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sombreboy · 4 years ago

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Expensive doll⇢jjk & pjm

[ masterlist ] Serves as an afterstory for our series Mused Obsession, but can be read on its own.

Written together with @chimoona as JM and @sombreboy as JK

Synopsis: In celebration of their one year anniversary, Jungkook dresses Jimin up in lingerie & makeup as his picture-perfect doll and ruins him in every way he desires.

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 15.7k ⇢Ch.warnings: Profanity, JM dressing in lingerie and wearing makeup, messy kissing, degrading petnames and dirtytalk, breathplay, bj, praise kink, JK's fetish for crybaby JM remains intact, body worship, foot fetish JK literally slorps JM's petite little foot and it is v erotic join us feet hoes, some biting, mentions of blood(from a sharp stiletto lol dw), ok hold up and stay w me here JK rides JM but he is in no way a bottom, this is some top ridin' stuff to drive Jm mad and let me tell you it works, then JK puts little JM back in his place where he belongs stuffed with dick, rough fucking, in fact its so rough that JM can't hold his pee im not even sorry-- it was hot, idk what else if you've read any of my stuff you should just kinda know what you're up for. xo

The chime of the security alarm strikes the quiet mansion as Jungkook shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes in a hurry. He hugs luxury shopping bags close to his chest, trembling with excitement. He'd been holding onto the bags at work to ensure Jimin didn't see them for days, which felt like months—especially today, to finally come home to his favorite person in the entire universe and spend their first official anniversary together.

It's been an entire year since Jimin proved his love and dedication to the photographer, and life couldn't be any better than it is now. They're unstoppable, thriving as the biggest names in the industry. With a lot of fame—a lot more on Jimin's end—comes a lot of work and less time together, except for when they manage to crawl into bed at the end of the day. So, Jeon Jungkook wanted to make tonight extra special. He'd missed having Jimin truly just for himself; not just as a boyfriend, but as a model and his muse.

"Baby, I'm home." Jungkook calls out as he eyes the rooms, listening to where Jimin could be. He knows the model had the day off, so the younger man had given him a little white lie—he wouldn’t be able to make it home early. Yet here he is, giddy like a child and ready to surprise his beloved butterfly.

"Come to me~" He adds cheerfully while walking towards the stairs, searching for Jimin when he hears the small thuds of his lover's light footsteps.

"K-kookie?" Jimin calls from their bedroom, rubbing his sleepy eyes after a long nap. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Jungkook arrive.

Thinking he had more time to get dressed and ready for their night together, he's caught, fresh from restful sleep, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and tight black briefs. The night was planned to a T...in Jimin's mind. A brand new suit hung in the walk-in closet, designed and tailored specifically for his body. He knows how the young photographer likes to ogle when the fabric of his pants hugs his plump cheeks daringly, almost too tight for a public setting.

But tonight, there will be no public outing. No distractions from the outside world, getting in the way of their time together.

As high-profile as the two men have grown over the last year, they've found it hard to take a leisurely night out on the town without being spotted by a fan of their work or an industry mate trying to cut into their fun. It's been a rollercoaster, but it's been the thrill of their lives. Even then, it's necessary to plan nights of relaxation and indulgence. So, Jimin set out candles and dipped ruby ripe strawberries in milk chocolate, planning a romantic night with just the two of them. He even chilled a bottle of overpriced champagne—a gift from Namjoon, hand-delivered for the happy couple. It was assumed that since Jungkook was working late, the ambiance of a well-kept home and a willing partner was all he wanted anyhow... Until, of course, Jimin glides down the stairs and spots his lover with armfuls of bags. Designer bags.

"Welcome h-ooome," he yawns, still finding his voice, "And happy anniversary, baby." He leans in and stands on his toes, pressing his body into the bags held at Jungkook's chest to give him a sweet kiss. "I missed you a lot...and I cleaned up too, but I guess I fell asleep at some point. I was going to get all pretty for you, so just pretend I'm dressed up right now."

“You’re gorgeous, baby.” Jungkook smiles into the kiss, returning it softly. He pulls back to drink in the fresh state Jimin is in. No makeup, barely dressed... It's like the visionary’s plans were fated to happen. “And this is perfect for what I have planned for you. A clean canvas, so to speak.” The young photographer adds as he hands over the bags to his lover. “Take off everything you’re wearing and put this on, nothing else. And bring the small bag with you to the studio.” He leans in closer to allow the hot breath of every spoken word to fan over Jimin’s cheek, whispering his next words. “I’ll be waiting for you. Okay? Now go.”

Accustomed to following the photographer's orders, Jimin doesn't waste a moment scurrying to the bathroom and peeling off his shirt on the way in. He kicks off his underwear and sits on the closed toilet seat to skim through the first bag's contents. The second he runs his hands over smooth silk ribbons and lace, his heart leaps out of his chest.

Lingerie. Women's lingerie, he notes internally as his fingers skim the fabric with a timid touch. It feels small in his hand, and he already knows it's not meant to cover much. Jungkook has always been an appreciator of visual art, and in the back of Jimin's mind, he always knew this moment would come. The female form can be voluptuous and sensual—soft to the touch and comforting when held close.

Without taking the lingerie out to inspect it closely, Jimin knows this look is made to illuminate his feminine traits—to hug the small of his waist and accentuate the curve of his hips, prominently displaying some of his lover's favorite parts with exaggerated flair.

As a former full-time model, Jimin doesn't think twice about indulging this new request from Jungkook. He's been half-naked in front of strangers in very scandalous clothing, it's only right he indulges his partner with the same courtesy, under his exact specifications.

He sets the smaller bag aside and removes the clothing, gasping at the bright red shade the younger man had chosen. It looks like fresh blood as he tugs it onto his small body—ribbons drip down his legs to capture the matching set of pure red stockings. When he slips them over his legs, they stop at the feet, hugging them tight and showing the delicate curve of his arches.

A slender garter belt cinches high around his waist and rests low on his hips, made of a thin weave of lace that opens up at the belly button to show off the cute dip of his tummy. Not even fully dressed, he feels pretty...desirable. With each new addition, he feels his confidence grow, matching the opulent fit his love has chosen for their special occasion. Jimin grasps the silk ties that dangle off the belt and loop them into the stockings, holding them tight against his body and matching the two pieces as one. He takes his time to billow the ties into eye-catching bows, adding more of a feminine flair to his long slender legs.

He opens another bag and clasps his hand over his mouth, pulling out an accompanying bralette, so fair and petite. It's soft on his skin. Everything feels so soft and erotic, like it was crafted to draw moans from his mouth before he's even touched by warm hands. The gentle graze of the lace over his nipples makes him bite his lower lip to push back building arousal. When he crosses his legs to finish clasping the bralette behind his back, he feels the rub of new lace against his cock, only drawing his attention to the fact that women's underwear does not provide enough room to hold him fully. If he gets harder, which he's certain he will, it will be impossible not to poke out and dribble over the rouge fabric.

Once Jimin empties the bags and slips every bit of clothing onto his body, he steps back to admire the full look. Even in the dim bathroom mirror, he finds every little bit of his form jaw-dropping as it's prettily wrapped in red. But no look is complete without a matching set of kitten heels, which he slips onto his red silken feet. He immediately notices how the added height accentuates his plump cheeks, out in the open, skimmed down the center with a cheeky thong.

"Woah..." The model takes a few strides across the bathroom floor to get a feel for the new footwear. A few clumsy trips over the tile to get started, but after a couple minutes, his confidence is through the roof. He can stride effortlessly and sway his hips in a subtle yet seductive manner.

"O-okay." He psyches himself up, licking his thick lips in a quick swipe while he drinks in a final look of his fit. He grabs the smallest bag, still unopened, and exits the bathroom to find Jungkook waiting for him in his personal studio.

Meanwhile, Jungkook just finished setting up the finishing touches to his studio and waited for the most important centerpiece of the night. His favorite camera sits on a tripod next to his large armchair, which is to be his spot to admire his creation. He presses record before he forgets to, and knowing how he will soon see his lover in the new lingerie, there'd be no time to think about whether or not the camera captures it all. What he didn't expect, however, was to find the fresh chocolate dipped strawberries, paired with a bottle of champagne. He immediately noted that this wasn't something he had in his own collection, so he figured this was Jimin's preparation for the night.

"So sweet to me, always.." Jungkook sighs dreamily when placing the strawberries and the bottle on the small table next to his chair as he takes his seat. His lover always finds little ways to show his affection; always considerate of Jungkook in everything he does. It's cute, and even if the elder man's plans might not be what he initially thought, Kook is sure that this will surpass anything he had in mind.

"He should be here soon..." He leans back in his seat, still wearing the suit he'd worn all day at work. His strong, tattooed fingers wrap around his tie and tug at it to loosen the fabric a bit. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt after discarding the suit jacket to let it be thrown on the floor behind the chair. His breathing slows down when he listens intently for the powerful sound of heels coming from the bedroom, echoing in the hallway. Although he knows what to expect, he still doesn't know just how it would look-- how his Jimin would pull off the look. The thick swallow in anticipation causes his adam's apple to bob, already excited as his heart beats harder in his chest.

Jimin bottles his nerves and clicks his heels with slow steps, echoing deliberately on the hard floor until he reaches the studio doorway.

"Don't laugh, okay?" He smirks at his own words, still hidden around the corner of the doorframe, knowing there's no way on earth Jungkook could find this fit humorous. "I'm coming in..."

One step forward, and he's basked in the low light of the photographer's setup. He swallows hard at the first sight of Jungkook, even when he's dressed the same as when he left him. The loosened tie captures his attention, and he swallows again at the thought of holding it while he glides his silken legs over his lover's lap to ride him roughly. The anticipation of what Jungkook has in store for Jimin is overwhelming.

Jimin gives the photographer a moment to gather himself before he walks forward, placing one heel in front of the other and sashaying his hips with each step. The camera blinks red to indicate it's recording, and Jimin doesn't let it distract his attention for a second. He moves in a slow weave, looking up at his partner under a tempting hooded gaze--long eyelashes beckoning him closer. When he reaches the center of the studio, he stops for further instruction, standing with confidence and poise.

"You chose well, baby. I love it." He gives a slow twirl, pivoting on his slim heel to show off the back, pausing to give the younger man a good look. "...do you like it?"

“I really like it.. I knew you’d look perfect in this.” Jungkook drinks in the entirety of his lover, his heavy gaze not leaving a single inch of the model's body unseen. The lingerie is perfect, covering just enough—but doesn’t hide anything. His hungry eyes travel down the blonde model’s back; from his slender back to his plump ass, not to mention how the posture from the heels make it stand out even more. “Did you bring the small bag?” He asks, beckoning Jimin to come closer with a wave of his hand, itching to feel his delicate body beneath his fingertips.

Jimin nods yes, stepping towards his lover. "I didn't peek, I was good." He says it in an innocent tone, as if he doesn't look like a goddamn succubus in fuck-me heels. A brilliant red strap of his bralette slips down his shoulder, which he takes his time slipping back into place. Even if he feels a bit out of place in this new look, he pulls it off with grace and seduction.

Jimin hands the bag to Jungkook. "I'm sure whatever it is, it'll make this moment even better." He kneels at the photographer's feet in a natural subservient position, resting his elbows on the man's thighs and peering up at him for further instruction.

"Yes." Jungkook says softly while taking the bag in his hands, giving Jimin an approving smile. While his face remains unbothered, the strain of his half erect cock proves that he's anything but. The visuals of the elder in such sinful fabrics drives him crazy, and eager to ruin them in every way he pleases. "You're such a good boy to me. Always trusting me with your everything."

Jungkook digs into the bag, pulling out a small, high end lipstick. He puts the bag to the side, grabbing Jimin's chin with his free hand while popping the lid off the lipstick with his thumb, leaning forward in his seat to get a proper look of his lover's bare face.

"Pout." He instructs, twirling the little stick to slide the blood red lipstick from hiding, bringing it close to Jimin's plump lips. When the blonde does as told, he gently swipes the crimson color onto the delicate skin of Jimin's lower lip. His cock throbs at how effortlessly it stains his pretty mouth, and he keeps adding more; layer after layer until he's satisfied with the deep, bloody red adorning one of many favorite features of his man.

"You look like a doll already, so pretty.." Jungkook sighs, a mixture of his adoration and sexual frustration building at the sight. But he's patient, and leans back a bit to inspect his work, moving his hold on the smaller man's jaw to rub his thumb over Jimin's lips, staining the pad of his finger in the process.

A moan presses passed Jimin’s pursed pout. All he’s ever wanted since he met the mysterious man is to be everything for him—there, at his feet, living to serve his deepest desires. To give a taste of his commitment to the role, he swipes his pierced tongue over the finger in a slow motion.

“I can see how hard you’re getting, Kookie...” He takes the thumb between his stained lips and circles his tongue around it, releasing with a light pop. “...seeing me like this, dressed in the underwear you chose...” He peers down at the slick thumb and admires the prominent stain—a perfect shade to match the rest of his ensemble. “...bet you’d love to admire every inch of your creation.” Jimin circles his tongue around the digit once more and pulls it into his mouth, humming his pleasure into the photographer’s skin. He brings a hand up to palm his lover’s stiffening length through unbuttoned pants.

"Mm, you know exactly what I like." Jungkook purrs, glancing down for a moment to watch Jimin's delicate hand touch his hard length, now prominent through the fabrics keeping it hidden. His gaze travels back to the model's face. Seeing Jimin's doe eyes look up at him with such submission, admiration... love. It drives the photographer mad with desire.

"There's so much I wanna do to you." He breathes out, his sentence ending with a quiet moan as he bucks up into Jimin's small palm. When his lust takes over, slowly and steadily, his impulses grow more reckless. "Or make you do, for me.." He adds before swiping his thumb over the lipstick once more, dragging the pad of his digit further past the corner of the model's mouth. A stripe smeared in red adorns Jimin's cheek like a small chelsea smile-effect. Jungkook's hand moves back down to wrap behind Jimin's neck, covering his nape with the warmth of his palm as he leans forward to draw his lover in for a messy kiss, aiding in the destruction of the pretty lipstick he'd just applied.

A red mess is created between the two, their lips coated with splashes of the color and the taste of chemicals mixing with their saliva. But Kook doesn't care—instead, he enjoys every second of it, forcing his tongue between Jimin's parted lips to claim his mouth.

