallowing. “But I think you’ll have fun with this.”

This didn’t seem to be anything. Jaina wasn’t really sure why she had to watch a demonstration of this potion, though she hardly complained about looking at her lover’s body. Sylvanas with lithe and fit, with an archer’s broad shoulders, and muscles that formed a V shape from her abdomen pointing downward to…something new. A glowing teal appendage that was most certainly not there a moment ago, erect and ready.

“You have a dick,” Jaina noted most astutely.

“Excellent observation,” Sylvanas said with another laugh.

“Then what are all the dildos for?” Jaina asked, puzzling for herself as she scooted toward Sylvanas.

“Their own kind of fun,” Sylvanas answered. “Different from this.”

“Different how?” Jaina asked.

An answer came to mind in the set of Sylvanas’ lips and the way her tongue ran across them. An answer, like many, that was best found in observation. The construct between Sylvanas’ legs was warm to Jaina’s touch, as she wrapped an exploratory hand around it, and found that it had a pleasant texture in addition to the temperature. Not exactly like skin, but still soft, and hard where it needed to be. Buzzing with arcane in a way that was pleasant to her magically inclined senses, almost as if alight with a faint electric hum.

And the fact that Sylvanas let out a little grunt as she circled her thumb around the head of it told her what she needed to know. “You can feel it?” Jaina asked anyway.

“I can feel that that feels very nice,” Sylvanas told her.

A thousand questions sprang to mind. How did this work? What combinations of enchantments did that potion contain? How were they balanced so perfectly? And who in all of Azeroth had the time to figure that out?

Whoever it was, Jaina was most grateful for their work. Another stroke wrung a low moan from Sylvanas’ throat, and she decided that she was extremely grateful.

But she had one question lingering on her mind, far more pressing than the others. “Can you come with this?” Jaina asked.

“If you keep doing that, I just might,” Sylvanas warned, gently reaching for Jaina’s hand to still it where it gripped the arcane cock. “And to prevent you from asking the question I know will follow this one, yes, there is a result of sorts from that. I’m told it’s quite pleasant for a magic user, as it is arcane in nature. For that reason too, it leaves little in the way of mess to clean up. Very convenient.”

“One more question, I promise,” Jaina ventured, letting go to bring Sylvanas’ face to hers and draw her in for a kiss. “Me on top, or you?” she asked against her lips.

Sylvanas’ answer came in the form of further observation, and she sank into that offered kiss, and used it to distract Jaina from the tight hold she took of her waist, flipping her down onto the mattress in the process.

While the circumstances and venues in which that had happened before were different, Jaina enjoyed them all, but perhaps was most excited for this one. She was just as happy to be on top, of course, but being underneath Sylvanas was always a good time. Even better now if she could enjoy it at the same time.

They’d used their share of toys in the past, and those were fun. Not as fun as this, or the sigh Sylvanas let out as the construct rubbed against Jaina’s thigh.

She kept one arm around Jaina, holding her close, and braced herself up on her elbow. And for a moment, she just looked at her, smiling.

“What?” Jaina asked.

“I think this is going to be a wonderful vacation, that’s all,” Sylvanas told her before kissing her again.

And despite the stiff insistence poking at Jaina’s leg, she kept kissing her. Along her neck and jaw, dragging the points of her fangs over the rounded shell of Jaina’s ear. Peppering her collar bones with little red marks.

Jaina, for her part, was more than ready to experiment with this new magic and learn by doing, but she allowed this teasing. She encouraged it, actually, running her nails across the broad plane of Sylvanas’ upper back, kissing along her long, pointed ears. She enjoyed the softness of her too, not just her hard elven angles, but the plush skin of her thighs, her breasts, the tender spot just below her jaw that always made her hiss when Jaina sucked on it a little.

There was a reason she put up with this haughty, off elf of hers after all. Not only did Jaina love her, but she loved loving her. She was, in fact, very glad to be in a place dedicated to that act, and with a week to continue exploring exactly what all these potions did.

Though this one, she thought, would probably be a favorite of hers as well.

Jaina knew for certain it would when she reached down between them and ran a hand over the stiff length again, feeling Sylvanas go tense at her touch.

“Inside,” was Jaina’s breathless command, and one that she guided Sylvanas to follow.

