Okayyyy guys…time for Claire’s first jaunt into writing the omegaverse…
Omega!reader who was like. Incredibly repressed and sheltered. Raised by parents who believe giving into your instincts is animalistic and is a tendency that should be suppressed, so you barely even know basic terminology, let alone that your urges are normal.
When you meet the boys, you end up with your own room and a big enough stipend that you can actual afford to buy yourself some luxury items you’ve always wanted, like blankets! They don’t understand why you’re so shocked when they say the government will cover the cost of things like blankets and pillows. You don’t get why they would deem those a necessity.
It doesn’t matter, though, you’re just happy to have enough materials to finally make your bed comfortable. You end up with probably far more blankets and pillows than socially acceptable (definitely more than your parents ever let you have), shoving the cozy material into all corners of your bed until it was less of a bed and more of a…nest? Yeah, that seems like a good word to describe it, you think. Something inside of you is incredibly satisfied by the state of it, allowing you to plop down and absolutely pass out, only waking up 14 hours later.
You’re shocked, but the boys don’t seem surprised by your prolonged absence.
“Good nesting, ‘mega?” Johnny chirps from his spot on the couch, seemingly very satisfied at how well-rested you look.
Your brows furrow, sure you had called it your nest, but that was mostly a joke. How did he know about it?
“Nesting…?” You try to clarify, but that just makes them all stop and look at you in concern.
“Aye, bonnie…nesting.” Johnny confirms.
Oh! This must be some Scottish slang you don’t know about, of course. “Oh! Like napping? It was good! I got so many blankets and pillows—probably too many, I was shocked at how many they let me take—and I totally conked out! I don’t think I’ve ever slept for that long before.” You laugh off the confusion, but they’re just looking increasingly concerned.
“You’ve…never slept for that long before?” Price confirms.
“Oh definetly not! My parents always woke me up early to do work around the farm, probably never slept more than 5 hours a night, but such is farm life!” You start for the coffee machine, totally oblivious to how your words make them cringe.
“Bug, omegas are supposed to get at least 9 hours a night…more most of the time.” Kyle chimes in.
“Well, you know…I guess I’ve just never had that comfy of a bed.” You shrug and brush off the questions.
“Like…you’ve never had nesting materials?” Simon is on you with the questions now too.
You’re getting the feeling you’re missing something now, turning around and abandoning your mug. “I’m—I think I’m lost?”
They just look sad now, sharing a look before John comes closer. “Sweetheart, omegas are meant to nest. Meaning they make a safe place out of soft materials that they like, normally that smell like their pack. It’s a place they can let go, and if they want, a place where the pack can feel safe and bond. Have you…ever had one of those?” He’s speaking softly, leaning against the back of the couch.
“I—well…no. But, I’m…” you don’t know what else to say. You knew somewhere in the back of your mind that your parents weren’t the best. That they didn’t teach you certain things about yourself and about society, that you were sheltered. You knew that there were pieces of yourself you felt like you didn’t know, that you felt like could be fixed if you were just…better, somehow. But being confronted face-to-face with your naivety wasn’t fun. It felt like everyone else knew how to be their role perfectly, and you were just pretending to be an omega. It was embarrassing.
“‘S alright, bug. You’re clearly a natural.” John picks up your chin in his fingers, giving it a bump before letting go. You don’t know why, but something about him complimenting your nest is sending a fire to your chest.
You give a meek smile while the heat floods to your cheeks. He seems satisfied to see your smile back.
They drop it for now, but are determined to get you back in tune with who you’re supposed to be.
Clearly there’s a lot of things you still need to learn about yourself and about the others, but you think they’ll help you figure it out just fine.
You look down at the crumpled piece of paper in your hands one more time, the address scrawled across it barely legible. The scrap of information hastily given to you as you were decommissioned, done out of a guide-lined necessity over any ounce of compassion. You didn’t think anything of it during your departure but here you are, desperate. The door in front of you has however, stopped you in your tracks. A small barrier causing you to rethink this entire decision. On the one hand they might be able to help things like you, maybe they’ll know what you are now, what you need to do. On the other, what if they can’t, what if it doesn't get better than this...You try to push the thought from your mind as you will yourself forward, through the doorway, and into the unknown.
On the other side you slam into a wall of incomprehensible noise, the sound of dozens of conversations all happening at once around the room. The unfiltered cacophony painful in your ears. You desperately wish it was still being filtered by dozens of layers of sensors and electronic defence systems. Looking around the room does nothing to ease your feelings, groups of people sit scattered at several old looking tables, some playing what seems to be a type of card game, others just chatting and laughing between each other. The entire environment is completely foreign to you. You’ve never been in a room with this many people in it, unless you count the engineers in your hanger, but you were hardly ever separated from the isolation of your cockpit long enough to notice.
“Hey, are you new?” A cheery voice cuts through your thoughts and your eyes focus on the small framed girl in front of you.
“Uh…” Panic catches in your throat at suddenly being perceived and your mind empties of all rational responses.
“Wanna come with me? I’ll introduce you to some of us!” Her voice full of confidence as she turns and starts heading towards a small table to the side of the room, her face beaming back at you as she goes.
Looking around awkwardly you manage to push yourself into moving after her. Anxiety sitting like a stone in your stomach as you approach a table of compete strangers. The idle chatter of the table starts to die down as you catch up to the smaller girl.
“Hey guys, made a new friend! Be nice.” She stares with mock intensity at the group before giggling and sliding into one of the free seats around the table, the metal screeching against the floor as she gestures for you to do the same.
“H-hi” You manage to squeak out while you pull out the free chair and cautiously take a seat.
They all smile and offer gentle welcomes, you try your best to respond pleasantly but you haven't had this much social interaction since you were a child, before you were recruited.
“How’d you hear about this place?” You hear one of them ask.
“Oh um...they said there would be people like me here that could... help...”
They all nod and smile once again and the conversation continues on without you, occasionally flowing towards you as you offer a nod or a one word answer. All you can think about is how exposed you feel, surrounded by so many people with no armour or weapons. A constant stream of system data replaced by the overwhelming onslaught of social cues and irrelevant conversations.