"Look at you..." Jungkook murmurs when he pulls back, the thick string of saliva connecting their tongues breaking off when he speaks, watching it fall to stick to Jimin's chin. "Your makeup got ruined, what a shame.." The faux concern in his tone is evident in contrast to the pleased fire in his eyes. He takes the lipstick, grabbing the blonde's jaw a bit harder this time to reapply, not bothering to wipe off the already smeared makeup around the lips. "Baby... Take my dick out while I fix this, I'm aching."

Jimin pants, left breathless from the younger man's kiss. "Mm--ah...okay." His hand resumes gentle strokes over the clothed length, just feeling for a moment while he distracts his mind from his own growing erection. The press of his pink swollen cock head tests the integrity of the lace, making it bulge out noticeably. When his hand slips into Jungkook's pants to pet him bare, he can't bite back the whimpers of need that brush his partner's fingers.

"Y-you really are aching." Jimin's mouth salivates, murmuring the words to avoid messing up Jungkook's artwork. "Fuck...so big, baby." The blonde model uses one hand to tug down his lover's pants and underwear while the other maintains a languid pace over his silken skin. He takes a pause to bring his messy lips close, wetting Jungkook's shaft with an audible spit that dribbles down his chin. He's never been perfect at following instructions when arousal fogs his mind. At this moment, he needs to hear the slick sounds of cock in his hand. He needs to feel the warmth of blood pulsating under his touch, stiffening and dripping for more.

"May I taste you, sir?" He reverts back to his role, asking sweetly, nipping the bottom lip and smudging the lipstick even more. "Please."

“How can I refuse when you ask so sweetly?” Jungkook looks at his creation, already seeing the blonde mess up the lipstick with his spit and nipping of his lips. It both pleased him and annoyed him, but the heavy arousal weighing on him clouds his judgement and makes him more forgiving towards Jimin’s light disobedience. It’s to be expected, and seeing his lips messy and smeared with red while sucking his cock is all the photographer could think of, for now. “If that’s what my baby wants,” he sighs, reaching out to smudge the other end of the corner of the model's mouth, finishing the joker-like smile on his cheeks.

Kook leans back in his seat again, moving his hands to rest on his thighs. Kook’s gaze is focused on Jimin, drinking in every feature, observing every little movement. He zeroes in on his messy lips, and feels a moan scratching at the back of his throat at the sight. He can’t wait to see his lover turn into a broken mess, one step at a time.

“Suck it deeply.. take all of it. No teasing.”

To test the waters, Jimin gives a light swipe along the bottom of Jungkook's shaft, drawing his pink muscle up to the tip and swirling it around the leaking slit in tight circles.

"Mm, uhm—ahh..." Jimin becomes vocal, humming around the thick length as he pops it in and out of his plump lips, watching it twitch with delight each time he strips Jungkook of his building pleasure. Jungkook said not to tease, but the pretty little blonde craves to feel each shudder of arousal. Each touch from him is live-wired to the younger man, and Jimin feels powerful by causing it to happen. Plus, as an added perk, he knows the slow and drawn-out pace will cause more trouble for him in the long-run. And...what's life without a little pain? He anticipates it. He knows, as nicely as he's dressed, his partner can easily turn him into a crying mess without any regard for the flashy fine clothing. No amount of silk and lace can conceal his inner need to be lovingly destroyed.

With a lasting swipe of his hot tongue across the ridge of Jungkook's tip, Jimin pops it into between his rouge lips, already smearing a bit of the lipstick over the smooth skin. He bobs his head to wet the throbbing cock, spilling his saliva down the length of it with little to no regard for the mess it creates. He knows, better than anyone, the messier he is, the better.

"Ah, mmh—I told you, no teasing..." Jungkook huffs with furrowed brows, focused on how well Jimin takes his girthy length all the way, dragging his tongue against the smooth skin, watching himself get covered in saliva and faint marks of the lipstick.

"Always making it difficult for me, looking so sweet and innocent..." Jungkook licks his lips at the sight of the elder's messy mouth, makeup smearing past his lips and drooling down his chin onto his length. He's sucked the photographer's cock countless times, so he knows exactly how to do it, and his gag reflex had become close to nonexistent. But, that doesn't mean it's not there, one just has to use a bit of force. "But you're anything but innocent, aren't you? Sucking me off like a cockhungry whore." The photographer bites back a moan, unable to keep his hands off of Jimin for too long before he's already weaving his fingers through his lover's blonde curls to get a good grip. He's gentle at first, just feeling the motion of Jimin's head bob up and down his length, wet sounds and whiny, muffled moans filling the room as no other sound is audible inside the isolated space.

"So be it. If you want my cock that badly, then keep sucking." Jungkook tugs at Jimin's hair, forcing his head to move harder and faster. His generous length makes space in the model's delicate throat, forcing the continuous pool of drool to seep from Jimin's mouth to add to the mess, not allowing him to get off to breathe except from his nose.

Jimin crosses his ankles and rests his bare butt on top of the heels. They clack together as he bends forward and bobs his head steadily, opening up his throat to feel Jungkook's wet tip guide the way. Inch by fleshy inch, his lover's cock fills the space within him. It causes his own cock to peek out of the slim red lace and poke Jimin's abdomen as he bends deep. The blonde swallows around Jungkook's fat cock and holds still, warming it as deep as he can possibly bear, forcing himself to wait until he feels lightheaded.

When his lungs burn for breath, he withdraws slowly, tonguing the prominent veins that bulge along his lover's shaft. "Mmf...g-ah—ack!" He chokes on the last couple inches and holds his small palms in the inner curve of Jungkook's thighs for balance. "...Mine. All mine...tastes so yummy," he emphasizes, swiping a bead of precum directly from the leaking slit. Lost in his own little world, feeling pretty yet needy for friction, he wraps a hand around the shaft and strokes it up and down quickly.

" I-I'm your whore, sir." He looks the part—plump lips and cheeks stained with red, stringing long strands of his spit to the younger's twitching head. To the outside world, he's nothing but the most well-kept, straight-laced individual. Here? He lets go entirely, making his body available for use without a care of how someone else perceives him. The only opinion that matters is the man before him.

Jimin looks down and notices a strap of his bralette had fallen down, only matching his role of sultry temptress...quickly morphing to messy slut. He purposefully lets the other strap fall, looking up at Jungkook with beckoning lashes.

"Am I doing well?"

"Mm.. Could do better." Jungkook lies, towering over Jimin's small frame on the floor. His long, raven curls fall forward, framing his sharp features. Being in this position, seeing everything from above, makes him feel so utterly powerful. And Jimin's big, glossy eyes meeting his own only adds to the fire that awakens every single hormone in his body.

In reality, Jimin is doing well. In fact, he's doing an amazing job at driving the photographer mad. His cock twitches delightfully in the model's hands, his abdomen tightening in excitement and heart fluttering beneath his heaving ribcage.

"A job well done isn't without your pretty tears, baby." Jungkook says softly, taking deep breaths to keep his voice from wavering too much in pleasure. He strokes his fingers through his lover's bright, silky curls, coaxing him to take him back into his mouth. "Choke on it, but don't make me cum... Just enough to make your eyes sparkle for me."

Jimin chokes on nothing but a quick gasp. "O-of course." He shrinks under Jungkook's commanding gaze and rubs his thighs together, wishing he had permission to adjust his now fully erect cock. To solidify his subservience, on top of his now glassy eyes, he takes another step and clasps his hands behind his back. No ties or cuffs are necessary, although he'd enjoy being bound tight and abused for being a tease—it was the plan all along.

"I love you," he whispers, swallowing down a fresh wave of emotion and looking up to let Jungkook admire the first tear roll down his cheek. The wet droplet catches the makeup and slips off his chin to seep into his bright red lingerie. Jimin holds eye contact and sticks out his tongue, showing off the pretty piece of jewelry at the center, right where Jungkook placed it nearly a year ago. He gives a couple testing kitten licks, then hovers his pout over the tip, plunging the full length down his throat without a testing suck. No more teasing, he tells himself, gagging around the fat cock.

Just as Jungkook demanded, Jimin strips himself of breath until he's crying for relief. Hands still clasped tight and out of the way, he's given himself no way of escape, showing his true resilience and commitment to the task he's given.

“Oh, my Jimin..” Jungkook sighs in pleasure, watching how his hefty length disappears into the welcoming warmth of his lover's throat. The flesh contracts around him when the model gags, squeezing tightly to draw more low moans and grunts from the photographer. “You’re doing so well now.” He praises, brushing his thumb beneath Jimin’s eye to catch a few tears. He’s convinced that although there’s a million types of makeup to make one look perfect, Jimin looks his prettiest when his skin is glowing from the shine of his tears. The way his submissive stare from below is sparkling like little stars, just for Jeon Jungkook. The way Jimin will endure anything to please.

“Nobody is prettier than you.” Jungkook bites his lower lip at the sight below, and grows impatient. He keeps a tight grip on his lover's hair, cock deeply buried in his throat while he stands up from his seat. “Nobody could ever compare to you, butterfly.” He hisses, feeling the heat of his words creep onto his cheeks while meeting the elders glossy eyes. He withdraws his hips slowly, only to thrust forward and lodge the head of his jeweled cock as deep as possible. He sighs, lip quivering at his lover's compliance. It’s too exciting, his body is practically shaking with itching, aggressive longing to destroy Jimin further. Patience, he reminds himself. It is their special night, so he wants to ensure Jimin feels like the most desired human in the universe.

The warming praise gives Jimin the courage he needs to slide his lips up the rigid length, gliding his wet ribbed tongue in gentle sweeps. His throat burns from the intrusion, yet, it's a familiar sensation and it does very little to detract him from bobbing his head and building up the photographer until he's at his brink. Slick, slobbery sucks and the occasional gag and gasp for breath becomes the playlist of their evening. Even the model becomes affected by his own desperate sounds. He wiggles his plump butt in a subtle motion to take his attention off the desire pulsing in his veins. He sucks and tongues, staring up at Jungkook until his vision blurs with a wave of new tears. Jimin rests back on his heels to catch his breath, letting the throbbing cock flop out of his mouth and into his hand, holding it firm and continuing to bring his lover close to the edge without immediate relief.

"Fuck me." The second the words leave his swollen lipstick-smeared lips is the moment he cracks, just a little. Hot tears fall down Jimin's cheeks--hand stroking the soaked length until he's trembling to be touched. "I n-need you, Kookie."

Within what seems like a split second, Jungkook dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Jimin; framing his small face in his large palms to draw him in for a messy kiss. He can taste everything-- the mixture of lipstick and saliva, sullied with the taste of his own cock lingering on the model's tongue. But the highlight of it all is the salty topping of Jimin's tears, a clear result of his effort and submission that he worked himself so hard that his body rejected it-- and yet endured to fulfill the photographer's desires.

"Haah, you need me?" Jungkook chuckles when he pulls back from the heated kiss, lingering close to softly press his lips over Jimin's damp cheeks. His own are stained with a faint red, transferred from the elder's pillowy ones.

"Sure you're not tired of this cock?" He smiles as he continues to kiss away Jimin's tears, tongue poking out to lick his cheek as his hot breath fans his face. While he does so, his hands let go of Jimin's face to smooth down his slender form, snaking behind his back until they settle on his ass, mercilessly squeezing the flesh between his fingers. "After you got a taste of Joonie, maybe I won't be enough?" Jungkook's wolfish smile doesn't falter, knowing this will tug at his lover's heartstrings. His kisses travel south, leaving red sucks and bites to blossom on the model's fair skin in it's path down to find a spot by his collarbone where he sucks harshly, certain that it'll leave a possessive mark behind.

"Joonie?" The tears on Jimin's cheeks glisten under the studio lights. His quivering bottom lip juts out in a pout as he naturally leans into the breath of Jungkook's suckles. The hot, tongued, needy markings become painful. Jimin huffs out a low moan. "Hyung was big...but he doesn't taste like you...fuck--" He takes Jungkook's face between his hands and returns the kiss, mashing their lips together messily, parting his mouth and giving him a longing taste of what he desires most. The model draws back slowly, making sure thin strands of their combined saliva string between their tongues, obvious for his lover to admire.

"You're more than enough..." Jimin whispers, letting a hand drop back to Jungkook's swollen cock, still dripping wet with his spit and precum. "I only beg for you, baby. I only want you...playing with me...fucking me...using me until I c-cry." He scoots forward and lets the length drop from his hand, then lifts his knees to straddle the photographer's lap on the floor. While the move may be a little too desperate, he doesn't have a single shred of care in his small body. He aches to feel his love's large hands tug at the lingerie, to feel the way his dripping cock strains against the material, and how it hugs his tense thighs. More than anything, he wants to rock his plump cheeks over Jungkook's shaft, until he's shaking to rip off every bit of red satin and lace from his skin. Jimin pleas in a cracked voice. "Will you make me cry, Kookie?"

"How can you say it so sweetly, as if you aren't crying already..." Jungkook admires the disheveled man before him, lips swollen and messy with smeared makeup. The loose bands of the bralette hang down Jimin's small biceps, adding to the vision in the photographer's mind. "You know how I love it when you beg like this." The younger's strained voice breaks into a low, needy growl when aggression fuels his sadistic desires to go further. Jimin knows this is just one of his ways to show his affection, this is how he's always been, and will continue to always be. Jungkook's greedy hands knead at the flesh of Jimin's ass, nails scraping the fabrics of the lingerie, tugging so harshly that it struggles to not break in his grasp. He spreads the model's ass, keeping the lingerie in the way of his tight entrance as his rigid length rubs against it.

"I don't want you to cry..." Jungkook presses Jimin's ass down, rubbing his cock between the soft cheeks of the model's ass. He looks at his face, never wavering the intense eye contact he initiates while one hand withdraws from it's hold to scavenge the floor next to him, grabbing the opened lipstick. He leans forward, one arm snaking around Jimin's small waist to keep him in place, thick length snugly pressed beneath the blonde's weight while the other hand resumes to add another layer of lipstick, fixing the mess without cleaning up what's been smeared. "I want you to scream so loud that you cannot make a single sound," He smiles, pressing the lipstick harder against his lips, adding a second layer, watching the product crumble a little. "I want you to choke on your own cries, because you can't think of anything else but me."

One last swipe, and Jungkook moves on to draw a little heart in the middle of Jimin's chest, filling it in meticulously. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in focus, before he finishes and looks back up at the elder. "Now..." He sighs, feeling the painful aching when his cock throbs against the damp lingerie separating himself from being inside of Jimin. He nudges his chin in the direction behind him towards the armchair. "Get up."