The sensation was both familiar and strange. The sense of fullness and warmth and the familiar aching stretch were there, of course. But with them was a jolt of arcane energy that at first made Jaina want to jump, but then settled into a pleasant hum that flowed through her body. She felt like a harp string plucked, made to play a pretty note, only hers came out as a shuddering breath.

Sylvanas too, seemed lost in the sensation, entering her slowly and fully, then stilling for a moment. She gave one tentative roll of her hips, then another, before letting out a moan that transformed into a sentence, “Gods Jaina. You feel amazing. I should have taken you here earlier.”

“Please tell me that we can get more of this potion to go,” Jaina mumbled as Sylvanas moved inside of her again, slow and deliberate.

“I’ll buy us a case,” she promised as she hilted herself.

Sex of this sort was good. Jaina liked any form of penetration, really, but seeing her lover so clearly enjoying her for it was something else. Even the men she’d been with before weren’t so reverent in fucking her as Sylvanas was. Each cant of her hips drew a new sound from her Jaina had never heard before. A new whispered praise. A new prayer to gods both foreign and familiar. And for her part, Jaina couldn’t get enough of it. The cock, the compliments, the building of a too quick crescendo, roiling her abdomen as Sylvanas fucked her.

She managed to open eyes that had long since screwed shut to look down between them, both amused and aroused by watching the arcane glow sink in and out of her.

“This is incredible. You’re incredible,” Jaina told Sylvanas.

Sylvanas seemed determined to keep this slow rhythm, hardly changing her pace even as she hefted Jaina up a bit with the arm beneath her, changing the angle just a bit. But gods what a welcome change it was, as each slow grind of her hips gave Jaina some extra friction against her clit now. Sylvanas seemed to realize this, and thrust deeper in, hardly pulling herself out at all, in order to keep the pressure up.

“That’s…” Jaina didn’t have to say it. They both knew. They could both feel it now. Her in the way she tightened around the construct, and in the way Sylvanas’ rhythm began to falter.

But that brought another incessant question out from Jaina’s lips, one that needed immediate answering, because she wasn’t ready for this to be over. “Does it stay hard if you come?”

“Mmm, yes. But just for asking that, I will make sure you come first,” Sylvanas warned through panting breaths.

It was a threat Jaina was fine being on the receiving end of. One she didn’t really have much hope of countering either. Her body was on a determined course, and there was little that could change it at this point. Even as Sylvanas slipped down from her elbow, her full weight resting now on Jaina, it only made it better. Her hot breath in Jaina’s ear, Jaina’s lips and teeth on her neck.

Jaina felt her body seize and clench and gods was it good. Back arched, mouth open, and Sylvanas buried as deep as she could go inside of her, she came hard. Hard enough that she was sure the hand not fisted in the sheets left a trail of angry red against Sylvanas’ back, doubly so as the elf’s hips lost their rhythm and thrust fast and wild into her.

That was soon followed by a rush of warmth that filled her, both literally and figuratively. A liquid of sorts imparted a wave of energy across Jaina, tingling her from her toes to the crown of her head. She felt as though the ends of her golden hair might spark alight with arcane. And that she might just come again for the sensation of having made Sylvanas spend herself within her, magical as it was otherwise.

“Fuck,” was all she could say to express any of that as Sylvanas went limp atop her, save for the smile that curved in the lips against Jaina’s cheek.

They caught their breath together until Jaina had recovered enough to seek Sylvanas’ lips for a kiss. “You should have brought me here earlier,” she told her as she pulled away.

“I knew you’d like it here,” Sylvanas hummed back at her, cocky even as she enjoyed the afterglow, eyes closed, head nestling atop Jaina’s chest.

But Jaina was invigorated, nerves set newly alight by that surge of arcane. And the delight of discovery, of course. Sex magic, who would have known? The elves. Of course the elves.

A tentative roll of her hips told Jaina that yes, Sylvanas was still indeed hard, still inside her, and still quite sensitive from the little moan she let out.

But Jaina wasn’t quite done with her experimenting, or with her questions. And she also very much wanted Sylvanas to come inside her again, if it felt like that every time. How was this place not crawling with eager mages? Well, maybe she didn’t see many on their way in because they were busy in their own rooms. No wonder.