“Oh hey!” one of them directs towards you, “What kinda rig did you have?”
You tilt your head in confusion, her question asked so excitedly you feel stupid for having not idea what it could mean. It must be clearly written across your face because she starts to clarify.
“Ya know like, us four here all ran pretty standard type seven movers but I know a few of the others got to fuck around with those fancy ship shunters they have at the space ports...” She finishes and they all turn to you expectantly.
“Oh right uh…well all combat mechs are custom built to the pilot, I think I heard the techs call her a Crimson class once though.” Your voice comes out weak, part of your brain desperately searching for details you know you don't have. You didn't need to know such things so they never told you, and for all you cared she was made of you, and you of her, nothing else mattered.
You look up, shaking the memories away only to be met with wide eyed stares from everyone at the table. “Y-you were a combat pilot?” one of them states more than asks. You nod cautiously, sensing the sudden mood shift around the table.
“Like with the neural ports and everything?” another one asks, curiosity mixed with another emotion you are unable to read plastered across each of their faces.
Instinctively you reach to the back of your neck, the circular holes in your flight suit leaving the cold metal open to your touch. The suit does its best to hide them from a casual glance at least.
“I thought it was too dangerous to let you guys out in public?” One of the girls mutters. “My friend told me combat pilots were all comatose.” Says another, more to herself then to you.
The one that had invited you to the table grabs them both aggressively by the arm and says something under her breath but you don’t hear it. You can feel yourself shutting down rapidly, social functions failing as you spiral. The looks on their faces burning into your memory. It was stupid to think they’d be any different, that they’d be able to help, to know what to do now. Instead they look at you the same way everyone does.
You excuse yourself from the table, voice catching in your throat as you stumble on the legs of your chair. None of the girls make any attempt to stop you past a few vague half-hearted protests. Quickly you make your way towards the exit, trying desperately not to crash into anyone in your haste. Bursting through the door the cold night air quickly fills your lungs, you can’t help but gasp for more. Everything is too much, your skin is too exposed, lacking the critical armour to protect you from the world. Without even thinking you turn the corner into the alley beside the building in search of a safe haven. You stumble past the dumpster before collapsing down, dragging your knees into your chest with your back wedged into the dirty corner formed by the brick wall and the cold metal of the dumpster. You try your best to wrap yourself up into your arms and legs, craving the safety of a cockpit. You can’t keep living like this, constantly shifting between too numb to experience the world and too stimulated to control yourself. What’s the point? Why did they even let you go out into the world like this.? How could they separate you from what you’d become? You feel like your entire system has been burnt out over and over again and the only thing that could hold you together is sitting in a hanger somewhere, waiting to be scrapped for parts so they can start again with some other child. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Why couldn't they just let you keep her somehow? You can’t keep it down anymore and sobs rack through your body as you curl yourself tighter, hoping you would just disappear.
“You miss her huh?” A gentle voice cuts through your sobbing.
You freeze and dart your eyes up. Sitting across from you, her knees also pulled to her chest, you find the source of the voice. A woman with her hands clasped around her legs. The moon only illuminates the very edges of her person, making it hard to see many details beyond the gentle smile on her face. You’re sure you’ve never met this woman before, yet something about her seems oddly familiar. She tilts her head inquisitively and you realise she asked you a question.
“W-what?” you manage to stutter out while trying to wipe the tears off your face.
Her smile deepens and she leans further forward, “Your mech? You’re missing her right?”
“Wh- How did you…huh?” is all you can manage to get out in her direction before she giggles, her hand covering her mouth as she does.
Wordlessly she turns her head to the side and pulls her hair up and away revealing her neck. Sparkling in the moonlight you can clearly see the several data ports running down her neck and below her jacket. They look remarkably similar to the ones you have, although a few generations older. Your eyes grow wide as you instinctively reach up to touch your own in response. She lets her hair cascade back down to cover them and wraps her arms around her knees to once again mimic your posture. Seemingly satisfied in having quelled your confusion.
“How long have you been out?” her voice soft and gentle, a harsh contrast to the dark, damp alley surrounding the both of you.
“Oh uh…about a week I think, it all kinda blurs together” your voice a little stronger this time, the presence of someone like you a welcome distraction.
“Oh shit wow!” she blurts out before quickly covering her mouth. “Sorry it’s just, wow yea I figured you were freshly out but wow... one week? I’m so sorry.”
You try to smile back at her but you can’t stop the tears from building up, your vision quickly blurring. You don’t know what to feel, one week has already been a living hell but sitting right in front of you is proof that someone has survived much longer. Are you just uniquely useless or is she just stronger than you?
“It took my sister and I a long long time to get on our feet…” She stares off past you for a moment before continuing, “She was always a much better pilot than I was, which of course meant her body broke down way before mine did. So many nights spent just holding each other, wondering how to even exist anymore.”
Her voice wraps itself around you and gives you something to focus on, her words feel like a blanket around you. It’s almost enough to convince you that at this moment, nothing is wrong. How could she speak so calmly and confidently about something so horrible if everything isn’t going to turn out ok? Maybe you can let yourself think that, just for this moment.
“We even have our own place now!” She exclaims with a jolt of joy you weren't expecting, forcing you away from your thoughts. “Speaking of which, wanna crash at ours? It’s not far from here and I’m sure a warm apartment beats that shitty pilots shelter.” Her smile still unwavering.
“Oh no I couldn't possibly impose like that, and plus the shelter isn't all bad. We have bread this week!” You nervously chuckle, breaking eye contact with her and pulling yourself further into your protective ball.
She stands up with a grunt and takes a step closer to you, hand outstretched. “Sweetie that shelter is fucking awful and you wouldn't be imposing one bit. If anything, knowing a pretty pilot is all alone when she could have been warm and safe with us would be far far worse.”
You look up at her, a deep blush growing on your face at her words. “No point in arguing with someone that has clearly made up their mind!” you rationalise before grabbing her hand as she pulls you up off the dirty floor. Her arm immediately links into yours and she pulls you forwards out onto the sidewalk with her, the contact not helping the blush still visible on your face.
“Name’s Artemis by the way.”
You nod and whisper back to her, “I uh, don't have one yet…”
She smiles “I know sweetie, don’t worry you’ll get there.”