The soft pink curve of Jungkook’s lips tempts Jimin to lean in and sully his fair skin with the clumpy lipstick. But he refrains, because he trusts the vision of his photographer—always. He looks like sin—dressed as an upscale whore, made a hot mess by the various layers of makeup applied between spit-slicked kisses and mouth fucking. He would have never chosen this look for himself, and that’s part of the thrill. It’s fresh and exciting, knowing only he can fulfill this erotic vision; being the only muse fit for the occasion, or any other.

“Yes, sir.” Jimin stands to his feet, a little wobbly as he adjusts to the height of the heels. The chair feels miles away the farther the small model steps away from his partner. Yet, the mystery of what could come next makes his heart thunder in his chest. He rubs his lips together to smooth the luxe lipstick, rubbing beyond his natural lines to make his pillowy plush pout look even fuller. Jimin sits on the chair, prim and proper with his legs crossed, pointing the tip of a slim heel in Jungkook’s direction.

“How would you like me?” He asks innocently in a sweet tone, as if he isn’t dressed in women’s lingerie, practically dripping with precum, hard cock straining against the lace.

“Like that, just like that...'' Jungkook stares up from his position on the floor, crawling forward on all fours like a predator slowly approaching it's prey. A new spark of various emotions swirl in his gaze, ranging from admiration and affection-- drowning in the crazed hunger that seeps through his blown out pupils. Having the Park Jimin looking like a hot mess made his cock stir painfully as he tucked himself back in his underwear, leaving the pants undone. It wasn't his turn yet, and as they both know-- the reward of patience will be immensely satisfying.

"Can you imagine if anybody else saw you like this? Every media source would explode, the internet would be on fire." Jungkook sighs dreamily from the mere thought of it. What makes it so good, is the fact that he remains the only person... Well, out of two, in the world to see the famous model and designer turn into a submissive plaything. "You'd lose everything... And for what? To please me?" Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling in a mocking manner as if it's unbelievable that Jimin would go such daring lengths of risking everything, time and time again, just to keep Jeon Jungkook happy.

Just to be his whore.

"And that is why I love you... You know exactly how I like you." The photographer says softly. His gaze drinks up the view above him, from Jimin's messy pout, down his clammy, heaving chest, to his crossed thighs hiding the pretty little cock that is most definitely screaming for relief.

"A needy whore. A compliant whore." Jungkook murmurs to himself when his gaze finds the heel pointing at him. His hands greedily reach out to grab Jimin's delicate ankle, kissing and biting at the stockings covering his soft skin. His free hand grabs the shoe, slowly sliding it off to place it on the floor with unexpected care. He looks up at the blonde again, his dark stare softening at the small gasps continuously pushing past Jimin's swollen lips. Kook kisses travel further down, his own breaths becoming heavy and shaky at how feminine Jimin's small foot looks, covered with the see through fabrics, holding it in his hand like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen.

"A doll." He smiles, closing his eyes when he indulges, flattening his tongue to lick a long, slow, stripe from Jimin's heel to his toe.

“S-shit...” The wet pink muscle tickles Jimin’s sensitive arch, but the pressure of it makes it more enjoyable than he anticipated. Every square inch of his body has been worshipped, marked, pleasured, pained, and all the rest of it—every sensation imaginable, Jungkook has inflicted it with purpose. Even as he pleases his own carnal impulses, he dangles new kinks in the model’s face, tempting him to grasp them tight.

“What are you—“ He knew the second he slipped on those tantalizing stilettos that there was a greater plan in store. The dagger-sharp, pointed heels could easily be used as weapons. After a year with Jungkook, he’s learned how much weaponry and danger makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Jimin moans delicately.

“Do you like my feet, puppy?” The glide of Jungkook’s tongue can be felt through the sheer fabric, seeping the moisture of his spit down to the skin. “Want to taste more?” Sitting on his makeshift throne makes him feel power and strength. He’s well aware that in a heartbeat he can be rag-dolled in any position the younger man desires, but he’s placed in a position of command with his partner at his feet. So he lifts his other foot off the floor and places the sharp point of his shoe onto Jungkook’s thigh, digging it into the muscle just a bit. “Tear the stockings, please.” Jimin’s voice shakes. “R-ruin them. Take it off, with your teeth.”

Jungkook's grasp around Jimin's ankle tightens when he feels the pointy heel dig into his thigh, drawing a low moan from deep within his chest. He gazes up at Jimin through his dark lashes, crooking an eyebrow.

"What was that?" his wicked smile is hiding behind Jimin's foot, which he kisses the sole of between his words. "I thought I heard the doll speak, I must be mad..." Jungkook purposely put Jimin in this position, knowing exactly how it'd make him feel to see the photographer on his knees. The bratty side to the model always knew how to spur-- or in this case, literally step on his nerves to get what he wants. It all serves to the buildup of a bigger purpose; the more riled up Jungkook becomes, the harder Jimin gets fucked. And he knows it too well. Just how long it'll take before he gets what he wants, is the big question.

He looks up at his hot mess of a lover again, saying nothing as he silently obeys his wish when he bites down on the fabrics, carelessly dragging his teeth against the fair skin as he does so. He pulls back, ripping the expensive material off like a kid that's too excited on Christmas to care about whether the wrapping paper is torn to shreds. He nips at the broken fabrics, slowly sliding it off from his lower leg and down to slip it off his foot, audibly spitting it out from his mouth to lunge back in. His hands withdraw to settle on the other leg, still covered and dressed with the heel that so deliciously stings into his muscular thigh. He strokes it gently, so carefully it must tickle more than anything, while wrapping his plush, lipstick stained lips around Jimin's toe, sucking and tonguing it shamelessly with low hums in satisfaction and hot breaths through his nose.

It is overwhelming to even think about the erotic visuals he's capturing on camera, so much that his cheeks flush with heat, and his thick bulge twitches with every little stroke of his tongue that snakes around and in-between the model's petite toes.

"Gah--fucking...shit--ah!" Jimin chokes on a whine as his first digit slips into Jungkook's hot mouth. Each delicate nerve ending sparks to life and ripples tingly pleasurable goosebumps up his legs. He clamps his thighs shut and adjusts the heel, scraping into the fabric of his pants, testing the limit of Jungkook's flesh. Mind over matter, the small male wriggles his butt in his seat, internally battling the conflicting tickly sensations vs his overbearing arousal. With just a single toe suckled between his favorite pair of messy lips, his mind numbs and his limbs tense to claw for leverage. Feeling this, and seeing it happen--admiring the way Jungkook's long lashes close gently as he indulges in the moment. Jimin grips the chair arms in both hands and tears his sharp nails into the upholstery. Jimin mewls, straining to keep quiet, allowing his partner to focus on his indulgence.

“Mm--ah, ah, god..." He closes his eyes and simply feels the movement of the wet muscle, licking between his toes, around them, sucking them into his mouth, until they're glistening in his saliva. "M-more--more..." he whispers, slapping a hand over his begging lips. He broke the stocking, slid it off of him with his teeth without any regard to the price or quality of the fabric. No moment of hesitation to argue against the command or counter with something more enjoyable for both of them. Spoiled, is the word Jimin thinks of...he's pampered in this position, given exactly what he needs, like a prized porcelain doll.

"M-mooore," he whines from behind his hand, biting hard into the soft skin between his pointer finger and thumb, muffling the garbled sounds and using pressure to distract. His eyes seek the recording camera before letting a tear slide down his ruddy cheek, swiping his small tongue over his rouge pout and swallowing hard. "Baby, f-feels--mmf...so good. Looks so pretty..."

With a wet pop, Jungkook withdraws his lips from Jimin's cleaned up toes. His eyes open slowly as he does so, looking up at the overwhelmed man above, shaking with his arousal and inner battle to stay still and receiving the reward. Who the reward is for remains a mystery.

"So greedy... Didn't know you loved having your filthy toes sucked so much." He hums, glancing down at the wet patch of precum staining his underwear, a clear result of just how much he enjoys it as well. "What else do you want?"

Jungkook doesn't look at Jimin while asking, but keeps his attention on the slender legs in front of him. He grabs the model's ankle, uncrossing his legs to spread them wide, scuffing closer between to where he can access and lean his cheek against Jimin's inner thigh, so close but so far away from the aching, pretty cock that's barely covered by the soft lace.

"You're really digging that heel into my leg, baby... Ouch..." He sighs, feeling his length throb with every movement that twists the heel into his flesh. He purposely chose sharp heels, feeling his mixture of bad temper, impatience and lust fill him with every hot breath pushing past his lips. He snakes a hand down between his legs, slipping past the waistband of his boxers to squeeze his cock tightly, staring up at Jimin with doe puppy eyes, rubbing his cheek against the clammy skin of the blonde's thigh. "It hurts, hmm.. Ah.." He closes his eyes again, kissing the skin softly, seemingly gentle-- until his lips curl into a small smile, parting his teeth only to bite down on Jimin's flesh, leaving a possessive mark behind.

Jimin's nails tear away from the upholstery and grasp Jungkook by the roots.

"Sss--ow, fuuck." The fresh mark lays very close to the tattoo on his thigh, still brilliantly colorful with dark shading, like he got it weeks prior. A bruise begins to bloom between the embedded dips where Jungkook's teeth sunk in. It's hot and tender and ignites the rest of his skin to an even coat of blush. Without noticing, Jimin drags his heel down gradually, brought to attention when it clacks onto the floor in front of Jungkook's knelt frame...Tempting…

"Oh, baby. It hurts, huh?" Jimin coos as his fingers naturally soothe the sensitive skin of his lover's scalp. He notices a new hole in Jungkook's pants where his heel punctured through, straight down to the skin. On the fine tip of the heel is a subtle patch of blood where he scraped a little too roughly. "Poor puppy..."

It's a rare occasion to have the photographer in such a submissive state, but he seems to enjoy it more and more once Jimin inflicts a little pain. So that's exactly what the model does, to give back the pleasure and revel in the pristine imagery of his lover on bent knees to please. "Lick it," Jimin says in a quiet voice, bringing his heel to his partner's lips. He clears his throat and states it again, louder and with confidence, wrapping his other leg over Jungkook's shoulder and pulling him closer to the sharp point. "Just like you did my toes, clean this pretty heel."

"Mm? That's what you want..." Jungkook squeezes his cock tighter, blocking the blood flow until he feels his pulse thunder through the swollen tip. He tilts his head to the side slightly, giving Jimin a good view of the way he leans in and opens his mouth wide. His tongue snakes around the sharp heel, scooping up the droplet of his own blood to coat his wet muscle in a thin layer of red. His raised eyebrows serve as a silent question of whether or not he is doing it right... And by the way Jimin's big eyes are quivering as they meet his own, he's more than certain of the answer.

Jungkook hums lowly, a deep moan caught in his throat when he tugs the waistband down to set his cock free from hiding once more, openly massaging his slick length to the way he keeps licking the heel, from the sharpness to the sole, a flattened tongue dragging up like a dog lapping up their favorite meal.

"That's g-good...so good." Any mortal man would go cross eyed from the sinful sight. Jimin is made tougher than most, strong from being with Jungkook, but he's easily bent and broken from the simplest sights. Anything from the younger man melts the model's mind to horny mush--trying on a new pair of Versace shades, or hitting a high score on Overwatch, or sloppily sipping a bananamilk until the container runs dry. This visual, however...is quite complex. The blonde sweats lightly, swallowing tight and combing his fingers through Jungkook's shaggy raven locks, getting lost in the action. He isn't even directly touched, and yet, he feels electric shock waves of pleasure from simply watching Jungkook thumb over his dripping cock head and lap the razor sharp edge of his stiletto.

"Keep touching yourself," he whimpers, gaze hungrily following the younger man's slippery pink tongue slide over the last unsullied strip of heel. "A-and...gah...don't cum." Jimin wrenches his eyes shut and moves his other hand down to touch himself too. His hand grips his needy length tight through the sheer fabric and he bucks upward to chase the friction. In the process, he jolts the heel between his love's lips and gives the plump bottom pout a swift cut. "Shit, puppy, I-I'm..."

Jungkook grunts, flinching slightly from the unexpected. He looks down, seeing as blood drips from his lip to the floor into a growing puddle, deep enough to give a burning sensation in his delicate skin. Deep enough to fuel his various emotions..

"You got too greedy." He mumbles, not bothering to wipe it off as it creates a red string of liquid running down his chin when he looks up at Jimin. His doe eyes fade into the familiar dark stare that the model knows too well. Jungkook could only hold his faux submission for so long, his generosity for the night of giving Jimin the sense of power running out quickly.

"But you just can't control yourself, can you?" Jungkook gets up on his feet, placing his hands on the armrests while towering close over Jimin, face inches away from the mess of a man. "What am I gonna do with such a slut... Getting so excited you can't even sit still in a fuckin' chair." He hisses, swiping up the blood on his lip with his tongue, mixing it with his spit. He grabs Jimin's jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open, tilting his little head back while he hovers over him. "Guess you'll just have to reap what you sow, little whore." He murmurs against Jimin's lips before he parts his own, letting the bloody mixture of his saliva drip into Jimin's lips, seeping into his mouth. He keeps a tight grip on the model, not letting him move or reject the offer the photographer gives him. Kook shimmies out of his pants while he does so, slowly climbing on top to straddle Jimin's lap, caging his small frame onto the chair.

The model nods rapidly, brushing the bloody mixture between their painted lips.

"I'll take it all." A string of Jungkook's red saliva trails between their parted mouths as Jimin arches up and steals a couple desperate kisses. "Anything you want to do t-to me." Whether he believes his own words or not is a big mystery. When he says anything, he forgets just how unpredictable and harsh his love can be when provoked. But in the moment, it feels right, especially when the heat of Jungkook's bare cock is felt so close to where he wants it most.

Jimin reaches his arms around Jungkook's torso, feels the muscles of his back tense and release while he finds his footing. He breathes in through his nose to smell the gentle cologne and musk of the photographer, and the very faint but nostalgic and calming scent of his shampoo. Jimin flicks out his tongue and tastes the rust that lingers atop the lipstick, closes his teary eyes to center himself before the pain takes hold. Perhaps there will be humiliation, or both, simultaneously.

"Anything, huh..." Jungkook looks at Jimin through mischievous eyes. His cock lays heavy against the model's clammy stomach, twitching at the new idea running through his mind. Normally, this is not something he would desire.. But this is a special occasion, and the action would fit the punishment and sate the unusual urges coaxing him to do what he does next. Jungkook leans in to kiss Jimin, keeping one palm on his lover's messy cheek. Jimin's lipstick moistens up, once again staining the photographer's mouth in their hot kiss-- a distraction from the way his other hand snakes behind him when he lifts his hips up, grabbing the elder's aching cock. He doesn't do much to prepare more than spread the slick precum along Jimin's length before guiding the swollen tip to his ass, stopping when he slowly sinks down on it until just the head slips in, drawing a hot gasp to push past his lips.