It was her turn to flip them over, cautiously. And while Sylvanas did slip out in the process, Jaina sat right back down on the construct as soon as she was atop her lover, eliciting yet another almost pained groan.

“So what do the others do?” Jaina asked as she began to roll her own hips.

“Insatiable,” Sylvanas scolded, even as her hands went to Jaina’s thighs to guide the movement.

“I like this one, but I want to know all of my options,” Jaina told her.

“I meant the fact that you’re already going for round two, but you’re insatiable in both regards,” Sylvanas scolded.

“You make an adorable face when we’re doing this, do you know that?” Jaina asked.

Said adorable face was highlighted by a pair of wide grey-blue eyes, pupil dilated enough that Jaina could see it beneath the arcane overglow even. Long brows furrowed against the sensation that must have been amazing, even if Sylvanas had experienced it before. Jaina noted that she’d have to ask her later if these elixirs would work on a human, because they would definitely be trying the reverse if so. But most tempting was a fan of silvery blonde hair that spread beneath her, one that Jaina couldn’t help but tuck behind a long ear as she rode her.

“Tell me what the other potions do. Let’s see how many we can get through before you come again,” Jaina challenged.

“You’re going to be the death of me before this week is through,” Sylvanas grunted, but began to meet her thrusts with her own all the same.

“Don’t make it zero now, that’s no fun,” Jaina teased, running her hand down from Sylvanas’ face to her breast, and eliciting another gasp from her for it.

“The red and blue are temperature play. Red makes you a little hotter, blue a little colder. They’re topical, not for drinking,” Sylvanas explained.

This was addicting. The rhythm of their meeting hips, the way Sylvanas’ face betrayed her pleasure every time Jaina took her fully inside. And the way she felt in there, hard and soft and buzzing arcane. Jaina could see now why the elves would be addicted to magic. Anyone would be if it came like this.

“The cold one sounds interesting,” Jaina noted.

“It’s awful. The warm one though, I do quite enjoy,” Sylvanas told her.

Jaina wanted to make a quip about elves and their love of all things hot, but Sylvanas thrust up in a way that brushed a spot inside her that made her buck unbidden, and she lost the words she was looking for.

“Purple…makes you float,” Sylvanas informed her, though her glowing eyes had shut once again, and could hardly see the color she was identifying.

Her hands gripped Jaina’s thighs, holding on for dear life. Holding her in place too, so that she kept hitting that spot. Holding her so that Jaina could barely get out a chiding, “That’s only three, love.”

“Orange gives,” a moan, a breath, a pant, a mumbled curse. “Mirror image spell.”

Jaina had to give in then, falling atop her lover to kiss the beads of sweat forming on her brow. Gods this feeling, this closeness, this symphony of magic and pleasure. She was going to have a hard time wanting to do anything else but this for the rest of the week.

“One more,” Jaina pleaded. “One more before you come inside me again.”

“Green,” was the only word Sylvanas got out before she did, in fact, come again.

The arcane rush and frantic thrusts that followed sent Jaina to her own soaring heights again too. One intense orgasm so quickly after the other was enough to leave her dizzy and limp, draped over Sylvanas for her efforts, sated but not, awakened to a new world which required much more exploring, but perhaps in need of a few moments rest before she could continue. A few moments she intended to enjoy being held and feeling full and loved.

“Green,” Sylvanas started again, but couldn’t catch her breath to finish.

“I don’t care about green. Green can wait,” Jaina mumbled into Sylvanas’ hair. “I love you and I love this. I want to do this until I’m too sore.”

“There’s a potion for that too,” Sylvanas informed her.

“I think I love it here,” Jaina observed, though it was up to her girlfriend to determine if that comment was about the sex resort, or riding out their arcane-tinged afterglow in her arms.

It was both, truthfully.

#sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #smut #when you bring your nerd girlfriend to a sex resort and she gets off on trying to figure out the sex magic #much of this can be blamed on one person who knows who they are #yeah you

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superinjun · 3 months

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Karuk Louis Vuitton Drum 1.1 (with beater)

Fox Spears (Karuk)

louis ceitton bandoulier bag parts, abalone beads, pewter beads, artificial sinew, wire, elk rawhide, cedar. 19.5” x 15” x 3.5”

“This drum, inspired by traditional Karuk double-sided gambling drums, incorporates monogram canvas and leather handles sourced from a used Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière 50 bag. While conceptualizing the drum, I considered reports by 19th and 20th century non-Native ethnographers that referred to an emphasis in Karuk culture on the accumulation of goods like dentalium shells, woodpecker scalps, and obsidian blades, as wealth-building. These items were collected as a signal of high social position, where the wealthiest were afforded the most respect. Some English-speaking Karuk would refer to the wealthy as the “good people.”

My choice to incorporate a luxury designer object into the making of this piece references these past traditions while helping to bring an imagined post-colonial future into reality. I purposely embarked on a modern day “hunt” to capture a Louis Vuitton bag on Ebay, and then processed it into materials for my art-making. I sought out a pre-owned bag that would have lived its own unknowable life before it came into my hands, and I thanked it for its service before making my first cut.

In many ways, this drum is a symbol of the juxtaposition between pre-contact Native cultural traditions and modern Euro-American displays of wealth and status. It embodies my Karuk ancestry along with my privileges as an urban upper middle class U.S. citizen. This drum mirrors my own existence. Together, we acknowledge that, while we may be here because of a complex and often violent history, it is more important to celebrate the fact that we are living, powerful examples of Indigenous resilience.”

#fox spears #karuk #drums #instruments #mixed media #indigenous art #native art #first nations art #ndn art

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thegalaxys-edge · 1 year

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full hearts

The Bad Batch x GN!Reader (pre- established relationship, reader is referred to as Doc)

a/n: i started writing this 5 months ago and finally got around to finishing it. really i just want to give these boys forhead kisses and ramen, so this is that. ⋆˙⟡♡

sum: after a long mission, you decide to cook the Batch a good meal (pre o66)

warnings: none, just fluff :)

wc: 4k

-✰- reblogs are appreciated! -✰-

You sigh, depositing your small duffle at the entrance as the door slides shut; sagging your body back, you rest your head on the durasteel behind you, letting it cool your mind and the headache pounding at your temples.

The apartment is fairly warm and midafternoon sunlight gleams through the small window, heating a well worn, second hand couch. It isn't much and it’s far from luxurious, but the small throw blankets and odd wall decorations made it feel like home.

You’d honestly meant to be back yesterday when you got in from a long series of missions as the field medic with Clone Force 99, but a quick, frantic call from a friend in the medical center had those plans changing rapidly. Instead of catching up on sleep (that you desperately needed), you ran to pick up two shifts, working from the late hour of night when you arrived until noon the next day, when a supervisor insisted you take some time off. And then you stayed another two hours.

Removing yourself from your slumped position on the wall, you haphazardly drag your duffle and gear to one of the two bedrooms in the apartment and sling it onto a low-to-the-floor, but quite comfortable, bed.

The apartment was actually one you shared- as if anyone could afford to live on Coruscant alone, even in the mid-levels. Your other three roommates are a few field medics who you’d met in basic training, before you each got paired with your individual squads, and currently they are all off-world on separate assignments. In a way it’s disappointing to come home to a completely empty space, but right now you welcome the silence.

Your bed is calling your name after having no sleep in maker-knows how long, but the stronger part of your mind tells you that you need a shower and food desperately.

You grab a set of clean civvies and head to the ‘fresher to scrub the dirt and dust and blood of the last mission from your skin. The soft smelling soap being luxury you dearly missed.

By the time you feel sufficiently clean (plus several minutes to just enjoy the hot water) you towel off and get dressed, feeling slightly less exhausted and slightly more motivated to grab food. You know without looking that the pantry and chiller will both be near empty, a result of the constant circulation of late-shift workers not wanting to cook and the equal desire to not come back to the smell of spoiled food after a long mission.

Slipping on socks and a pair of boots, you grab a bag and some credits to head to the nearby market. Ideas of pasta seem to float to the front of your mind as you lock the apartment behind you and walk out of the complex.

The sun is not fully set on Coruscant, leaving the lower area in a dim haze. The air is cooling down, but overall refreshing with a not completely pleasant, but familiar scent. It felt like home, or as close to home as you could have.