~~~
A short walk later you find yourself standing in front of a door for the second time in a few hours. Artemis fumbles through a key chain trying to find the right one to give her access to the apartment and quietly cursing under her breath. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, hoping that going through this door goes a lot better than the last one.
“Ah there we go!” Artemis finally finds the right key as the door clicks open and she gestures for you to head inside.
You shuffle your way through the door and into the dimly lit room. Looking around the sparse area in front of you is comforting. A small living room with a couch against the far wall and a small table covered in various bowls and glasses greets you. The low warm lights a welcome change from the bright florescents of the last room you entered tonight.
“Home!” The woman behind you yells out into the apartment.
“Yay!” an excited voice calls back from what you assume is the bedroom.
Turning towards the noise in time you see a short woman come skipping through the doorway. Her long blonde hair bouncing everywhere as she collides with Artemis and wraps her into a deep hug.
“Missed you so much Arty.” She mumbles into Artemis’s chest, you blush and look away. The display of sisterly love something entirely foreign to you.
“Missed you too sis, sorry I took so long. Our games went a little long.” Artemis wraps her sister up in her arms, a smirk crossing her face as she makes eye contact with you. “I brought home a stray to make it up to you though.”
You don’t know why but being spoken about like this causes your face to heat up. You almost speak up to protest but the smaller woman beats you to it.
“Oh yea? You win her in a bet or something?” She giggles to herself, Artemis rolls her eyes.
“No you dork, She’s just been decommissioned.” her voice falling on a more gentle tone.
“Oh…”
The smaller woman untangles from the hug and hops over towards you, her oversized sweater bouncing as she does.
“Hi! I’m Chloe, really nice to meet you and...I’m sorry” Her voice is utterly sincere.
You don’t really know what you were expecting. A part of you is screaming to leave while you still can, you just met these people and you’re already in their home, it’s stupid to feel safe just because they’re like you. A larger part of you is just tired, tired and happy to be in a warm building for once. They’re both being so nice to you and you can’t tell if it’s some sort of ploy, all of your training is telling you it’s a trap. That the moment you let your guard down it’s over. You are frozen in between these thoughts, starring down at the floor wishing you could curl up and hide.
“She’s been staying at the shelter so I figured we could give her a warm bed, and maybe you can show her your setup?” Artemis’s gentle voice bounces around the mostly empty room.
“Yea?”
“Mhm, She’s like you.” Artemis smirks, her arms wrapping around Chloe from behind. “Misses her cockpit so much it hurts.”
She plants a kiss on her younger sisters cheek, a strange feeling bubbles up in your stomach and you try your best to look away. Blood rushing to your ears. Their actions feel entirely too intimate for you to be watching. It reminds you of the way some of the other pilots would blow of steam with each other, something you were never allowed to participate in. Instead you had to sit by and try to interpret the lingering looks and acts of affection between squad mates. But these two were sisters, it can’t be like that. You must be misinterpreting again, and it’s not like you really know how siblings are meant to interact anyway.
“C’mon cutie, bedroom’s through here.” Chloe gestures to one of the two doors.
“Oh uh, I’ll be ok on the couch.” You try and argue.
“No no you need a proper bed, we are not letting you sleep on that shitty couch.” She counters back, her tone more serious now.
“Seriously I’ll be fine, anything is better than those shelter beds.” You joke, trying to diffuse the tension you’re suddenly feeling.
“I could make her?” Artemis says casually to the both of you.
“Wah?” Is all you can manage in response.
Her comment catches you off guard, the words setting off some ingrained training deep within you. Adrenaline starting to surge through you as you try and decide between fight or flight. Artemis cracks a smile at you, her posture straightening up as she takes a few steps towards you.
“Attention pilot!” She barks at you.
The words immediately stop you in your tracks. The survival training instantly breaking away, your muscles tense and you stand as tall as you can. You know you don’t have to, only your handler could force you to obey but some part of you wants to listen. You could easily just ignore the command and turn around to leave, you’re pretty sure they wouldn't even stop you if you tried hard enough. But the warm building. The promise of a soft bed. People like you. It’s all too much to resist and so you let yourself fall back on your training. You give up your control and accept that maybe they do just want to help.
“Combat report came back pilot.” Her voice loud enough to command but still holding a gentle tone. “Your neural reactivity is all over the place and your sync is way down. Starting immediately you’re grounded until you get some proper rest.”
“B-but…” you stammer in response.
“This is not a request pilot. You will follow us to our quarters and you will rest until these readings improve, is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am.” You whisper.
Before anything else can be said Chloe grabs a hold of your arm and begins leading you towards the bedroom. Artemis follows up directly behind you both as you walk through the door. The room itself is tiny, a large bed is squished into one corner barely leaving enough space for the basket of clothes on the floor next to it. Thick curtains cover the tiny window and a string of lights trace around the four walls, a soft purple glow emitting from them. The bed is covered in blankets and plush toys, a small nest of them built up in the corner with an open laptop sitting there.
Chloe begins to move the laptop and clear a space on the bed while Artemis begins to search through the clothes in the basket. Satisfied with her work, Chloe craws back towards your side of the room and wordlessly slips behind you, grabbing the zipper at the back of your flight suit. You reach up in a panic but Artemis takes your hands in hers, a warm smile across her face as she tells you that it’s ok. The sound of the zipper being undone fills the room as your flight suit drops to the floor around you. Before you can really react to the warm air on your skin fabric is pulled over your head. Suddenly you are covered in an old band shirt that is way too big for you. It hangs off your form and extends down to your knees.
Artemis gestures for you to hop on the bed and you follow without complaint, climbing into the puddle of toys and blankets. She climbs in after you, squeezing herself against the wall while Chloe fiddles around under the bed. After a short pause she pops back up with something metal held in her hands.
“Arty said you missed being in a cockpit.” Her voice is gentle as she stares down at the object in her hand. “This really helps me when I’m missing Drifter…Do you trust me?”