"Do not move." Jungkook whispers, kissing down the blonde's jaw to his neck, taking a few deep breaths as he sinks down further until Jimin's entire length is buried inside. Kook stays still for merely seconds, not allowing himself to adjust properly before he heaves himself up halfway, only to fall back down. The sound of his plump ass flattening against Jimin's thighs mixes in with the quiet grunts in pain and pleasure coming from him. It isn't his favorite thing to do-- preferably on the giving end, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy feeling Jimin writhe beneath him in various ways. Supposedly, Jungkook remains on the giving end, whether it's his cock or his ass that is the gift.

"Mmh, 's tight... Right?" He settles his hands on Jimin's chest, tilting his head to the side as he sits up straight to watch the man below from his higher view. His hips show less mercy as he gets used to it, finding a slow rhythm, "And your cock isn't even that big..." he shakes his head, feeling the heat on his cheeks in the form of a lustful blush when he finds an angle that brushes his prostate, grinding his ass down to chase that feeling over and over. "Just shows how much of a cockwhore you are for being able to take one as big as mine, ah shit.."

Jimin's sweaty palms clamor over Jungkook's back and move down to grip him hard at the hips. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his small body is engulfed by lean muscle and a hot grip around his cock. "Kookie, you--" This is the last thing he expected to happen--watching helplessly and breathing labored breaths as Jungkook's taut rim rides him rough. The sensation is more than expected, and much more than he remembers. "I can't, baby, it's too...much--fuck--" Nails pierce slicked skin as Jimin thrusts up to chase the hot clenching hole. Each time Jungkook pulls up, he whimpers at the loss and uses his wavering strength to pull him back down with an audible smack. The weight of the photographer is much more than he can bear, but he digs his heel into the ground to hold what little balance he has left, so hard he's sure the pin-point could snap at any moment. "So tight...around my cock...hahhh." Jimin's breaths grow weaker and thinner, gradually winded from the smack, smacking against his reddened thighs. "I--I--" He bites onto Jungkook's arm to hold steady, watching the room wobble in his peripherals. "Might c-cum in--gah!"

"Hah... I t-told you not to move." Jungkook's shaky, strained voice came out as a hiss between breathy gasps every time his ass collided with Jimin's firm thighs. Jimin's series of disobedient actions didn't bother Jungkook as much as they normally would, as this is a special occasion after all-- especially when he willingly put himself in a faux submissive state just to allow Jimin to indulge in a different way for the night. "Now you'll have to deal w-with, iiit-- fuck.." He clenches Jimin's hard cock tight when the latter bites onto his arm, the rush of the pain making him fuck himself rougher on top of the model. "Now you started it, so fuck me harde-er! Don't stop.." Jungkook growls lowly, shamelessly moaning and watching his own cock rub and drool against Jimin's stomach. With one hand firmly on Jimin's chest, the other smoothes up his neck to wrap around it, applying just enough pressure to put his lover in a deeper haze, ensuring that although he's not sure whether or not he's allowed to cum inside, he will have no other choice but to do so-- Jungkook wants him to lose any self control, and fill him up with shame and fear in his eyes of doing something he wasn't permitted to.

The straps of Jimin's bralette slaps off his shoulders once again, the small cups of it sliding around his chest the more his bouncing partner rubs against it. The momentum and chafe of the fabric teases his sensitive buds and makes them stiff, red, and swollen. So he lets the rest of the fabric fall down his body until his chest is bare, dewy with sweat. "Yes--hah ahh...s-sir." His own confirmation tapers to a pathetic whine as his breath weakens. Jungkook's grasp pins him by the neck, into the chair. The only freedom he's granted is the weak thrust of his hips to fuck the younger man from below, which he does to the best of his ability, growing weaker by the second. He won't stop, even if it means he blacks out from exertion, which feels closer than he likes to admit. Jimin pants heavily and digs in his fingertips. "I'll fill up this p-pretty hole." He speaks with delirious lust lacing his tone, just the way he would want to hear it. "Is that what you want, baby? Fuck, you're so t-tight--ahh! Can't wait..."

Jungkook leans in closer, slowing down his harsh thrusts only to replace them with slow, deep grinding. He licks his bloody lower lip, nodding while staring down at Jimin's heavy, zoned out gaze. He's losing it completely, and yet he tries too hard to please and do as told, and it warms the photographer's heart-- and it makes his cock leak profusely with the immense need to cum. So, therefore, he needs Jimin to break so he can finally give back what he's been holding for what feels like hours. "Yeah, fill me up well baby. Cum in me as deep as you possibly fuckin' can." The younger says with his low, lustful tone, still keeping his hold on Jimin's throat without loosening or tightening it. He inches closer to kiss his face, hot breaths huffing to warm his lover's skin with every grunt and moan that leaves his lips when he feels Jimin's hard cock prodding at his prostate with every fluid motion of his hips. "Cum," Jungkook repeats, deliberately clenching down on Jimin's cock, licking his cheek possessively, "Claim me with your filthy cum."

"Anything you want--ah!" Jimin's eyes screw shut as he rocks his thrusts up into Jungkook's wanting hole. "Feel my cock dragging in and out? Feel how n-needy I am to spill every fucking drop inside you?" His mind truly turns to mush, like a fever dream, losing any semblance of here and now. Only indulging in the very millisecond in which his body trembles to feel everything, all at once. "It's all for you, baby." He pontificates his oath with a harsh thrust from below, scraping his nails until the tender flesh of Jungkook's sides, drawing blood in his wake. "Fuck my cock...bounce on i-it...gahh!" The model becomes a shell of himself, as if he's boneless, thrusting his release in labored spurts, into his young love. "Moan for me, Kookie. Tear at this expensive lingerie and tell me I'm the prettiest man that's ever fucked you raw."

Jimin’s sudden and harsh words takes Jungkook by surprise— he expected the elder to fall apart one way of the other when he came inside, but what he didn’t expect was the spark of dominance that laced his voice and transferred to the way he clawed at the youngers skin. “F-fuck, ah— ow, mmhm...” Jungkook bites back his moans, to no avail when his sides are tortured by the models sharp nails, unable to hold back his pathetic whines when he feels his insides become filled with filthy, thick gushes of warm cum. “God, Jimin— J-Jimin, it hurts...” He gasps, letting himself and allowing a glimpse of actual submission to shine through his shivering body. His hands don’t know where to be, so he does as told and grabs the bralette in his fist and tugs, using his strength that’s spurred by pain to rip it off his lovers chest, while the other hand keeps him steady by grasping into the backrest of the chair. “Shit, I didn’t know you could say such things... that’s so hot, baby.” Jungkook huffs when he gathers himself slowly, unmoving while Jimin’s cock pulsates inside of him. He sighs and whines from the painful stretch of taking it without preparation, overestimating himself and yet relishing in the uncomfortable feeling. Jungkook glanced down at his bloody waist when he lifts himself from Jimin’s lap to let the latters length slip out, a splurt of cum seeping out with it. He hums in both delight and disgust, not used to the feeling of being on the receiving end..

“You did well baby.” Jungkook reaches behind him, catching a generous amount of Jimin’s cum to coat two of his fingers before bringing it to his mouth, licking it clean for the elder to see. The coy mischief returns to his gaze, leaning close to press his swollen length against Jimin’s stomach to let him know playtime’s far from over. “My turn. You good?” He places a kiss on Jimin’s scorching lips. “I can fuck you harder than that. Show you how it’s done..”

The photographer's proposition snaps Jimin back into the moment--eyes wide and dark, needing to feel exactly what he's inadvertently promised. As if the mere mention of fucking his needy hole is enough to make the blonde bend in any which way necessary to prove Jungkook's point. "Prove it," Jimin goads, unaware of the power that laces his tone. "I'm tired of being your porcelain doll...make me your filthy whore." The model wriggles from underneath the photographer until he's free from his caging clutch. Once he's able to maneuver solo, he flips himself over and juts out his plump ass, resting his ruddy cheek against the upholstery of the chair.

“Huh... maybe I spoiled you too much.” Jungkook drinks in the view below, standing up on his feet to properly watch the way Jimin arches his back to offer his body willingly— or rather, demanding his body be used like a disposable toy. A shiver ran down his spine as he replayed Jimin’s words over and over. A challenge, that he knows the model is aware that he can beat without even thinking. He must be so lonely, that the mere thought of having his unused hole filled drives him mad with need, and the temporary dominance got to his head. Kook likes it, the power in Jimin’s voice that is so rare when they’re alone.. but more than present when he is working. It’s like he brought home his persona of professionalism, and now Jungkook would get to corrupt this mask as well.

“I’ll make my pretty doll into the filthiest and prettiest of whores. I’m sure of it.” He murmurs while he reaches behind him to slowly drag his fingers in and out of himself, gathering the remainder of Jimin’s release onto his digits. He spreads his lover's cheek to get a good look of his tight rim, pink and unused like a virgin anew. Kook licks his lip, feeling the hardened texture of the dried cut on the skin. He brings his slicked fingers to Jimin’s ass, giving him little to no warnings before slipping his two digits inside, knuckle deep. “I’m just giving it back. It came from your filthy, whorish body.. but you don’t mind. This is where cum really belongs.” He says, loving the sound of his own voice a bit too much. He loves the way Jimin’s hole clamps down on his fingers as he speaks, and the way his hole becomes wet and slick, coating his fingers more and more with his juices with every in and out drag. He curls the pads of his fingers slightly, finding that one spot that he knows drives Jimin mad— especially if the abuser of it is his hefty cock.

"Mm--g-god. Please, yes." The model looks over his shoulder to provoke Jungkook to give him more. This is just the way it needs to be to provoke--to find that spot again, plumping up his full lips with a whiny pout. "Put my cum where it belongs, please, baby." Jimin presses his hips back to match the thrusts, wrenching his eyes shut to chase the high, feeling even hotter knowing the reason his tender hole is stretched so easily is because of his own cum. He rides Jungkook's fingers, nipping his lip and beckoning him closer with small kisses, placed anywhere he can reach. Through it all, he makes sure his back remains arched so his glistening pink entrance is visible. He knows how his partner salivates at the clear sight of his fingers disappearing and reappearing, hugged by his tightening rim, hearing how needy his butterfly is for his touch. "Finger out every bit and put it inside." The messy tear-streaked blonde spreads his legs wider on the chair, leaving as much room as possible for Jungkook to fit. "T-then fuck me full of more."

"I would've asked you to beg for it, but you're already so good at that.. You really are perfect." Jungkook makes his point with a particularly deep thrust with his double digits, twisting and scissoring to ensure that his lover is comfortably gonna be able to take something much bigger than his mere fingers. "Looks like your cum is the perfect lubricant, just feel how easily I got your pretty ass gaping for cock." Jungkook groans audibly to show how much he likes the view when he withdraws his slick fingers, wiping them clean on Jimin's clothed thigh, staining it with cum. "Can't wait for you to see it how I see it. It's so hot, so cute." He adds, spreading Jimin's cheeks with his thumbs before tugging at his hips, bringing him closer to let his heavy cock rest between, gathering the slick. He slowly drags his length up and down, prodding tastefully at Jimin's eager entrance before finally giving in, sinking the swollen head of his cock inside, followed with a quiet gasp from the photographer.

"Shit, even after all of this, you're still so tight..." Jungkook digs his nails into Jimin's hips, grabbing a fistful of the thong into his hands to tug him down to take more of his length inside, pushing past the thickest part of his girth. He watches the way the elder's pink rim is stretched past it's limit and then some, the sweet pink slowly morphing into a blushed red. "Your body drives me mad, baby. Almost lookin' like a woman with these on." He crumples the material in his hand, tightening the fabrics so that it presses against Jimin's spent cock. He gives an experimental thrust forward, and decides to give little time to adjust before he begins to roll his hips forward, slowly but steadily. He will break his butterfly, and making him cum a second time would be the perfect reward.

Pressure builds rapidly in Jimin's abdomen, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm. His walls clench down on Jungkook as he presses in deep, practically forcing his way in, claiming the space he's worked hard to make. Jimin can still feel the phantom stretch of the photographer's fingers as it's quickly replaced with thick, vascular cock. It's almost painful, which is a new sensation for the willing blonde. He's always made sure to breathe through it all, relax his body and mentally prepare for how rough Jungkook may or may not like it at that moment. It's a roll of the dice, and today, anything is possible.

The tight weave of red lace chafes against the model's fair skin as Jungkook thrusts pick up in pace, threatening to tear if tested enough. As much as Jimin loves the feeling of being as pretty as a girl, he doesn't blink an eye when the remaining heel falls to the floor. "S-slower...just...y-yeah, that's--" Jimin's words break into confused pleas, easing into the scene, calming his body enough to receive his partner, inch by inch. "You feel bigger today, Kookie," he gasps, rubbing his cheek into the upholstery of the chair's back and sullying it with his salty tears. He chokes on a quiet sob and presses his hips back to meet a new thrust, "I almost can't t-take it."

"Fuuuuck, say that again." Jungkook growls through his lustful, breathy words. He snaps his hips forward, rougher and buries his cock deeply to be as close as physically possible to his pretty lover. The photographer adores Jimin's choked words, and rarely does anything beat when he cries in pain due to the mere size of his thick length claiming it's space in the model's slick flesh. "Does it hurt?" He says with a noticeable grin that transfers to the tone of his voice. He grinds his hips forward while staying inside, ensuring the jeweled head of his cock is lodged deep inside, throbbing in excitement every time he feels Jimin clench around him with every audible sob. He drags out the moment, using the blonde to warm his cock properly, still grinding deeply inside. His hands greedily roam up and down Jimin's slender back, tracing his fingers on one of his favorite hidden features of his model-- the prominent, yet delicate line where his spine lies beneath his fair skin, moving prettily with every writhing movement of his torso.

"You know how much I love it when you endure pain for me.." He sighs, smoothing his tattooed hands down his lover's thin waist until they settle on his lower back, pushing down to force a stronger arch. "Feel that baby?" Jungkook licks his lips at the sight, intentionally flexing his cock inside to make a point of how impossibly hard he is, rocking his hips back and forth lightly to create the start of a momentum. "I said," He drags his length out further with every stroke, only to plunge it back in harder and harder, "Do you," And harder, "Feel that?"