You clutch your bag close under your arm and let yourself focus on the bustle of the city around you. It was very overwhelming when you first moved to Coruscant, with its nearly infinite cityscape and trillions of individuals with their own lives swirling around you, but now your feet move on autopilot with your understanding of the sectors layout, and instead you can enjoy the excitement constantly thrumming in the streets.

In a small gap in the crowd, you spot a familiar color scheme that has you pausing your sure-footed stride. Through the passing bodies, you could spot none other than your squadmates, picking their way past a large group of vendors. You’re almost hesitant to interrupt their time off and instead plan to slip back into the crowd, hopefully unnoticed, when you lock eyes with Hunter, who had been dutifully surveying their surroundings while his brothers were locked in discussion.

You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting and offer him a small smile, which he returns. Seeing the shift in Hunter’s focus quickly grabs the attention of the rest of the squad. Wrecker’s face lights up as he barrels his way through the crowd of pedestrians, who desperately dodge to clear a path for him, and wraps you in a tight hug.

Your hands scramble to find purchase on his shoulders as he lifts you well off the ground and you let yourself tuck your face into his neck to disguise your wide grin. By the time he releases you, you can feel a gentle heat rising in your cheeks, and you let a sly greeting slip out.

“Long time no see, eh?” You calculate it had been roughly 17 standard hours.

Crosshair is, surprisingly, the first to respond.

“You look well,” he snarks in a tone that clearly teases the opposite. You scoff at his comment, but in all honesty, you probably are a sight to behold right now- haphazardly dressed, hair still damp from the shower, smiling like an idiot in the middle of a Coruscanti market.

“Maker, thanks Cross-“ you start, unable to stop the laugh bubbling up at the sight of Echo swatting his arm.

“You’re a di’kut, Cross.”

Said di’kut removed the toothpick that, til recently, resided at the corner of his mouth, and flicked in back at Echo, whose face scrunched into a, frankly adorable, frown.

“So,” Hunter started, clearly over the antics of his brothers, “what are you doing out? Thought you had plans to ‘sleep until our next mission.’” He quoted your last conversation back at you.

Well, that had been the plan.

“Plans change.” You didn’t need to tell them you haven’t slept since the mission, “What are you doing out?”

“Looking for some good food!” Wrecker burst with a clap on your back.

“That time isn’t it? I'm out for the same thing. Where are you headed?”

“We are currently unsure, most Coruscant establishments are..” Tech hesitated, choosing his words, “Less than welcoming.”

You frown, tamping down the anger that quickly sparked in your chest. You are well acquainted with the prejudice that cropped up in all sectors of the city. Hells, there were more shops allowing droids than clones at this point, and both the GAR and the Senate seem disinclined to stop the blatant discrimination. But falling into a rant about that wasn’t productive right now. You had more than enough experience avoiding discriminatory stalls to know the best food joints that were open to all, and your primary mission shifted to getting these boys some good food. And then your mouth was moving faster than your brain could filter.

“Well I could probably point out a few stands or-“ you paused, catching your words in time. You could cook for them. That seemed too forward. Sure you all got along well, even Crosshair had shifted from outright mean to more lighthearted jeering in your conversations, but that doesn’t mean they’d want to spend their limited time off with you. That, and they’d be in your apartment, which somehow felt quite personal, despite the limited time you spent there. Anxiety twists in your stomach.

“Or?” Tech prompted, clearly not willing to let your sentence end prematurely. The Batch was looking at you expectantly, but there was something else. They looked… happy. Relaxed in a way that you never saw on missions. Maybe you were overthinking it, it would just be dinner, and you trust them to say no if they aren't interested. Besides, with how much work they have over endless missions, it might be nice to enjoy a warm meal.

You purse your lips and summon some courage.

“Well, if you’d like, you could come over to my place and I could cook something up.” You will yourself not to shy away from their gaze.

“Really!?” Wrecker all but yells, voice overlapping with Hunters' attempt to reject your offer.

“We wouldn’t wanna trouble you, it’s not exactly easy to feed five troopers.”