You look up at her in the dimly lit room, her expression is tough to read, her eyes starring deep into yours as they look for an answer. You nod. She continues to stare into you for a moment before smiling, her posture relaxing slightly as she does. She crawls forward, kneels down onto the bed, and pulls you up into a sitting position in front of her. Artemis grabs your hair and pulls it off the back of your neck as Chloe reaches around you. You feel the cold touch of metal on your upper back for a brief moment before there is a heavy “click” and you feel your neural ports fill up, causing you to gasp and flinch. For a brief moment expect to be connected to another mind...but nothing happens. Looking up at Chloe in confusion you see her move her hands around to the front of your neck and hear another “click” as more metal clasps around your neck.
Reaching up to investigate you find a collar wrapped around your neck. Confusion evaporates from your body as you recognise the design as an older form of neural spike, the collar designed to keep the ports connected during the intensity of piloting. Later models of both mechs and spikes evolved past the need for such a thing.
“It doesn't connect to anything unfortunately but, it helps me when I’m missing her. I know it isn’t the same as what you would have had but I hope it helps... at least a little.” Chloe speaks almost away from you, her voice shaking slightly.
“It feels…” you take a long moment to concentrate on the feeling, a feeling you’ve been desperately missing. “…It feels really nice”
“Good, then lets both of you get some sleep ok?” Artemis speaks for the first time in a while from behind you.
Strong arms wrap around your waist from behind you as Artemis pulls you under the blankets and firmly into a tight cuddle. Chloe fiddles around with a speaker for a brief moment before snuggling up into the front of you. Her hand resting on the back of your head as she gives you a few gentle pats. Muffled sounds begin to play out into the room, gentle and distant. It starts to envelop you, the loud engineering noises of a workshop dampened by the thick armour of a cockpit. The gentle breathing of the two sisters joins the symphony and for the first time in over a week sleep comes easy.
~~~
A shifting disturbs you, movement across from you drawing you to consciousness. You open your eyes and find yourself still in the dimly lit room. Your back pressed tightly into the warm body behind you and your face resting gently against the chest of the girl in front of you. Blood rushed to your face as you become more aware of the situation. You remember falling asleep pressed between the two sisters. You attempt to wriggle slightly but you are only met with the arms around your waist holding you tighter with a sleepy groan.
“Morning pilot.” A gentle whisper comes from above you.
You look up to see Chloe’s face smiling down at you, her hair a mess and her eyelids half open.
“Enjoying the view?” She says with a giggle.
Your face heats up even more in response. You want to hide but the two bodies pressed against you have you trapped, leaving you with one option. You push your face further into her chest in a desperate attempt to hide from her gaze. Her giggles intensify as you do, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt to not wake up her sister.
“Fuck you are adorable.” She whispers between laughter.
You let out a half groan half whimper. It is far too early in the morning to be experiencing such an onslaught. Her arms move to wrap you up further in her embrace, her form enveloping most of you. Her sister sleepily holding the rest of you.
“Chloe…” you mumble into her chest.
“Yea?”
“You and Artemis are close right?” You pull your head from her chest to meet her eyes.
She stares back at you for a moment, considering the question. “Well yea, we spent years with our thoughts in each others brains. Can’t get much closer than that.”
“Right...I-Uh, What is that like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well it just seems...I never really- I wasn’t like- I dont know, having a sister to look out for you seems really nice…” You barely manage to choke out the words, too embarrassed to meet her eyes.
She doesn't respond for a moment. Her eyes scan up and down your face. You begin to worry you said something wrong, the intense expression scrawled across her face difficult for you to read. After what feels like forever the look breaks and her lips curl into a smile.
“I could show you.” Her voice barely a whisper.
She shuffles closer towards you, a feat you thought would be impossible. Her face close enough to yours you can feel the heat on your cheeks. Her eyes again scanning your face.
“Do you trust me...sis?” Her hot breath brushes against your lips.
Her eyes pierce through you as you let out a shaky breath, your stomach feels like it’s being flipped around a million times. Her body is pressed against yours, the warmth is so inviting. The warmth surrounding you has you feeling as safe as 100 tons of armour used to, it feels like nothing can go wrong. You nod.
She closes the remaining distance between you in an instant. Her lips collide with yours hard, the softest attack you’ve ever felt. Her hand reaches up to cup your face and you feel a strange warmth spreading through your body. You don't know how long it’s been when she finally pulls away, a gentle whine chasing her lips as they leave.
“How was that?” She teases.
Feeling confident for the first time in weeks you close the distance again, clumsily pressing your lips against hers. The warmth of her embrace something you’re beginning to crave. A small moan vibrates against your lips catching you by surprise. Your second ever kiss proving to be even better than the first, even though you have no idea what you’re doing. Movement stirs behind you, the hands wrapped around your stomach grab you tighter as you feel hot breath on your neck.
“Mmmm baby, are you playing with our pilot without me?” Artemis speaks up from behind you, her voice groggy.
You freeze for a moment, unsure how to respond. Pulling back you look towards Chloe, a grin growing across her face as she props herself up on her elbow.
“Oh hi sis. Our little pilot here wanted to know what having a sister was like.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Artemis giggles. “And so you stuck your tongue down her throat huh?”
“Geez sis it’s not like she’s actually related to me.” Chloe's eyes roll as she speaks.
“Not like that would ever stop you, freak.”
Artemis pushes you flat onto the bed, her strong arms holding you down as she leans over and kisses her sister. The two of them making out above you while you’re pinned to the bed, each of them moaning gently into the others mouth. You’re transfixed, starring at the two of them above you as a deep blush grows across you. Your heart pumping faster and faster. Their kiss finally breaks leaving them both out of breath. Both of their attentions now turning towards you.
“Arty, I think our pilot is feeling left out.” Chloe’s says with an exaggerated pout.
“Aw I think you’re right.” Artemis giggles.
They both descend on you, a pair of lips meeting with yours. A much more aggressive kiss than the first few. More lips land at your neck causing you to moan into the tongue currently exploring your mouth. Legs start to straddle your hips, a hand grabbing your hair as your mouth is mapped of every detail. A second body pulls in close to your side, her hands wandering under the baggy shirt you’re still wearing. The warm touch of fingers across your bare skin causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach. A hand starts to dance at the edge of your panties, teasing the fabric. You have no idea whose hand belongs to who and you don’t care. Something deep is bubbling up inside you, a burning desire you can’t help but feed.