"Yes...yes, fuck!" Jimin's cries are cut short by the heady penetration. The jolts burn his cheek against the chair, but not enough to distract from the sting of his abused hole.

Sounds of slapping skin rings in the model's ears--the force of Jungkook's pelvis colliding with his plump ass, deafening. "You--You're so big, I--" Jimin presses his ass back into the next deliberate thrust and swallows a yelp, morphing it into a sharp whine. He's incredibly tender from cumming already, full to burst once again. Only this time, there's more pressure built inside, like every ounce of fluid he could possibly possess is begging to be let free. "You'll make me cum too sooon." Jimin wriggles and writhes, but only for a bit, internally reminding himself to be good. Be a good boy for his Kookie. Stay still. Keep calm. Hands lay flat on the blonde's back, littered with faint marks of possession from months before. They scarred as a reminder, marking Jimin, helping him realize his one true place in life is right where he is in this moment--beneath Jeon Jungkook, moaning, whimpering, begging for pain and receiving adoring love and devotion in return. "More," he echos, softly at first, "Harder, fuck me h-harder..."

"You're whining so prettily, baby." Jungkook praises, getting a proper grip of the model's hips to use the strength in his arms to aid the pathetic attempts of Jimin trying to meet his thrusts. The harsh slapping of their skin coming together grows louder when he picks up the pace, indulging hungrily in the elder's hot, tight, insides over and over with his cock. He wishes so badly that he could stay like this forever and repeatedly claim Jimin's body and make him lose his mind. "Asking for more, when your frail body shakes so... Fuck, it only makes me want to hurt you more." He groans when a particularly rough thrust causes Jimin to clench down, his petite body jolting and his muscles quivering while struggling to stay in position-- trying his absolute best to be good. Jungkook's hunger for more grows, and with it, he fucks Jimin harder, digging his fingers into his slim hips to keep him in place, pulling him back on his cock when he's momentarily jolting forward with every forceful thrust. "Remember what I told you earlier? How I want you to scream so loud you cannot make a sound..." The photographer glances over at the camera, knowing it gets a full proper view of Jimin's face pressing against the chair while he can't see it as well from his perspective. He wonders what kind of expressions he's making right now..

He knows he'll be able to rewatch the content later, but he wants to see more..

Jungkook leans forward a bit, still fucking Jimin, heavy audible breaths of his hard labor pushing past his lips while he reaches around Jimin's small torso, lifting him on his knees. He hugs him close, pressing his muscular chest against Jimin's smaller frame, stomach perfectly melting together with the slender slope of Jimin's back. "Maybe I do prefer it if you scream loudly, though..." He buries his nose in Jimin's neck, kissing and biting his tender skin, one hand on his waist and the other smoothing up his stomach until he settles on his chest. The calloused pads of his fingers finds Jimin's nipple, reddened and sensitive due to the previous friction from the lace, making it real easy for him to find the reactions he's looking for when he pinches it hard between his fingers. His hips never cease to fuck generously, adamant to overwhelm every sense in the elder's pretty body.

With each filthy remark from Jungkook, Jimin yelps pleas of encouragement. The rough pinch simply drags it out of him, quick and loud. "M-more...harder! ...just like tha-aaat, shit..." He doesn't need guidance to say what comes next, meaning it with every short breath in his body-- "I'm a failure," he squeaks, "Cumming inside you so quickly, it's just--ahh!" You just f-felt so tight...and it's been so long, I..." Jimin grasps the hand that balances his flat chest and draws it up to grip tight around his neck, helping to push him over the edge--so close, it's almost alarming. Jimin squeaks, "...I'm gonna cum again. Fuck, I might...I don't know...I..." He loses his train of thought, not that there was much of one to begin with. Sobbing of praise and self depreciation are all his muddled mind can compute when he's fucked this well--now adjusted to his lover's large swollen length. "You fuck me too good...much better than I fucked you, I'm so s-sorr--mmmf--AH!"

Jungkook's pierced tip glides against his prostate, rubbing him raw, making his eyes flutter and skin tingle with the peak of his high. This is new. It's not normal. The gradual sensation he longs to feel is much more urgent, nearly bulging his abdomen to let free. "Wait, wait!" His small hand taps on Jungkook's arm to release him, struggling to pull away. His muscles spasm in a quick alert, and he knows all too well what's about to come next. "It's too much, I'll--" Before Jimin can finish his sentence, hot spurts of urine stream down his thighs and soak the chair he straddles. The second it starts to trickle out of his exhausted body, he can't stop it. Thrust after punishing thrust, spurts are fucked out of his shaking form until he's putty in the younger man's arms, quivering out what must be a form of orgasm. His cock pulses as his prostate continues to be abused, and all he can do is cry and whimper from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry--hic. Kookie, I couldn't s-stop--hic"

"Are you embarrassed?" He smiles, "Can't even hold it in when getting fucked." Jungkook peeks over Jimin's shoulder to watch his smaller lover's body quiver and squirm, unable to hold in anything when the younger fucks it out of him without mercy. "Always love to make a mess, do you? Then acts so innocent.." He teases, hugging Jimin closer while he squeezes the blonde's throat tighter, leaning his delicate back against his muscular chest to allow Jimin to feel some leverage. He slows down the grinding of his hips when he's fucked out every single drop possible from the model's cock, just pathetically red and throbbing.

"I still didn't cum..." Jungkook sighs, stopping his movements. He keeps himself buried deep, the grip on Jimin's throat moving to his chin to guide their lips to meet in a messy, drooly kiss. He delicately pulls back to crook an eyebrow, internally beaming with pride at how utterly fucked out Jimin looks. "Move onto your back, lay in your own filth." He suddenly commands, letting go of the elder's weak body to let it fall limp onto the chair, letting his length slip out of his stretched gape. Impatient, he's already aiding him when he notices the light struggle and quivering muscles from oversensitivity-- grabbing his hips to help him to flip on his back.

"Humph." Jimin's hiccups weaken once he's on his back, sinking into the tepid pool of urine that seeps out of the cushion. He stares up at the younger man with saucer eyes--adoring stars swirling in his gaze, slowly coming down from his orgasm. The apples of his cheeks blush an endearing shade of pink, even more as the moisture spreads across his back. It's an ever-present reminder of the mess he made, all over Jungkook's studio chair--the one he sits on to do his work, and the one he reclines in to watch Jimin pose during their private shoots.

"It's wet," the model whines, wriggling to find a comfortable spot on the chair. His nose crinkles at the audible squish the fabric makes when he adjusts his posture, saturated in him, possibly ruined and unusable. His blush dissipates just a bit, because this is the state Jungkook longed to see him in. Perhaps the visual of an alluring male model in feminine lingerie was what intrigued the talented photographer. But, just like the mirrored room, everything must come crashing down until only he can build it back up in just the way he likes.

Jimin loops his arms under his knees and exposes his tender hole to his partner, offering himself as a toy to be played with. "Do you like this, Kookie?" He pulls back a bit more, earning a wet squish from the cushion below. "Seeing your butterfly, like this..."

“Good boy." Jungkook praises, nodding in approval while a long, slow swipe of his tongue coats his lips in the glossy shine of his spit. His predatory stare darkens at the mess he's created-- the vision he's been craving finally coming to life. "I love it, you're perfect." The aching, swell sensation of blood pumping through his body is prominent in his cock as he gives himself a few tempting strokes, placing one knee on the edge of the wet cushion and the other keeping leverage on the floor while caging Jimin's body beneath him. He lines up the thick, jeweled head of his cock with the model's gaping entrance with one hand, placing his other palm on Jimin's thigh to dig his fingers into the soft flesh, aiding him in holding his legs back.

"You've done so well tonight, baby.. There's no better look for you than this.. My spoiled, expensive doll.." Jungkook's dark eyes squint as he smiles softly, a contrast compared to the way he drives his hips forward to bury his cock deep once more, welcomed by the stretched, slick flesh that hugs him tightly in the form of muscle clenches. Even when spent, Jimin does what he can to please. "My messy whore." He quickly builds up the momentum, using the full potential of every silky inch of his rigid length as he drags it in and out, harder and harder, until Jimin's petite body once more begins to jolt upwards with each and every powerful thrust. "S-shit, I love your body, I can't get enough of you like this." Jungkook spits out between grunts, thriving in the wet sounds of his cock plunging into the model, along with the squishes of his small body forcibly rubbing against the wet chair.

The photographer grits his teeth, chest heaving with every shallow breath and muscles flexing to fuck into him harder, harder to release every bit of primal desire to use Jimin to chase his impending high. "G-gonna cum soon," Jungkook's hazy eyes never waver from Jimin's face, watching it distort into his favorite expressions, a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Want me to cover your pretty face with it?"

Jimin doesn't have the power to speak, lost in the trance of Jungkook's cock railing into him at a powerful rate. His aching ring of nerves pulsates with sensitivity, so sore and spent that any words spilling from his rouge bitten lips would be desperate pleas to slow down. Positively not an option. It's their anniversary. Today is a special day--the most monumental day in Jimin's life to date, above any major career move or step in the spotlight. A year ago he may have placed himself before the pleasurable and painful touch of the photographer's hands on his flesh, but that part of himself has been far from erased. Now, in this studio, in their little private world, Jimin naturally folds at the simplest suggestion from the young visionary.

"Cum on my face, baby," he whimpers, holding his knees to his chest for stability. He nods rapidly to confirm, it's exactly what he wants. "Paint your whore--fuck. Cover me in you, I n-need it...all over my skin. Record it, up close. Please, pleasee." His voice squeaks, caught off guard by how badly he truly wants this. More than anything, he knows how beautiful the final scene will look--him, covered in tacky red sinful lace, sticking to his small body with cum, sweat, and spit. Smeared with lipstick. Prettied up and ruined for one man only.

Jimin knows exactly what the photographer wants to hear, and it's obvious by the way Jungkook's eyebrows furrow in concentration, gaze burning into the vision beneath him.

"I love it when you beg like that." Jungkook praises yet again, giving the model another punishing thrust before pulling out, leaving the gaping, needy hole empty for tonight. Normally, he would never pass on an opportunity to stuff Jimin full of his cum-- but tonight, his vision took the top priority over any carnal instincts. He had this vision in mind for forever, and it is finally becoming his reality.

"Look at me." Jungkook commands while taking a step back, tugging at Jimin's bicep to pull his spent body to slide down to the floor on his knees in front of him. He hooks the pad of his finger underneath the blonde's chin, tilting his head back to look up. His other hand works his slick length quickly and roughly, ready to burst at any given moment-- he's held it so well, and he knows he will cover his doll's perfect face with everything he's got. It'll be the ultimate visual of his fantasies; Jimin, the picture perfect man in shambles, ruined makeup and covered in various body fluids willingly, merely to serve and keep the photographer satisfied and happy. Maybe even excited for the rewards that come with compliance. "Pretty... So pretty, and all mine, hahh.." Jungkook hisses through labored breaths, clammy chest heaving as he looks down at Jimin's lips, rubbing the jeweled tip of his cock against them, stroking his cock purposefully to make a show out of the way his tattooed hand effortlessly glides thanks to every little ounce of slick fluids his lover provided. "Keep looking at m-me...fuck, I'm gonna--gah, cum." He moans louder to let Jimin know how much he's enjoying this, and the visual from both their perspectives must be otherworldly. Both men are utterly devoted and obsessed with the other.

Just as Jungkook's hip move to fuck into his hand, they stutter when his orgasm hurls over the edge without much of a warning. A drawn out, deep groan rumbles from the back of his throat, and it feels like his eyes would roll to the back of his head if he didn't intentionally keep himself so focused on watching the way thick, hot ropes of cum began to paint the model's delicate features one by one. His hand squeezes his cock, thighs tensing and relaxing between every twitching throb of his orgasm. He spits curses and praise, moans and whines, not stopping until he's made sure Jimin's skin is an entire mess, glazed with his release.

Silken droplets of pearly cum slip down Jimin's cheek and tickle the pert pout of his lips. Slowly, he licks away what he can, peeking open an eye and giving a longing look of devotion. The salty release tingles on the tip of his tongue, which he savors with a low hum. He doesn't need to ask to know how much the photographer enjoys this sight. He knows that from this angle, he's a masterpiece, commemorating a year of servitude in the most filthy way imaginable. The low glow of the recording camera reminds him of his duty, to show off his final look--a far departure from the stunning, sinful vision he admired in the mirror. Heels are scattered on the floor, stained with a light streak of blood. Stockings are torn ragged, and bralette is askew and hanging loose. With no way of truly knowing, Jimin assumes he must look a complete and utter wreck. Still, remnants of lipstick stain him in misplaced splotches, smearing down his lips and onto his chin. The ruddy makeup appears to be even brighter and remarkable under the luminous sheen of cum that slips off his chiseled jaw. Jimin lifts to his knees and palms at Jungkook's thighs to draw him closer. "Come here."

Jungkook mindlessly follows Jimin's quiet order, stepping closer before dropping to his knees in front of him, meeting his hazy eyes on face level. He can't do anything but admire his work as if in a blurry trance, and the boiling adoration in his gaze is evident.

"I'm here, baby." He says quietly, glancing over at the camera. He had gotten his shot, the visuals of everything he'd been hungering for now captured in an eternal digital memory. A sense of pride and content fills his chest as he looks back at Jimin, reaching out to swipe his thumbs underneath his makeup smeared eyes. He takes another longing moment to just look, slowly inching closer until he finds the model's pillowy lips with his own. He kisses him gently once, twice before pulling back.

"You did amazing. I got the perfect shot, and you looked so gorgeous." He rubs Jimin's bruised neck slowly, examining the purple and red marks, "Did you enjoy it a lot? I had this planned for a while.. And it came out even better than I anticipated.."

The blonde closes the distance again to kiss Jungkook tenderly. A shaky hand cups the photographer's face while the other mindlessly holds him at the waist for balance. The room shifts subtly, and Jimin breathes into the motion, tilting his head to follow the natural part of their mouths moving as one.

"Mhm," he hums again, indulging in the comfort and warmth of Jungkook's touch. He needs it after, always, to feel like a precious doll again. Like clockwork, they come together into a slow comedown, feeling their united heartbeat as the tips of their fingers brush against damp skin. "Happy anniversary," Jimin smiles into a sweet and short kiss. The tentative hold on his neck draws the model in more and he allows the younger man to indulge in his creation. He allows it until the warm ropes of cum begin to tack to the round apples of his cheeks, and the slight discomfort of his muscles begin to set in.