“It wouldn't be any trouble, I wouldn't have offered if it would be. But if you aren’t interested, I understand, I don't want to impose or anything…”

Hunter studied you for a moment, hand absentmindedly scrubbing the back of his neck; he must have found what he was looking for because he turned to exchange glances with the rest of the squad, each of them giving a subtle nod, barring Wrecker who looked quite eager. He turned back to you, apparently satisfied.

“Well then, what’s for dinner, Doc?”

You grinned at him, letting the nerves shift into excitement.

“Well,” you considered for a moment, “I was thinking ramen would be great.”

At Hunters’ agreement, Wrecker practically knocks Tech over to lift you up into his arms again. By the time your feet touch the ground, Echo has his lips pursed with concern.

“What is ramen?”

“It is a savory broth and noodle dish served in many stylized ways, often with various meats, proteins, and vegetables,” Tech states, adjusting the rims of his goggles before looking up from his data pad.

You nod in agreement, “I’ll need to pick up a few things, but there's an outdoor market just nearby.”

Falling into a pod-like formation, you lead the group a few streets over, all the while listening to Echo recount some of the worst foods he's suffered through during his time with the 501st, including an especially slimy seafood soup. He concluded that he was not particularly fond of dishes that look back at you.

Together you meander your way through several stores, picking out broth, noodles, a protein that Hunter seemed particularly interested in trying, and various vegetables, all of which Tech was keen on discussing. At some point you linked arms with Echo, who insisted on carrying the grocery bag.

When all the supplies have been collected, you pick your way back to the apartment complex. It’s a short walk away and all the while you exchange easy conversation with the squad. On missions, you try to stay professional and keep your focus in the way you were taught during basic training, despite the Batch’s often successful attempts at breaking down your walls. However, without the tension of impending injury or death clouding your thoughts, you let yourself relax.

You point out your building to the group, scanning your key card to get in. A sharp prick of nerves rocks your stomach as you make your way into the lift, dampening the lighthearted mood that had gathered during your time at the market. Logically, there was no reason to worry, after all, you’ve already sacrificed all privacy and personal space when you crowd on the Marauder for missions. That never made you nervous, in fact, you've even teased your squad, mostly Tech, about how you were claiming partial ownership over his pride and joy of a shuttle; but somehow this felt more personal, like you were letting them into a new part of your life. Which, in a way, you were.

Crosshair, having either impeccable timing or just catching onto your nerves, slides an arm to the railing on the opposite side of your body, placing him close behind you, and effectively shifting your mind from any worries you were having to the way he was nearly wrapped around your body. Then, without any warning, he jams his boney fingers into your side, causing you to yelp in surprise. Immediately turning around, you smack your hand into hard plastoid armour and glare up at him. He only shrugs back at you, a smirk playing on his face.

“You’re in your head mesh’la.” You pause for a split second. That nickname was new.

“Yeah, well you must be out of yours. If you don't keep your hands to yourself, Cross, you won't be eating.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender as his brothers jeer at him, but the glint in his eye told you he was going to be trouble.

You unlock your apartment, the door sliding open with a hiss, and step aside to let them in.

“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” you smile and gesture to the open-concept living space and kitchen in a way that is hopefully not as awkward as it feels.

Echo turns to you, “Mind if we ditch some armour?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

Warmth spreads through your face as they each remove the top half of their armour, Tech retaining his vambraces, and spread out around the room. You try not to let your eyes linger on how their tight fitting blacks cling to their impressively built frames, with limited success.

Quickly pushing that thought from your mind, you grab the controller to switch the holoscreen to the first thing you could find: some cheesy reality dating show. Wrecker sprawls on the couch and lolls his head back, Tech joining him at the opposite side. Crosshair perches on a barstool at the kitchen counter with a good vantage point of both the kitchen and the holo. You quickly shoo Echo away from where he was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen and he joins his brothers on the couch. Hunter saddles up beside you in the kitchen while the others settle in, resting his hand on your back. When you look up at him, you find him already watching you.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” a soft smile slants across his face.

“‘S more of a mess when my roommates are around.” He nods in understanding, his roommates are a bit of a mess as well.

“Thanks for having us over, Doc.” The sincerity of his gaze sends sparks through your body and you can only hope that his senses don't pick up on the stuttering of your pulse.

“Don't thank me yet, you don't know if the food is any good. It shouldn't take too long, you can go sit down for a bit.”