“P-please.” You manage to squeak out.
Lips slam back into you preventing you from saying anything else. The hands roaming your body climb up towards your chest, teasing circles being drawn around your tits. Another hand finally dips below the line of your panties and between your thighs. Your hips buck and shake in response, the mass of sensory inputs overwhelming your system. Your hands grip the sheets around you in an attempt to ground yourself, the attacks against you only getting more intense.
“She looks so pretty like this.” A voice reaches your ears, you can’t tell whose.
“Fuck sis we might just have to keep her.”
More words are said but it all becomes just noise to you. Every touch and kiss and bite and pinch just pushes you further away from composure. You buck your hips further into the hand between your legs, begging for more friction. The hands against your chest squeeze and pinch at your sensitive skin. A mouth planting rough kisses up your neck and across your jaw. The tongue dancing across your lips still conquering your mouth.
You feel a pressure building across your system. A feeling you’d only get after tearing apart an enemy with your claws. The pressure building as if you’re deploying countermeasures to perfectly counter an attack against you. You body vibrating like you just emptied a mag into an exposed cockpit. Noises you’d only make after tearing apart an entire squadron without a scratch on you. You feel stuck in a feedback look and nothing can save you, you’re burning up without a chance of being saved.
Teeth pierce the skin on your neck and a critical mass is reached. You tense and curl as something fires through you like plasma. Everything that had been building comes crashing down as you groan into the girl above you. A tidal wave of pleasure and agony coiling and crashing down upon you. Your body bucking wildly into the warm bodies holding you down.
Eventually the fire raging through you burns itself down into an ember. You take a breath for what feels like the first time in hours. You finally open your eyes again to see the sisters moving into more comfortable positions. Chloe pulls you towards her chest, her arms and legs wrapping you into a warm embrace. Artemis closes in from your front, closing the trap around you. Their hands gently caressing you as you come down from whatever was just done to you.
You smile and nuzzle your head as deep into the chest in front of you as you can. Tension that had been crushing you all but evaporated now as you feel the two bodies protecting you like armour. A gentle kiss is placed on your forehead and a voice vibrates through you.
“Rest up pilot, you’re safe here.”
You still don’t know what the future holds for you. You don’t know what you are or what you’ll do.
But right here right now, maybe you want to find out.
~~~
ko-fi
any support appreciated, especially nice comments <3
Summary: Life has battered & bruised you, so you aren’t expecting to find solace in a bar-regular, and yet you do.
Pairing: re4!Leon x bartender!reader
WC/Tags: 4,552 / one night stand, semi(?)strangers to lovers, p in v, heavy kissing, hand holding, talk of abuse, implied physical abuse, MDNI
A/N: I listened to FME by Ethel Cain when writing this. For day 18 of @juneofdoom ‘how long have you been like this?’ Comments & likes are always appreciated
His cheek is still tender.
The punch had come out of nowhere, some asshole that had heard about the ‘new special agent’, and wanted to make a statement. Of course. This isn’t the first time, and wouldn’t be the last. Doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
The beer he’s nursing is his third. Normally he doesn’t drink, but it’s the weekend which means he doesn’t have to wake up at four am the next day, that he can indulge in a hangover, so he plans on having probably a dozen and then stumbling back to base. It isn’t the best plan but it also isn’t the worst, and besides, it’s not like he has anything else.
Leon swallows the last of the bottle, placing it on the bar top before raising his hand. You had been expecting it, and walk over quickly, tilting your face. “Another?”
He nods once, sharp and quiet. His eyes are dull, not from alcohol yet, but something deeper. The bar’s dim light catches the faint bruise blooming along his jawline.
He doesn’t smile when you tilt your head. Doesn’t thank you either, just watches as you grab the next beer, twist off the cap with practiced ease, and slide it over. His fingers wrap around it, cold glass against calloused skin, and he brings it to his lips without hesitation this time.
Your cheek is also tender. You didn’t bother to cover it up with makeup, the swelling had already gone down and the bruising was light. The actual pain was more than skin deep, but that didn’t matter. That kind of bruise doesn’t show.
Rag in hand you wipe down the counters, toss away old coasters as Leon sips. You’ve seen him before, but this is the first time you’ve seen him stay, seen him drink. Normally he has a beer or two and leaves, but now his eyes bore into the wood of the counter like it holds the universal answer.
“Stare at it harder,” you jab, if for nothing but boredom. “Maybe it’ll speak to you.”
Leon blinks. His expression is flat, unamused. The kind of look that could freeze a man’s spine. A beat passes before he takes another sip from the beer bottle, longer this time.
He doesn’t respond with words, just sets the bottle down with a soft clink and finally looks at you properly: tired eyes scanning your face like he’s reading between the lines of the bruise on your cheekbone, how quickly you moved to refill his drink, how casually sharp your tone was despite it all being fake lightness.
His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. No comeback. Just silence heavy as lead in an empty bar after midnight.
You aren’t sure where the tension came from but it’s thick. Heavy. Your stomach flutters with that gnawing want to be ravished, to be held and maybe not squeezed so tightly; but your boyfriend, exboyfriend, doesn’t fuck like that and you aren’t sure if you really deserve that anyways. That kindness.
Leon finishes his bottle and asks for another in a quiet voice. You hand it to him, preparing to move on when his eyes move to your face.
“When do you get off?”
You blink at him, curious if he’s feeling the pull too. He looks lonely enough. “‘Bout an hour.”
He nods, the beer already at his mouth. “I can wait.”
“You making assumptions?” You ask, leaning a hand on your hip.
His expression cracks into a small smile, and it looks odd on his face. “Am I wrong?” Heat crawls up your neck and you look away, dropping the rag to the counter. The dirty bar floor suddenly looks very interesting. Leon chuckles and his beer clinks on the table. “Didn’t think so.”
The chuckle still hangs in the air as Leon leans back on the barstool. He’s not handsome in a flashy way; his face is all angles and shadows, with barely there stubble, but tiny smile makes him look younger. Softer.
He watches you avoid eye contact with quiet amusement before taking another sip of beer.