"So sticky and wet now, Kookie. Just how you like," Jimin smirks, pleased he could once again fulfill his love's vision. "I may need some help getting out of this though." Jimin hints at the soaked, ruined lingerie that still clings to his torso.

"I'm so happy. Thank you for taking me so well, baby." Jungkook places one last rewarding kiss on Jimin's sticky cheek before he gets up on his feet, bringing his lover up with him to lift him up into his strong arms. He holds him close, walking over to the camera to turn the recording off and heads towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, I have another surprise for you." He smiles through his statement, placing Jimin on the toilet seat to wait while he draws a hot bath. He turns to Jimin, reaching behind his torso to unclasp the bralette and discard it on the floor, then resumes to tug at the panties to get them off. Every action of his is tender now, the aftercare more than important to ensure that Jimin is properly rewarded for doing so well and taking every rougher part of him-- so he deserves the affection as well. "Come." He coaxes lowly, undressing properly as well until the tub is filled, and takes Jimin's hand in his to guide him into the water, seating them with Jimin's small frame practically in his lap. A soft sigh pushes past his lips from the relaxing warmth surrounding them. "Wash your face off first, don't want your eyes to get irritated."

Jimin cups the warm bathwater in his hands and stares at the faint shadow of his face cast over it. He pauses a moment, adjusting to the comfort of being supported from behind--feeling small and cared for, then brings the water up to cleanse. The warmth soothes over his soft skin, and after only one splash, he can feel the layers of grime shluff off. His palms tinge a faint red. Lipstick rubs away, followed by other various bodily fluids, some of which need a couple passes before it is completely removed. The work to remove it only makes Jimin appreciate the work Jungkook put into planning such an unexpected night.

"I never get tired of this," Jimin coos, bring another palmful of water up to wash over his face, "Taking baths together...it's one of my favorite things." Baths--such a normal and almost childlike experience. It's something that brings the small model pleasant ripples of nostalgia, like it was only yesterday they first shared the simple experience of cleaning one another. It's centering, to wash away the filth of the day and watch it slide down the drain until it's gone completely. Jimin reclines into the tender embrace of his love and allows him to rub soapy water over his body, moaning gently the cleaner he feels.

"One year," the blonde sighs, closing his eyes, "What would I have done if I never met you?" He tilts his neck to get a good look at the younger man. "Life would be so...boring."

"Indeed." Jungkook agrees, the toothy grin on his face just as childish and endearing as when they first met eye to eye in his studio. He looks back at Jimin with just as much-- if not more admiration swirling in his doe eyes. He cranes his neck to kiss the elder's forehead, gentle hands smoothing over his petite body to rub off tonight's events. "But it was fate." He adds, hands moving up to comb his fingers through the blonde curls after adding his familiar shampoo into his palms, massaging his tender scalp with the comfort of his scent.

"Sooner or later, we would've found each other." A moment of silence follows, all that is heard is Jungkook cleaning Jimin's hair while the latter basks in the aftercare.. until he speaks again. Whether Jimin heard it or not, remains a mystery.

"I would've made sure of it."

#fic: expensive doll #Mused Obsession #jikook smut #jimin smut #jungkook smut #bts mxm smut #bts mxm #bts smut #sub jimin #dom jungkook

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Note

Please write more of Dove and Harry ? You’d earlier written in ne where she gets lost and Harry can’t find her…. Please some more like that. I really like reading protective Harry for his kids especially daughters!

HARRY HATES A CERATIN PINK BICYCLE BUT DOVE THINKS OTHERWISE :D

Harry has never been this stingy towards things. You don’t hold a beef with stuff round you, right? You hold beefs with actual hell of people who're mighty pests in the name of human being.

But, this. Oh damn this. Four wheeler little pink bicycle, that have sparkling pom-poms around it’s handles, a cute yellow basket corked to it's front and rainbow coloured cups hanging from the back of it’s seat that cackles whenever the wheels roll.

It’s the most obnoxious transporting vehicle, Harry had seen in his whole life. He's kind of grousing in the corner that why out of trillion of toys auntie Gemma had to prove herself the best aunt in the whole world alive and chose this hideous gaggingly pink bicycle.

It just doesn’t makes sense to gift it to a three years old! And when that three years old’s a headstrong little thing, with wilfulness of her daddy and the marbles of kitten in replacement of those eyes.

“Daddy we’ll ‘ve fun, promise!” Her ‘r' vanishes into a whistle since she’s still wary onto speaking huge words, babbling her daddy’s ears off with random shite doesn’t count.

Sometimes Harry thinks; that his 50 years old mum's prisoned and captured into a dainty body of three years old -- and his time has come to get bossed around and scolded for his own good sake.

His mommy in the guise of his little dove.

“How’s tha’ missy!?” Harry squints down at her with his hands fisted on his hips. His fake scowl breaks into a fluttery smile when dove with her grubby pudgy hands pushed the bicycle around, her boot clad feet stomping against the hardwood floor, “Like this daddy!” Her chest heaved from getting tired of pushing it around in circles.

“Y'gonna put y’old man to labour?” When she sees her dad’s strictness resolving into contemplating the idea she squeals out giggles making Harry flinch and cover his ears, He’s sure he’ll end up deaf in his fifties.

Harry feels his chest warm and gooey with fond when she jumps on her tippy toes and wraps herself around Harry’s calves.

“Kay, teddy bear enough of butterin’ dada up.” Harry grunted through his nose ducking down to scoop her up in his embrace and she instantly loops her arms around his neck, her button rosy nose twitching with happiness as she patted his cheek with a toothy grin.

Harry shook his head at her brains, his eyes closed and lips thinned while he tries to announce it to her in the most dramatic way.

“Why’re you the way you’re dovie? He sighs and her response doesn’t baffles him any, “’Cos you.” She whispers into his ear as if it’s the most secretive thing in the world getting his cheek and earlobe wet with her drool.

“Yeah, cos' ‘m your inventor. My bad.”

That’s how they ended up here in the living room since Harry’s still hesitant and scared to let her ride the bicycle outside.

She makes sweet and loud kissy noises dangling her feet in a rhythm messing the already bombed up curls of Harry while he puts protection pads around her knees, he leaned more onto his shins adjusting the strap of her helmet and pinched her chin to make her look at him.

“Hello baby –..,” He opened his mouth to give her instructions when she cut him off with a cute whiny huff and the fold of her arms round her small body, “Daddy ‘m no baby.” Harry rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and bats his lashes.

“F'me you’re.” He tuts with a coo and took her wrist gently to help her slide down the sofa before she could possibly terrorise him more, sometimes Harry has this aching urge to laugh at her statements but it’s not right to his lil bean so he does it when he’s alone to not to hurt her feelings.

She refused any kind of guidance from him with just a single gesture of her palm (he doesn't know how she manages to behave like a 30 at her 3) and he ended up helping her wiggle her bum up the seat anyhow, “Hmm. Y'already know the deal dovlin'.” He knocks on her pink helmet which has tiny cows on it.

She bobbed her head and puckered her lips, Harry being her best telepathic communicator gets the sign and forwards his cheek for her to kiss it.

“Love y'daddy.” Her affection for her dad muffling against his stubble and in droopy voice he mimics her with bright teasing eyes, “wuveee you daddy.”

“Back to work!” Harry commanded moving towards the end of cycle and squeezed her neck tenderly before pushing her around and giggles happily when she squealed out in utter thrill.

“Weeeeeeoiiii!!” Harry joins her putting aside the fact he was very against it moments ago, but the little fun does no harm, right? He did think so.

It has always happened to him in this particular order whenever the things gets into their happy track a downfall is always written for them, just like the time when dove got sick and wouldn’t get any better taking her to hospital got crucial only for them to come back to their family being there for them her grandma and auntie Gems were their to get her recover but she got sick again.

“Alone!” She grumbles trying to move Harry’s hands away but he grips it tighter, “’M big!” She complains feet reaching for the paddles that took a swing.

“Hands on handles!” Not in a mood for her to throw a tantrum after such exhilarating moment Harry dismissed her off with a bit of frown, “Hands on handles! Hands —--,” He shouts anxiously heartbeat racing painfully against his ribs and he feels time slowing down as he watches dove losing her balance – but – puffs out in relief when she thumps against the sofa.

“Shit!” He cries out when the cycle tumbles along dove and falls on her, the poor baby didn’t even got time to process what's happening before the metal basket hits her bottom lip and her elbow hard.

Harry’s fear reeling infront of him, deafening him for a moment.

Immediately, He throws it away from over her half assed about where it lands and bunched her in his arms protectively. Cradling his sweet baby’s face in his palm and his eyes watered up at the bleeding lip and more abrasions on her elbow.

He sucks in a whimper when she tries even not to sniffle being a brave girl for her dad and goes to wipe his tears with her trembling lil hands, “It’s otay daddy.” Harry hiccups into her wrist smacking kisses upon kisses into her palm.

“’M sorry me lil dovlin'.” He sulked wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie and kissed her forehead.

It physically pains him to see his Dovie hurt, it makes him sad till long hours.

Call him sensitive but with Dove he’ll never able to hold his tears back, she pulls onto his heart strings the most agonisingly, she comes before anyone else and her safety too.

“No cry.” She pushed him away and pouted leaning to peck his lips and Harry giggles when she wipes the subtle blood stain she got on his mouth with a sheepish smile, “Lets fix your boo boos honey pot.” Harry gave her a weepy smile and pet her head taking them to his room.

He’s really surprised and well very proud that she was so brave for him, in times like these Harry realises if nobody got him his daughter’s gonna be there for him always.

“’M really reallyyyy proud of you sweet pea.” After putting Dove's favourite rapunzel bandages on her gashes Harry showers her in kisses that are loud and exaggerated but full of pride and love for her, making sure to do ‘mwah!’ at each one.

Harry made her chicken nuggies and let her drink orange juice (even though it gives her an achy throat) she’s such a good little briber.

She’s all snuggled in his bed, her face hidden in his chest out of shyness as Anne asks about her accident with a sad pouty smile.

“You gotta be careful next time okay sweetie?” Anne told her. Harry groans when her head perked up with gleam in her eyes, “There’s no next time!” He quips making his point clear.

“Gran’ma you wan’ see?” She blubbers excitedly crawling out from under the covers but carefully Harry catches her ankle and tugs her back towards him which causes the phone to fall from her hands onto the floor.

The clumsy cutie.

“Oh Grandma, you otay????” Her curly head pops from over the mattress and the room fills with laughter at her innocence and dumbness, she's just three, you prick.

“My silly little bear.” Harry’s laugh fades into giggles while he settles her bum on his chest and cuddles her tightly into his neck despite of her whiny protests and squiggles to let her free.

#DADDDYYYY HARRRRYYY #DAD HARRY #YAHOOOO FLUFFIIIESSSSSSS #WRITING #cute harry #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot

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ready-to-obeyme · 5 years ago

Text

[OM!] Obedience (Lucifer/MC) NSFW

Summary: Despite how strong or self-assured you are to those around you on a daily basis– laughing away teases and always having a witty remark at the tip of your tongue– Lucifer can last longer than you when it comes to resisting the pull of pleasure.

He waits until you fall apart.

NSFW!! :000 involving cockwarming & Brat Tamer Lucifer + Soft Brat & Gender Neutral MC (no mention of any specific genitals!)

You are quiet, and Lucifer is actually able to write down a few things and sign off on a few documents with his cock buried into you. He would think you were otherwise unbothered if not for the tremble in your legs and the way your body emanated heat in every place he could touch you.

“…Are you even breathing?” Lucifer asks, chuckling when you make a sound a mix between a huff and a whine.

“Yes,” you retort stubbornly. “I’m not going to hold my breath the entire time. I’d die.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lucifer says, innocently placing a gloved hand onto your thigh and reveling in the way your legs jerked in response. The amusement is palpable in his tone of voice, and he hopes you hear it loud and clear how much he enjoys meticulously pulling your strings apart. “Holding still for me and keeping quiet– you’re being so good for me, aren’t you?” He watches as you tilt your chin down and dig your fingers down into his desk. “I would have to kick you out if you made any noise, moan or otherwise, as delectable as they are to hear,” he murmurs into your ear.

Oh, Lucifer wishes for a moment you were turned around if only so he could see your eyes flutter close and mouth pinch in a desperate attempt to keep your composure. He tuts when he feels you squeezing him, as pleasant as it was to feel you around him, and his wordless reprimand is all it takes for you to sink deeper onto his cock to be silent.

Lucifer plays in games he knows he can win. Despite how strong or self-assured you are to those around you on a daily basis– laughing away teases and always having a witty remark at the tip of your tongue– Lucifer can last longer than you when it comes to resisting the pull of pleasure.

So he is not surprised that only minutes later, though he thinks it must feel like hours to you, he sees your hands clenched into fists on his desk as your hips move just the slightest to relieve the tension in your body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucifer asks, nonchalantly placing a finished document to his growing pile of papers.

You freeze. “Lucifer, I–”

He hears you breathe out through your nose and sees your toes curl as you grapple to find the words. You are close to yielding, but he knows you will make an attempt to deflect. “How… much longer will you have to work?” You ask, instilling a mild tone of displeasure into your words, “Why do you have so many papers to sign off on?”

“Why? Are you getting tired of watching me work?” Lucifer gently places his hand onto your back and smiles in amusement when your back arches slightly if only to feel his slightest touch more. His smirk is mischievous as he puts both his hands onto your hips as if to lift you off of him. “Perhaps you should head to sleep then.”

When he does try to pull at your hips, you push onto his desk to stay on top of him, passively resisting. When you do not answer, he chuckles and decides to wrap his arms around you, waiting for you to fall apart in due time.

“Not sleepy, are you? How naughty of you considering how late it is.” He chuckles, tracing his finger along your exposed thigh and hearing you swallow audibly. “Or were you staying up late expecting some type of reward, hm?”

He is met with silence, and it takes everything in him to not ask you to turn around so he can look at your face that is most likely as heated as a furnace and with eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“What is it you want, darling?” Lucifer purrs, hearing a whimper escape you despite your best attempts to contain them. “I can’t know what it is unless you tell me.”

“I–”

Lucifer takes advantage of your voice to snap his hips up, making you keen in the middle of your sentence. If he could record the sound of your voice and play it on loop, he would– but he savors the noises you make instead, knowing very well they were made only for his ears.