He’s probably been just as busy as you since getting back, between mission reports and making sure his brothers were all cared for. For a second it seems like he might protest and insist on helping, but then he gives your waist a quick squeeze and goes to sit in the mismatched chair near the couch.

With the Batch relatively settled, you begin to work on pulling out cookware and heating up the broth in a pot. You give the vegetables a rinse and pull out a knife and chopping board to start cutting, quickly abandoning the task when the broth heats to the correct temperature. With a plan to cook two packages of noodles at a time to maintain a good cooking temperature for the noodles, you start the first batch, before dropping a pad of butter into the pan for the vegetables. You turn to keep chopping, only to see Cross had taken over the task quite dutifully. It was very…domestic. A fuzzy feeling was creeping back through your body at the sight.

Rather than try to move the ridiculously stubborn man back to the couch and ruin a genuinely sweet moment, you just skirt behind him, dragging your hand gently across his shoulder blades and offering a soft thanks as you gather some of what he's already cut to sauté. You grab a second pan for the meat.

The rest of the cooking is a quick blur of setting out bowls and alternating between cooking and dishing out batches of ramen, setting aside an extra batch for when Wrecker is inevitably still hungry. By the time the last bowl is full, the kitchen is a bit of a mess, but the meal in front of you is nothing short of mouthwatering.

You rap your knuckles twice on the counter closest to the living room, “Dinner!”

The Batch files in, Echo and Tech invested in an almost heated debate over the bachelors in the holo, with Echo vehemently protesting Tech’s pick to win as being shallow and Tech retorting about how his pick obviously had the highest probability of winning, regardless of his shortcomings.

Wrecker seemed to be nearly bursting with joy as he grabs a bowl and you hand him a set of chopsticks. His free arm slings around your shoulders and he drops a kiss to the top of your head, along with a gleeful ‘thank you.’

“There’s also forks on the counter if you’d prefer,” you gesture to where you'd set extra silverware, doubting that any of them had much experience with chopsticks.

The rest of them each follow suit, grabbing bowls and chopsticks and offering you thanks, to which you duck your head in quiet acceptance of their praise.

They all migrate back towards the couch with full bowls, sans Echo, who instead moves to the counter due to his inability to hold the bowl and wield utensils simultaneously. You opt to join him with a bowl of your own.

You scoop a large bite of noodles, almost groaning at the taste, stomach growling in appreciation. You'd nearly forgotten how long it's been since you ate. Both your escapade with the Batch in the market and cooking dinner had taken much longer than the quick dinner you had anticipated having alone.

Glancing over at Echo, you see him grasping hopelessly at the chopsticks. He met your gaze with an almost guilty grin that told you he was about to make a stupid joke.

“Mind givin’ me a hand?” He raised his scomp-link for emphasis.

Maybe it was the tiredness truly setting in or maybe it was the joy of seeing the usually-tense ARC Trooper letting his guard down, but laughter swelled out of you at the idiocy of a pun you certainly should have seen coming. His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes, which only made you smile to match him, before scooting your stool so you were shoulder-to-shoulder to give him a quick run-down.

Across the room, Tech seemed to have given a similar demonstration about chopstick technique, resulting in Wrecker grabbing one of the forks you had left out to expedite the process of food consumption.

The room was rather quiet, excepting the holoscreen, once everyone became fully invested in their meals. The sun had long since set, and everything was cast in the flashing from the light from the holoshow, as well as the standing lamps around the room, which your roommates all agreed was preferable to the abrasive fluorescent fixtures. Echo and Tech continued to comment on the dating show, with Crosshair chiming in every so often to comment on how ridiculous the whole thing was (though his concentration on the screen revealed he was rather invested). At one point you got up to refill Wreckers bowl and join the rest of the group on the couch with Echo in tow. You end up squeezed between Wrecker and Echo, with Tech on the other side of Wrecker and Cross tucked on the broad arm of the couch. Hunter looked as if he was melting into the armchair.