An hour isn’t long, but it feels like one when your pulse is hammering.
You grab a mop from behind the counter, not because you need to clean now, but because standing still feels too hard under his gaze. The clatter of metal against tile fills the silence while he sits there calm as ever: two bottles down, no sign of slurring or clumsiness yet, the man can hold his liquor better than most soldiers.
After a minute or so, he speaks again without looking up: “You got someone waiting for you?”
“Aside from you?” You reply, and shake your head. “No, not anymore.”
He doesn’t reply, and you go back to mopping.
When your shift ends, you empty out the trash and return inside to wash your hands. You can feel his eyes on you as you move, and you try not to look up, try not to imagine what it’ll feel like to have his eyes on your bare skin.
Closing the register, you return the key before spinning to look at him. You inhale, coming around the bar and approaching his right side. “Mine or yours?”
Leon stands like his back aches, which is odd considering he can’t even be in his 30s yet. The barstool scrapes against the floor as he pushes it back. He’s taller than you expected up close, broad-shouldered, solid like a soldier should be, but his movements are quiet.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of keys, military-issue keychain with dog tags clipped to it, and turns them once in his palm before looking at you.
“Yours,” he says simply. “I’m on base.”
His voice is assuring, like that settles everything. Like this is already decided and all that’s left is walking out together under the dim streetlights outside.
He pockets the keys again without another word, then holds out his hand toward you. You blink at it and consider him, consider yourself because what if he’s crazy? What if he’s harder than your ex, harsher? You aren’t sure if you can stomach that right now.
Taking his hand you lead Leon from the bar without protest. He nods to his car, and you get into the passenger seat as he turns it on. You give him directions, and he doesn’t speak as he drives, just obeys in a quiet manner.
When he pulls in front of your trailer, a good 10 miles from the military base, you get out first. Your cowgirl boots kick up dirt as you close the car door and fish your keys from your purse. Leon follows you, quiet as ever when you push open the trailer door.
The trailer is small, tidy in the way your shoes are lined up by the door, a coat hung neatly on a hook. There’s soft lighting from a single lamp, and faint music playing low on an old radio: something slow and nostalgic.
You kick off your boots near the entrance. Leon steps inside behind you after removing his jacket. He doesn’t take off his boots but pauses just inside to scan the space: no photos on walls, no cluttered surfaces. Just order.
He shuts the door gently behind him.
For someone who carries guns every day and has seen war zones firsthand, he moves like this moment matters more than most.
He isn’t rushing. No grabbing at you yet, not even when you turn to face him in that dim light wearing jeans and that thin sweater that hugs your shoulders just right.
“Live alone?” He asks and you nod.
“Yeah,” you reply. “It was my dads ‘til he left.”
“He coming back?”
You shrug. “That was a few years ago, so. Don’t think so.”
Leon nods, his eyes travel over you once, then meet yours again, dark blue meeting hurting loneliness, and finally, he reaches out for you.
His hands are warm.
Large, calloused from years of combat training and gripping rifles in the field, but his touch is careful. One hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone where that faint bruise still lingers. The other settles gently on your waist through the soft fabric of your sweater.
No words.
Just breathes between you growing heavier in the quiet space, then he leans down slowly and kisses you.
It’s not aggressive or hungry like most first kisses after tension like this would be. It’s soft at first, testing lips meeting yours once, twice, a third time with slightly more pressure as his mouth moves against yours with surprising tenderness.
Your hands find his belt and his moves to the hem of your shirt.
He doesn’t move exactly slow but he doesn’t move fast either, your clothing falling to the floor in pieces. Toeing off his shoes, he tugs at his jeans while you find a condom. You sit on the couch, a tattered red one your mother had stitched more times than you can count, and lean back, your head on the arm rest. Leon rips the wrapper with his teeth, sliding the rubber over his length and his hand dips between your legs, pressing over the only fabric left on you. You shiver at the touch, and he tilts his face, watching your reaction.
“The one that gave you that,” he asks, and nods at your face. “He still around?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
Leon grabs your panties and you lift your hips, helping him pull them down. “Good.”
You spread your legs further, one thigh pressed to the back of the couch and the other tipping over the side of it, foot planted on the ground as Leon leans over you, between your legs. With the condom on and the panties are gone, Leon hovers over you, kneeling between your thighs with that focused intensity he probably uses in his line of work, but now his attention is all on you.
He leans down first to kiss you again, deep this time, and one hand slides up your bare leg from ankle to hip while the other cups the soft skin of your breast.
No roughness, testing how you respond, mapping warmth and shivers like a man relearning tenderness after years of hardship.
His mouth trails lower, over your jaw and throat, to your collarbone, then slower as he kisses down your chest. His breath ghosts over sensitive flesh just before his lips finally brush where you want him, and then he’s kissing there too.
Your lips part as he licks at your nipple, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. His face tilts up to yours and a smile blinks across your mouth.
“The one who gave you that,” you nod at his bruise. “They still around?”
“Unfortunately.”
You make a tsking sound. “You should give em hell.”
Leon exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not completely. He doesn’t smile at your words like someone would if they were joking.
“Already did,” he mutters before lowering his mouth again, this time catching your nipple between his teeth gently, a small bite that makes you gasp, then soothing it with warm swipes of his tongue. His hands are busy now: one sliding down to grip your hip firmly while the other trails lower over your stomach and belly button.
The way he touches isn't rushed or frantic; every movement is controlled.
Like even in intimacy, Leon S. Kennedy operates with precision, a soldier who knows exactly how to handle something fragile without breaking it, unless ordered otherwise, and he seems very focused on not hurting you.
His head lifts and his mouth finds yours.
You find you like the way he tastes.
His hips are bracketed by your thighs, and your hands run down his chest as he positions himself at your entrance. You try to relax, try to keep still and not make a sound, but then he’s pressing in, filling you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes.
His eyes, half-lidded before, focused on your face, darken instantly. You aren’t sure you like that. He freezes just halfway in, letting you adjust to his size, jaw tight with restraint. You can feel the tension coiled through his shoulders and arms where they brace above you.