“Ah– what–”

Any other time, Lucifer would feel bad about how lost you sounded, but instead he grinds your hips onto his cock and watches your back arch.

“Lucifer, you’re– you’re so mean,” you cry out, and he lets out a genuine laugh at your whine and rather simple insult. He knows you could do better than that, surely. But he supposes that is all your mind can think up at the moment, and even he cannot deny the pleasure he derives from having your quick-witted tongue stutter at the most basic words and your mind reduced to holding nothing but thoughts of him.

“Am I now?” Lucifer takes your hips to lift them before pushing you down further onto his cock.

“Yes!” You cry out, and as though you could see the smirk on his face at your double-meaning, one-word answer, you stumble to save yourself. “A-And rude!”

Lucifer hums in response and watches as you raise your hand and cover your mouth as you were wont to do when you were embarrassed. “Is that so?” He says, “Then perhaps I should apologize; I must have interrupted you earlier when you were trying to say something. What was that again?”

You lean forward until your arms bury your face onto his desk and he hears you mumble something. He has an inkling on what you said but he is not one to be lenient on you– not on this, anyhow.

“Speak up,” he tells you, and his lips are pulled into a satisfied smirk when he feels you twitch at his command. “I can’t hear what it is you’re saying if you don’t.”

“…Move.”

“You want me to move?” The way he says your name is crooning before he tuts and slaps his hand onto your ass as a reprimand, though he knows it is less of a punishment than intended when you only tighten around his cock. “If you want me to move,” he says, “then ask nicely.”

And Lucifer knows he has won when you choke out a cry and whine his name, your earlier stubborn gone without a trace.

“Lucifer, please,” you beg, “please, please, please move! I can’t– I can’t take it anymore–”

Lucifer wastes no time in standing up, making you fall on top of his desk and crinkle the papers that you landed on top of, and slamming his cock into you as a reward for your pretty words. He wishes he could turn you around so he could swallow that drawn out moan of yours, but he figures you have waited long enough to be pounded into his desk.

“What a good pet,” Lucifer tells you, making you whine. With his hands on your waist he thrusts into you again at an upward angle he knows you adore and listens to your wrecked sob. “Is this what you wanted?”

And Lucifer feels his chest burn when he no longer needs to coax an answer from you as you repeatedly cry out ‘yes’s and his name between them all. He chuckles, pulling your face up to him so he can kiss at the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

“Good,” he says, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Because I do not intend to stop until I am satiated, understand?” He hears your breath hitch when you feel his hand push your back down onto the desk.

“Be good for me, will you?”

#obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me mc #lucifer/mc #obey me drabble #obey me scenario #um the tags dont work :(#guess i gotta reblog it next week #.nsfw

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purple-dahlias · 4 years ago

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Birthdays

🎈 six

She remembers that one, clearly, even now. The last one her father was there for.

At six Sarah is considerably a lot more perceptive than other children her age. She notices her mother’s pinched expression, the fraught looks that pass between her parents. The way her father walks about in a silent rage and her mother purses her lips, as though trying to stop herself from saying something.

That’s how she ends up sitting quietly, trying her best to pretend she isn’t there, a new copy of The Secret Garden open in her lap, legs carefully crossed at the ankles. She’s trying to lose herself in the words. She imagines herself taken away to somewhere strange, somewhere new, just like Mary was.

It seems to be working for her, that is, until she hears Aunt Louise from across the room.

“Poor soul,” she remarks lowly, but loud enough that Sarah hears, and knows she means her. Looking up, curls half obscuring her face, Sarah is just in time to see Aunt Louise lean across and whisper something to Uncle Henry. Something that she knows is about her parents, who, she is sure are both somewhere at opposite ends of the house being mad at each other. That was always the way now.

And then It’s a few weeks later and suddenly, well, not so, if you thought about it like Sarah did, her father is gone. Not coming back, according to her mother. And maybe, Sarah thinks, maybe if she had been better, he would have stayed and things could have changed.

🎈 thirteen

A birthday’s not about things. It’s not about presents or decorations or balloons. At least, that’s supposed to be the sentiment. But for Sarah’s mother, it’s a different story.

Sarah comes home to banners and giant helium balloons, a huge expense, but empty. She knows her mother had no personal hand in the matter. It had just been a call to her assistant and an exchange of money. Empty Gestures, like it always was with her mother.

A store bought cake, perfectly piped with lettering ‘happy thirteenth Sarah’. It is anything but. Maybe it’s selfish but she wishes for a homemade cake, one like she’d heard her classmates talk about. Complain about, even. What she would give for something like that, something that’s not just empty. That would take time and effort and care. Not just a phone call. Because these are all just things. Not the stuff that makes treasured memories.

There aren’t even people to share it all with. That would require friends. And middle school was lonely.

So it’s just Sarah, alone at home, her mother didn’t even have it in her to take the time off work for her only daughter. Instead she sits there, at the table in the spotless kitchen, reading and rereading the typed card left for her, hoping somewhere to discern something more from it. Some hidden feelings in the black and white. But there aren’t.

Maybe one day, she thinks, though it’s probably wishful thinking. She’s not six anymore, holding onto hope for change.

🎈 fifteen

High school is a little different, a little brighter. She’s changed schools, there are girls who it seems actually like her. Ones she can count as friends. And that’s how she finds herself in the cinema with Harriett and Grace and Marya the evening of her fifteenth birthday.

She’s sat on the end of the row, beside Grace, sharing her popcorn with her and a fizzy drink that’s just a little too sweet for her liking. But Sarah doesn’t care because Grace holds her hand practically throughout the whole of the film. Sarah doesn’t really think the film is that scary but she’s willing to pretend as Grace holds her hand tightly, leaning close to her in her seat so that Sarah can smell the floral scent of the perfume she’s started wearing, the one that smells of jasmine and bergamot, coincidently two of Sarah’s favourite scents, though she can’t quite remember if she ever told Grace that.

Grace laughs quietly at something on screen beside her, and Sarah thinks it’s a wonderful sound, like music. She loves knowing when she makes her laugh like that. Wouldn’t mind being able to do that more often.

But it’s all a little bittersweet, because Grace will be gone by September, by the time the new school term starts. She’s moving with her family to Seattle, so if something ever could have come of them, neither will ever know.

🎈 nineteen

Sarah feels freer now. She’s in college, out in the world, never mind that her world mainly consists of campus, her dorm, the little cafe down on Elm and the library.

People are still hard, and her circle of people is ridiculously small, but not for lack of trying. There isn’t much time for friends, anyhow she tells herself. Her goal here is to do well. She has to do well. She is, and that’s her consolation.

But it’s her birthday and she’s tired and her heart is heavy and she just wants to not feel so alone. So it’s probably a poor decision but it’s summer and she’s alone in her dorm, most other people having left for the holidays; she just can’t stomach going back, and in any case doesn’t think her mum would even miss her presence. There are no calls or messages from the few friends she’d had in high school. Nothing. Which hurts, because she always remembers their birthdays. But maybe they didn’t feel the same way. They’d moved on, probably; she should too.

It’s just her in her dorm, alone that Monday night.

It’s impulsive, and she’ll regret it later, she knows, but the bottle is right there in her cupboard and even if it’s for a little bit, she just wants to forget, to not think, to lose focus. Even if it’s only temporary.

The one and only time she allows herself to do this, truly let go of herself like this. And it’s not one of those wild stories to be told later and made light of, it’s not a party or surrounded by friends. It’s just her, alone with the bottle, trying to rid herself of her thoughts.

🎈 twenty-six

Sarah is exhausted. Her rotation in the ED is taking its toll on her. The shifts, the long days and nights. But this is everything she had been working towards. What practically everything she had done since she was sixteen had been for.

So that evening, all she wants to do is to go home, order some takeout from the ramen place she likes and maybe watch a movie. Just something quiet with herself.

She’s just home and showered, hair still damp and hanging loose when her phone rings. Unusual. Hardly anyone ever called her. What’s even more unusual is that it’s Natalie from Med calling her, and Sarah wonders what on earth she could want at this time of the evening, especially when neither of them have a night shift that day.

She picks up, to hear Natalie asking if she could come round and watch Owen because she needed to run out to the grocery store and there was no one else to.

Sarah sighs inwardly. So much for her quiet night. But she goes. It’s not like she had any real plans tonight. If anything, watching Owen might be a help. She knows sitting in front of the TV, especially tonight, would lead her mind to wander. To places and thoughts she didn’t want it to go. It was probably for the best. So she pulls on jeans and a sweater and goes.

Natalie answers the door, pulling Sarah inside. “Thank you so much for coming, honestly I don’t know what else I would have done,” she gushes.

“Don’t mention it—“ Sarah begins, but the words die on her lips as Natalie leads her into the kitchen.

April is there, holding Owen, and Maggie is beside her with Noah and Ethan and Connor and Will and a few of the others.

“Happy Birthday!” They all call out in unison, smiles on their faces and Owen waving his small fists, not quite understanding, but knowing something good is happening.

Sarah is completely taken aback. She hadn’t been expecting anything, let alone this. She didn’t even think they all knew when her birthday was.

“You didn’t think we were gonna leave you all on your one, did you?” Maggie asks, pulling her into a tight embrace.

This, Sarah thinks, is what a family must feel like.

🎈 twenty-seven

So much has changed. For one thing, Sarah’s a psych resident now. Something she never thought she would be, but she’s enjoying it. For another, and this is the biggest one, there’s Ava. And that is amazing and terrifying in equal parts all at the same time.

Ava wouldn’t tell her where they were going. Only that it required Sarah to dress up. It turned out to be a fancy Italian restaurant, one that apparently Ava had had her eyes on for months for this very occasion. Sarah had never really been one for grand gestures, considering her mother’s track record with them; they’d always felt empty. But with Ava, it is completely, entirely different. The way Ava is excited about it probably more than Sarah, because she loves surprising her, seeing her happy. And that, for Sarah, makes the day. Because it is so genuine and heartfelt.

Sarah can’t think of a time where she’s felt lighter than she does now.

But that’s not even everything. They get home, and Ava leads Sarah to the couch, telling her to sit, and disappears off into the kitchen. She’s only gone for a short time, and when she returns, she’s bearing a decadent chocolate cake on a platter, iced with ‘happy birthday Sarah,’ in Ava’s familiar, looping script, candles flickering in the dim light. Ava made this. For her.

It’s perfect, and she tells her so as Ava sets the platter down on the coffee table in front of her.

“Blow out the candles,” Ava says softly, and Sarah does, as her girlfriend snaps a photo of her, smiles etched on both their faces.

“Thank you,” Sarah tells her quietly as Ava comes to sit beside her, placing a kiss to her lips.

“Happy birthday, my love,” whispers Ava when they break apart. And it is. Completely.

#sarah reese #my writing #reesker #chicago med #the title is really not creative i know #i wrote this at like 11 last night because i was being sad and its completely unedited but posting it anyway

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purplesauris · 4 years ago

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The Heart Wants

"I want you to meet my family."

Din wants to show Luke off to his family- whether that be his found family or anyone else.

Read it on AO3 here!

“I want you to meet my family.” Din watches him, beskar helmet reflecting the sunset from the window as he leans back in his chair.

Luke’s hands still in the air, Grogu floating above him, and he looks toward Din. “Pardon?”

A trickle of discomfort curls around Luke’s throat, a soft wispy thing, and he lowers Grogu from the air, ignoring the disappointed coo the child lets out as Din’s shoulders slump. He instead draws one of Grogu’s toys closer, making it dance through the air to keep him occupied as Din clears his throat. “If you want. They’ve asked to meet you when I go out next.”

“They’ve asked for me?” Luke doesn’t want to seem overly eager, but judging by the way Din’s head turns just slightly, unable to look at him, he’s blushing inside his helmet. “You talk about me.”

“You’re training my son.” Din croaks, as if that’s excuse enough.

“We’re dating.” Luke can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, laughing when Din shuffles in his seat and mumbles something uncouth under his breath. It’s enough for the modulator to pick up, but not enough to be heard clearly, so it sounds like static cracking through. “When were you thinking?” Luke says instead, giving Din a way out of his flustered revelation.

“When it’s better to bring Grogu along.”

Luke’s mind whirls immediately at the thought, and he glances down at the small green child tucked in his lap. Words bubble up from him before he can trap them behind his teeth, shove them back down, and Luke’s gaze is firmly locked on the toy he sends sailing through the air in wilder and wilder loops and spins.

“I can bring him to my sister, she’s- like me, and will know how to care for him.”

“On Coruscant? The capital of the Galaxy?” Luke winces at the way that sounds, but something niggles at the back of his mind, and he squints in Din’s direction.

“How do you know where she is?”

Now it’s Din’s turn to wince, though the subtle shift of his body is much less noticeable than Luke’s; only caught because Luke knows every dip and stretch of muscle.

“I keep track.” Din mutters, as if just admitting that is something wrong, ugly. Luke finds it frustratingly endearing, the level of awareness that Din has for everything and everyone; it only lends to the fact that Din’s strength lies not just in his fighting skills, but in the simple fact that Din is smart.

He’s devilishly clever, wildly pragmatic when he needs to be and endlessly creative. Every time that Luke thinks he finds him, truly sees him another layer is pulled back, revealing more and more of the man beneath the armor. Of the clever, kind man whose spirit called to him in the moments between their words.

“I know it’s not ideal, but…” Luke glances over at him, willing him to understand without Luke having to continue, and to Luke’s continued delight Din dips his head- finishing Luke’s thought.

“I trust you, Luke. Not sure I do her, but if she’s like you…”

“Ah, she’s better, actually. Much more adjusted.” Din huffs a laugh, metallic and low, and Luke revels in the sound and faint feeling of warmth wafting off of Din. “If we have her babysit, when were you thinking? Next supply run?”

“Mmm. Probably."

Luke purses his lips, thinking about how far Leia is from him, and even with him flying solo it’s going to be a tight turn around if they want to be on time.

“Okay. I’ll have to leave a couple days early, to get him there and get back.”

“Alone?” Curious, Din sits forward in his chair, as if the thought of being left behind is a novel idea.

“It’ll be easier for me to get in and out of the city without a big scary Mando following me around.” Din snorts at that, but judging by the way that he sits back he has no argument. Not yet, at least. Luke can practically hear the gears grinding in Din’s head, turning his words over and over to examine every bump and crack. “The x-wing only fits one anyhow.”

“You’ll meet me back here?”

“Of course. After all, I want to fly the Crest too.” His grin answers Din’s groan, and he feels a thrill go down his spine when Din doesn't automatically tell him no. He might not get to this time, but he's a patient man, and with enough convincing Din will let him do almost anything.