By the time the episode ended (on an overdramatized cliffhanger), you were almost asleep leaning on Wreckers arm. The bowls gently clink together as Hunter gathers them up to bring into the kitchen. With a yawn, you move to stand and start the dishes but Echo reaches in front of you to prevent you from getting up, meeting your bewildered look with a retort about how you invited them over and cooked and how dishes were ‘the least they could do’. You stammered in response, which Crosshair snorted at, cracking his eyes open and shifting his head from where it was leaned against the wall. He looked exhausted. They all did.

“At least let me dry!” You raise your voice so Hunter could hear you over the running water, “you don't even know where things go!”

“I believe I could assist with that.” Tech stands, trying and failing to hide his smirk at your losing battle of hospitality.

Meanwhile, Echo enlists Wrecker to keep you from getting up, leaving you with your torso fully wrapped in Wrecker’s arms and your legs draped across Echo’s lap. With no chance of escaping, you resign yourself to lay back into their arms and listen to the sound of Hunter and Tech cleaning up the dishes and the dull chatter of the following episode of the dating show.

When you open your eyes again some time later, Hunter seems rather panicked. His chestplate has been haphazardly reattached and a strong grimace paints his features.

“Sorry Doc, didn’t realize it was so late,” he shook Crosshair awake, “We’ll be out of your hair and let you get some rest.”

Wrecker and Echo shift to get up, untangling themselves from you. Crosshair waking bearily on the armrest. You stand up too, catching a glance at the chrono displaying half an hour to midnight.

“Are you headed all the way back to the barracks?” You question, almost rhetorically. It seemed ridiculous to trek back across the city this late. You never know what precious limited time there is to sleep before you all ship out for the next mission, but you're certain that the Batch shouldn't have to spend sleeping hours commuting back to uncomfortable bunks.

“You could just crash here for the night.” Hunter paused from where he was collecting and passing out armour plates.

After an uncomfortable amount of silence, you gesture vaguely to the couch. “It’s a pullout.” The group pauses from the beginnings of reattaching armour plates. “I can grab some spare sheets and blankets, if you don't mind sharing a bed.” A yawn stretches through you, prompting a few more from the group.

You must have underestimated exactly how tired Hunter is, as instead of politely declining and herding his brothers out like you anticipated, he doesn't even try to argue, nodding slowly in agreement before moving back toward the living room.

Dragging yourself into action, you stretch your limbs high above your head before setting Hunter and Crosshair to figure out the couch while you go in search of extra sheets in the linen closet. You return, handing them off to Tech and Echo before gathering some throw blankets to add to the bedding.

While your team sets up, you return to your room to change into sweatpants and a sleep shirt. You quickly brush your teeth in the connecting bathroom, then gather what pillows you have on your bed to bring out to the living room.

When you return, the men are all stripped of their remaining armour and left in blacks. The bed is fully made and looks quite cozy, though it will certainly be a tight squeeze. Wrecker crawls in first, settling in the center of the bed with a heavy sigh. Tech follows, leaning in to press a tired kiss on your forehead before crawling to the far side. Echo settles in between Tech and Wrecker, while Cross moves to Wrecker’s other side. Their movements are practiced, as if they had done this a hundred times before. It was quite likely that they had, with time in the field and on Kamino providing little other comfort.

Hunter flips off the lights before slipping an arm around your waist and leaning to speak softly in your ear, his voice gruff.

“Joining us, mesh’la?” You realize that you've just been standing by the side of the bed, watching them all settle in. You had planned to return to your own bed, but leaning into his chest, you feel yourself quickly losing the battle against sleep. And you gave up all your pillows.

“Mmph.” A low laugh rumbles around you and Hunter nudges you toward the couch, tucking you in next to Crosshair, who was quick to pull your back to his chest and tangle up your legs, before pulling himself in behind you. You adjust the blankets in an effort to keep Hunter tucked in with you, knowing full well he would sacrifice his own comfort otherwise. With nearly no space between you, Hunter lets his eyes fall shut and rests his forehead on your own.

“G’night, Doc.” You don't know if you respond out loud, as you lose all grip on the waking world. After months of harsh missions and endless carnage, you were cuddled up, safe, content, and finally asleep.

#hunter x reader #hunter tbb #crosshair x reader #crosshair tbb #tech x reader #tech tbb #wrecker x reader #wrecker tbb #echo x reader #echo tbb #the bad batch x reader #gn!reader #tbb fluff #the bad batch #swtcw #my writing

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