For a second he doesn’t move at all, slow inhales through his nose as if counting seconds or praying silently. He kisses you again, tongue swiping at your lip, and slowly pushes the rest of the way in until there’s no space left between you.
A low groan rumbles in his chest, quiet, like he didn’t mean to let it out. His forehead drops to yours as he stays buried inside you, giving your body time. His mouth moves with yours while his hips begin to rock forward in small increments. No urgency yet.
Each shallow thrust is testing friction, heat, and when another soft moan escapes your lips? He feels it against his own mouth and something shifts.
His hands tighten slightly on your hips before one slides up under the curve of your back for leverage, then he starts moving properly, deeper rolls of his pelvis now that match a steady rhythm.
“Shit,” he grunts, his pace picking up, and your nails dig into his upper shoulder. His thrusts are deep, full, and you let your head drop, eyes flutter before his face leans close to yours. “What do you need?”
His question catches you off guard, and you blink at him. “W-what?”
His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip. “How do you like it, so I can get you there?”
The question is unexpected, not because Leon isn’t capable of tenderness, but because men like him, tough guys, soldiers who’ve spent years in survival mode, they usually take what they want without asking.
But not him.
His thumb stills on your lip. His breathing is heavy now from the pace but his focus hasn’t wavered. Those blue eyes are sharp even as sweat starts to form at his temples.
He’s waiting for an answer, and you aren’t sure what to say.
“I-” you inhale, then grip his wrist and move his hand to your throat. A muscle in his jaw jumps and his hips slow to a roll, making your lashes flutter.
“That what you like,” he murmurs, and he’s so close his mouth brushes your as he speaks. “Or what he liked?”
The hand on your throat doesn’t squeeze. It just rests, warm palm against your pulse point, thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of it like he’s checking your heart rate.
He studies your face, the way you breathe faster now that his touch is gentle pressure instead of force, and then kisses you again slowly this time, a deep kiss with more feeling than friction.
When he pulls back slightly to watch for any sign, any hesitation or discomfort, he rolls his hips once more deliberately slow and asks again. “You want me to keep going?”
With shaking fingers you grab his wrist and pull his hand from your neck. He lets you instantly, and when you lace your fingers with his, you wonder if he’ll judge you, or ignore the intimacy of it completely.
He does neither.
Instead, with his fingers still intertwined with yours, he drags your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles before settling your joined hands back by your head.
Then, he fucks you.
His hips are sharp, quick, and you’re gasping as you clench around him, your fingers squeezing his while moans pour from your lips. He drops his head to the crook of your neck, grunting into your skin as his hips snap against you.
The change is sudden, gentle fingers to hard thrusts, his mouth on your neck now with hot open-mouthed kisses and the scrape of stubble against sensitive skin. His breathing is ragged in your ear as he fucks you with a rhythm that’s relentless but controlled, like every snap of his hips is measured to hit just right.
Your joined hands stay pinned beside your head, not trapped, just held there while he moves over you, all muscle and heat.
He doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. He’s too focused on chasing this feeling, the tightness around him when you clench involuntarily from pleasure, the way your moans vibrate into his shoulder where it rests against yours, how perfectly warm this trailer feels despite its sparse walls.
When you come it’s white hot and fast, your legs locking around his waist and your fingers squeezing his so tightly your nails dig into his skin.
Leon feels it the second you clench around him, the sudden, pulsing tightness that nearly stops his breath.
His hips stutter for half a beat before he groans in his throat, a raw sound muffled against your shoulder as your legs squeeze around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper. The pressure of your nails biting into his hand only fuels it, pain mixed with pleasure sharpening everything.
He doesn’t slow down but chases his release now, fucking through yours with deep thrusts that makes the couch creak beneath you. His jaw is clenched tight again, eyes shut or maybe just squeezed closed from intensity.
And then, he’s there too.
He moans, low and muffled and you can’t help but wrap an arm around his shoulder, holding him to you as his hips jerk, and then still. Both of you are panting hard as you loosen your vice grip on his hand, and gingerly he sits up, blinking down at you before pulling out of you completely.
The separation is quiet, careful.
He sits back on his heels between your legs, still catching his breath. The condom’s full now, and he handles it efficiently: knots the end and drops it onto the coffee table beside them with a soft thud. No shame or awkwardness in how he moves, just routine for a man used to cleaning up after himself.
Leon looks at you again, your flushed face, hair messy from being pressed into cushions, lips swollen from kissing.
Without speaking, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before leaning down to press one slow kiss against your forehead. The movement is so tender, so rare to what you’re used to that you nearly flinch, your breathing shaky.
Leon pulls back a little to watch your expression. “I- sorry. If that was too much.”
You blink up at him, surprised not just by the kiss, but by that. An apology, for a gentle touch
His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, like he genuinely thinks he might’ve overstepped some invisible line. And suddenly you realize this isn’t just about sex for him either. This was connection. The thing you’d been missing since you’d last been hit, something rare for someone like him who keeps people at arm’s length.
“No,” you say softly before reaching up to cup his face with both hands and pulling him down into another kiss, gentle this time, lingering on his lips as if to say it wasn’t too much.
He kisses you back, his hand on the back of your head, running over your hair until you both pull back and blink at eachother.
You thought you’d both been looking for one thing, a one night stand, when it seems you both were craving something else entirely.
He reaches down to hand you your shirt and you take it as he tugs his boxer back on. You excuse yourself, moving to the restroom and take inventory of yourself. Your eyes are rimmed but not so dark, and there’s the smallest hickey just below your collarbone. You touch it with your finger tip, twisting your lips.
When you come back into the living room, Leon’s mostly dressed aside from his shoes, leaning back against the couch cushions that he had just had you spread out on. You walk to your fridge, grabbing two beers and handing one to him wordlessly.
He takes the beer without a word, cracking it open with his teeth like before. He lifts it slightly in your direction, not quite a toast, more of an acknowledgment, then leans back against the cushions again. The trailer is quiet now, only the hum of the fridge and occasional creak from old wood settling.
He doesn’t look at you like he’s waiting to leave. Doesn’t check his watch or shift impatiently toward the door. Just sits there drinking quietly beside you on that red couch where not ten minutes ago everything had changed.
“You know when you took me home,” he says gently. “I didn’t realize how much I’d want to stay.”
You blink, tucking your legs beneath you as you sip your beer. You need a second to process that, to understand its meaning. “I didn’t know you’d want to either.”
He turns his head slightly, watching you over the rim of his beer bottle. The dim light catches the bruise on his jaw again, still there, still tender, but right now it feels less like a wound and more like part of him.
“Didn’t plan to,” he admits quietly. “Usually don’t stick around after. But this is… different.”
It’s not romantic phrasing or poetry from Leon S. Kennedy; no flowery words about your eyes or how soft your lips are, he expresses things in actions more than declarations anyway.
You smile and give a shrug. “Don’t know what you mean.”
You know exactly what he meant, but one of you has to be levelheaded. Neither of you can afford getting carried away.
Reaching for the remote, Leon flicks on the tv as if he’s been here before, like he has a history of touching your things, and sets back. You stretch your legs out, and your ankles rest on his thighs. Eyes on the tv, his unoccupied hand runs over your skin, to your feet, the chipped polish dull in the limited light, and begins to massage.
His fingers press into the arch of your foot with surprising gentleness for hands that snap necks and break ribs in combat. The massage isn’t rushed, a mix of steady circles, working out tension you didn’t even realize was there.
The TV plays some late-night infomercial about kitchen gadgets, neither of you watching it seriously. He takes another sip of beer before setting it down on the coffee table and refocusing on his task, caring for your feet like this is normal couple behavior.
There’s something unbearably intimate about it, the quiet domesticity after sex that could’ve just been a fling but clearly wasn't. His touch lingers over every callus and dry patch without judgment, and while his eyes are on the tv, your eyes are on him.
You wonder if you could really like him, could give this a chance. You wonder if he could really like you.
Settling your head back against the arm rest, you twist your neck so you can watch the flashing screen too.
You aren’t sure how long you both sit there, but eventually Leon pats your thigh, whispering that he has to go. You’re drowsy and content as you nod, sitting up before you stifle a yawn. You watch him tug on his boots, lacing them up and then he stands, eyeing you.
Leon isn’t a man who lingers, but now he’s standing by the door with his jacket on, one hand already on the knob; yet he doesn’t turn it yet. You move beside him, tucking your arms around your middle. “Well I.,.I’ll see you around?”
For a second, something unreadable flickers across his face. Then he’s bending to kiss you again, this time slow and deep like goodbye kisses should be when they might lead somewhere else later. When it ends, he brushes his thumb over your cheekbone once before pulling away completely.
“You will,” he says with a nod. He glances around your apartment and picks up a sharpie on your coffee table. He takes your hand and flips it, tugging the cap off with his teeth before writing down a number on your skin. “I mean that.”
He holds out the pen to you and then holds his hand upright, and you can’t help smiling a little as you write your number into his skin. “Thanks for the ride home. I hate walking.”
His palm is warm when you take it, and the sharpie smells faintly like ink as you write your number in neat digits across his skin. He watches you concentrate, your expression doesn’t go unnoticed, and when you finish, he gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling his back.
Leon hands you back the pen without a word and finally turns the doorknob. Cold night air slips in for just a second, but instead of stepping out immediately, he pauses on the threshold and looks over his shoulder at you, hair messy from lying down earlier, eyes soft with sleepiness but also something warmer beneath it all.
“Leon?” You aren’t sure what makes you stop him, what makes you call his name but he looks at you, waiting. You shift under his gaze. “How long have you been like this?”
He freezes, and you can see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His eyes flicker, that unreadable soldier mask slipping just enough to show the young man underneath.
“Like what?” he asks quietly, not turning fully back around but not walking away either. He’s giving you space to clarify without pressure. The night air hums between you, and you shift again, not knowing if you should ask.
“Alone,” you whisper. “How long have you been alone?”
Leon’s shoulders loosen a fraction, and he rubs at his jaw. When he sighs, it’s a quiet sound of defeat. “Since 1998.”
His face doesn’t change much, still composed and handsome, but something in his eyes dims when he says it out loud for what might be the first time ever to someone who actually listened, not just heard. He didn’t answer since my ex or since I joined the military.
No, he went back further than any of that. To before everything else had even started going wrong yet, when it all began, loneliness carved into him like scars from war zones nobody remembers but him.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re grabbing his hand, and squeezing it. Your bare feet are chilled on the steps of your trailer. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
His mouth is set in a line when his eyes meet yours, and they bounce over your face. “Neither do you.”
He squeezes your hand one more time before he lets go, moving down the steps in slow succession and stepping into his truck without another word. You fold your arms around your middle as you watch him reverse.
You aren’t sure how long you stand there, watching the road long after his car disappeared. Dragging your hand eye level you read the numbers written into your skin, before closing your fingers, and pressing your fist over your heart.
Rather than whumpee being quiet/respectful/demure around whumper and more “normal” around everyone else, this whumpee is formal and reserved, is quiet and exceeding polite, around everyone except whumper.
Only when whumper and whumpee are alone does whumpee show anger, show desperation and fear, reveal everything they hate about themselves because that is the side of them whumper wants to see, and whumper will hurt them until they get what they want.
Perhaps whumper even claims it's healthy. Whumpee shouldn't be so repressed all the time, they say. All that negative emotion needs an outlet, they say. Pain will do.
You said In the recent doodles Solar no like voice box repairs because he can't during them and then had that beautiful little pic above it.
I'm wondering if you have any scenarios planned out for that yet and if you have it planned enough to talk about it to us
~The Abuser AU ask~
Funnily enough, I started this comic just before this ask came in! What a fun little surprise that was <3
Quite a bit of a read, so I'll put a cut after the first page. Read under the cut if you're interested in the rest! :D
If you got this far, congrats! >:D Now I task thee with trying to figure out the bucket list of issues this dude has /verysilly
Also if the comic is clunky or there are any mistakes- nuh uh, this took a grand total of probably three or four full days to finish XD (my college assignments thanked me /j)
Edit: random thing I imagine- when his voicebox is booting up and he's adjusting it, he probably sounds like Sun during the first "zzz- aaaa -zz" before his voice pitches down to his own tone with the "aaaaa test test"