Almost.

"Tell me about her?"

Luke leans back on his hands, letting the toy drop and nodding at Grogu. Grogu grumbles unhappily, but the toy begins a shaky maneuver into the air, Grogu's little hands raising while Luke begins to talk. "Her name is Leia, but you knew that already. She's a senator for the new republic."

"What's she like?"

"She's brave, smart as a tack. Doesn't take shit from anyone." Luke's eyes burn, and he presses a hand to his forehead, stupidly emotional. "I didn't know her when I was a child- I grew up on Tatooine while she grew up a princess on Alderaan. We met during the Rebellion: she was a prisoner on the death star and Han and I rescued her."

"Han?"

"Solo. Her husband. He was a smuggler I hired who kind of got sucked into helping the rebellion."

Talking about the rebellion always made something slimy and panicked crawl through his veins, but if there was one thing he'd mastered long ago it was pushing those feelings back. His meditation had helped, the little training he had with Yoda had helped, and most days, alone with Din or Grogu or Artoo, he could breathe. But there were moments of silence, of stillness when Luke's right arm ached and all that he'd done came crawling back to the surface. When he laid in bed, Din asleep beside him, and wished he were anyone else. The thoughts drag at him like an anchor against the sandy bottom of the ocean, and Luke finds himself set adrift, the room around him fading in and out of focus.

This is not the time to be doing so.

Luke tries, really he does, to draw himself back in, to crawl from the ugly sprawling thoughts in his mind, but he hears a low scraping sound that’s so much like metal debris against the side of his x wing that he flinches. There’s a rattle to his left, the dropping of something heavy, and then a weight settles against his back, tucking into the crook of his neck and gripping around him.

Luke’s first instinct is to shove away from it, to fight his way out, but soft fingers catch at the edge of his shirt, smoothing along his abdomen, and Luke releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The touch is hesitant at first, as if afraid, but when Luke doesn’t do anything past dragging in low, shuddering breaths it grows bolder. If he were here, truly focused, he’d make a joke, something to diffuse the situation, but instead he shakes as a palm slides under his shirt and presses flat over his chest, nestled above his heart. Luke focuses on the pulse he senses in the man’s palms instead of his own, the warmth of skin on skin contact.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Slow and even- calm in the midst of a storm. Luke tilts his head back, gasping in a breath, and metal digs into the back of his head, cold and hard. A pauldron. Luke recognises the ridged edge to it, recognizes the soft scrape of facial hair against his neck when Din presses closer, breaths light and hand held to Luke’s chest.

“Take a breath. Hold it.” Luke follows the command on instinct alone, chest expanding under hand and stopping, full to bursting until Din’s voice, soft and so unlike his visage, speaks again. “Release. Slowly.”

Luke follows that instruction to the letter, letting the air seep from his lips until he feels empty, hollowed out and aching to take a breath. Din works him through ten more breaths, until he’s breathing without waiting for Din’s quiet command and his hand finds Din’s, clutching at his fingers in an effort to keep himself grounded.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, grief rising in his throat like a beast ready to kill, and Din’s voice vibrates across his back from where Luke is pressed back into his arms.

“I know.” Somehow, his simple acknowledgement, his acceptance, is what breaks Luke. He feels a sob clatter out of him, low and weak, and Din’s head turns, forehead pressing against Luke’s temple. Din holds him tight and Luke allows himself to be held, shaking and weak, until his tears and his panic finally ebb, drawn back into the little box he keeps under such careful lock and key. In his lap Grogu’s big brown eyes are shiny with tears, and when Luke turns his head, bumping his forehead against Din’s he finds his mandalorian in a similar state.

“I’m sorry.” Luke says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Din’s free hand comes up, dashing away the wetness that clings to Din’s lashes like morning dew. Din doesn’t stop at himself, thumb wiping at the trails on Luke’s cheeks before drawing Grogu up. Luke’s hands come up to steady the child against his chest as Grogu’s little head tucks under his chin, and Luke leans heavily back against Din’s chest.

They sit there for a while, breathing and holding each other close until Grogu’s breaths even out and his snores kick up, Luke only half fighting the heaviness in his own eyelids. It seems easier to fall asleep than address this fragile, marred thing, but Din always seems to be one step ahead of him, hand slipping from his chest as both arms move to rest around Luke’s middle instead, a warm cage that Luke doesn’t want to leave.

“Sleep, Luke. You don’t get nearly enough. Let me watch over you.” Luke wants to point out that they’re in the middle of the living room, but Din’s chest rumbles against his back as he makes a soft noise, nosing at his cheek and placing a soft, reverent kiss to the curved edge of Luke’s jaw. Luke allows himself to drift off in Din’s arms, sinking into the darkness behind his eyelids without a fight.

Luke wakes up in bed screaming.

He looks around, eyes wild, trying to find the source of the agony coursing through him, but there isn't any. Luke sucks in two harsh breaths, fighting against the instinctive panic, and he looks down at his right hand, fingers twitching madly and whole arm quaking. When he tries to move his arm another razor edged wave of feeling scrapes along his nerves, and he bites back another scream. “Fuck-”

“Here.” Luke’s head snaps up toward the doorway as Din’s lithe form slips through, walking with measured steps until he sinks down onto the edge of the bed by Luke’s hip. He reaches out, hands gentle as he takes Luke’s hand in his. Even that movement is too much, too rough, but Din thumbs at the line where his wrist connects, edging along the hard line of the cybernetics underneath the skin. Din almost seems to be searching for something, and Luke wants to ask him what, but Din’s thumb digs in suddenly and Luke feels a pop in his wrist. Sensation shorts out of his arm immediately, fingers twitching for a moment before going limp. Luke is able to focus more on his breathing and collecting his thoughts with Din having done… whatever it is he did, and eventually Luke finds his voice.

“How did you...”

Din’s eyes flick up toward him, near black in the dim light coming from the hallway, and so filled with warmth that Luke feels like he’s a spark away from going up in flames.

“You’ve done it before.”

“I know I have, but how did you know to-” Luke’s mouth snaps shut at the realization that he knows the answer to the question. He didn’t realize he’d ever done it in front of Din. He’d spent months tinkering with his hand after the medics on the Redemption had installed it, and he’d installed what some might call a kill switch. It was small, near impossible to trigger unless you knew exactly how and where it was, and Luke had done it out of sheer desperation to have some way to make the pain stop.

“You've only used it one other time.” Din says, looking down at Luke’s hand and thumb smoothing over his inner wrist. “But you were in pain then too.”

“It bothers me.” Luke expects the shame that comes with talking about his hand, but Din lifts it higher and places a kiss onto the deadened palm. Luke wishes desperately that he could feel it, if only for an instant, but his want is written plain across his body. It has to be, because there’s no other way he can explain away to himself the way that Din gathers his other hand, lips soft and gentle on the palm. Luke presses the fingertips of his good hand into the skin of Din’s cheek, holding him there, and Din’s eyes shut, turning just slightly to bump his nose against the meat of Luke’s thumb and smile against his skin.

“You don’t have to hide when it does.”

“I have obligations.” Luke protests, sinking away from the casual way that Din reminds him that he’s a man. Just a man, beneath everything. “I can’t just- turn my hand off when it suits me.”

“Are you useless without your right hand?”

“No, but-”

“Can you still teach, still work your plants and tinker with Artoo?”

“Yes, but-” Luke feels like a moon cracked into jagged pieces, pulled in all directions by the gravity of Din’s eyes, of his careful, thought out words.

“You are allowed to want to stop hurting.” Luke physically recoils at the words, letting them slam into his chest and bury deep. Luke draws in one breath, then two, then three, trembling in bed as Din holds his hand and presses his face, his skin against Luke’s palm and seems content never to move away. “I want this, Luke. Let me shoulder some of the burden for once.”

“What if it’s too much?” Luke’s voice is weak, timid, and Din’s expression softens, eyelids drooping and corners of his mouth tugging into a sad, quiet smile.

“Then I’ll complain. Loudly.” That draws a thick, startled laugh out of Luke, and he watches the way that Din’s smile warms into something fond and affectionate.

“Promise?”

“I can start now.” Luke laughs again, disbelieving, and Din chuckles along with him, tilting his head as Luke leans forward, shifting the hand on Din’s cheek so that he can kiss him easier. Din pulls back after a moment, humming softly and brushing his lips against Luke’s more for the sensation than anything else. “I just got Grogu back to sleep. Do I need to sing you to sleep too?”

“I don’t think your singing would have that same affect on me.”

“I’m pretty good.” Din points out, cracking a smile when Luke pushes against his cheek, choosing instead to flop back against the bed.

“I would just stay awake to hear it.” Din nods as if that’s a perfectly acceptable answer, and when Luke opens an arm Din doesn’t hesitate to crawl into bed beside him. Luke has always loved that for all of Din’s brute strength and aggressiveness he sleeps curled tight, knees up close to his chest to block anyone from getting at the soft expanse of his belly. It took waking up to knees in his ribs more times than he could count to adjust to the way that Din slept, to coax him into spreading out and taking up space.

Din does it now without question, hooking a leg up over Luke’s to press it into the space between Luke’s thighs, arm tossed over Luke’s ribs and face tucked against Luke’s neck. The feeling of Din’s breath on his neck, slow and even, is what allows Luke to finally drift off again, Din holding his deadening hand gently.

-*-

He manages to reorient himself by the time he calls Leia, scrambling and rescrambling the feed to ensure that whoever might have been listening were thrown off. Leia’s face is fuzzy at first, buzzing with her movement, but she’s grinning at the sight of Luke.

“Luke.”

“Hey Lee.” Luke grins when Leia scoffs at the nickname, the same reaction he’s gotten since he first tried it out and decided it was going to stay. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Would that favor involve childcare?" Leia's expression is impassive, but when Luke grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck he sees her crack a smile. "I can hear your intentions from here."

"It would only be a couple days, and you could get to know him!"

"He's your student."

"I know, I know, but it's too dangerous to bring him back to Nevarro and-"

"Why are you going to Nevarro?" Leia's eyes narrow, brow arching when Luke's cheeks flush with color. He very pointedly looks away for a moment, drawing in a couple of deep breaths before Leia's grin turns shark like. "You met someone."

"It's-" Luke goes to say that it's complicated, but Leia's eyes widen comically at something in the background, and Luke turns just in time for Din to dip down, bumping his helmet against Luke's forehead. Luke presses up into the touch, smiling, before remembering himself and pulling back, cheeks positively red now. Din's attention turns to the holo, head tilting just so, and Luke feels the instant that Din realizes what he's done. "Leia, this is my partner, Din. Din, this is my sister, Senator Leia Organa."

"Senator." Din dips his head as a courtesy, and Luke watches as Leia does the same.

"Mand'alor." Luke hears Din groan quietly, too soft for the holo to hear, and he snickers, ignoring the elbow that gets him in his side. Really, by now Din should be used to the title and people's knowledge of who he is, but somehow it comes as a shock to him every time. Leia straightens in her chair, and though nothing has really changed Luke can see the polite mask that falls into place. "If you truly don't have anywhere else, I'll take him." Luke grins, glancing at Din. "But only for three days. I do have obligations here that a child would disrupt."

Luke nods his head in agreement, pressing his lips together in a miserable attempt to hide his grin. "Right so uh, I'll see you in a couple days?"

"Don't forget anything." Leia warns, Luke laughing. "And Luke? You have questions to answer."

Leia doesn't let Luke reply before the holo goes dead, and Luke sits back, peering at Din. "Well, that could have gone worse. If you hadn't appeared I expected to lose my hearing."

"Would it have been that bad?"

"She locked me in my room for three days the last time I lied to her." Din pauses, head tilting, and Luke is surprised and delighted when Din laughs, a full bodied sound that makes Luke smirk.

"I like her more already."

"Good! Because she's going to make us visit sooner or later."

“Make us?”

“You don’t get to say no to Leia.” Luke knows that from experience: sooner or later Leia is going to drag them to Coruscant for something, and it’s only a matter of time.

Din hums from behind his helmet, reaching out to play with the sleeve of Luke’s robe. “If I tried?”

“She might put a bounty out on you.” Luke deapans, face carefully arranged into a blank expression that breaks when Din shakes his head and shoves at his shoulder. Luke scoops the holo up off of the counter, turning as Din catches his waist, holding him still. Luke raises a brow, lips quirking, and watches with obvious interest as Din reaches back to unlock and slip his helmet off.

Seeing Din's face is just as breathtaking as it was the first time so many months ago, and Luke's heart swells with affection. Din is handsome- not in a drop dead, unrealistic kind of way, but in a softer, grounded way that makes Luke's heart go wild in his chest whenever he gets a peek. Luke is so used to reading the lines of Din's body, of trying not to read him but reading his emotions anyway that when Din's connection opens Luke temporarily goes blind with the feelings that wash over him.

The rush of their connection powers through him, making Luke slap a hand onto the counter as a laugh bubbles up in his throat. Din's amusement, his care and his love sweep through him, leaving him warm and fuzzy, but other feelings worm their way in as well. He can acutely recognize the worry and fear, the anxiety that makes a mess of Din’s thoughts when he thinks of Grogu being so out of his reach. It’s intimate- madly so, and Luke finds himself tipping forward, clanking their foreheads together uncomfortably and reaching to cup the back of Din’s neck.

“I don’t want you to go.” Din begins, voice choked, and Luke leans in harder, fingers digging into the nape of Din’s neck. “But I know you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll hurry.” Luke whispers, bumping his nose against Din’s and brushing their lips together. Din makes a soft, wounded sound, tilting his head to kiss Luke firm and slow. Luke feels Din’s connection go flimsy, and Luke lets his hold on the other end go, Din’s emotions wrapping back around him like a cloak. It’s easier to handle this way, but Luke craves the connection at the same time.

Din pulls away, reluctance in every muscle of his body, and Luke hums, leaning back to look him over. Din’s eyes are watery, tears gathering, and Luke loves how expressive Din can’t help but be. Luke bumps their foreheads together one more time before he steps out of Din’s arms, going to get his things and gather up what Leia will need for Grogu’s stay. Once he’s gathered enough toys and things to keep the youngling occupied Luke pads back into the living room, scooping Grogu up into his arms and grinning when little claws tug at his robes.

“We’re gonna go visit someone special. Can you say bye to your buir?” Luke hears Din give a choked off noise akin to a gasp, and when he turns to Din the other man is staring at him with unabashed surprise. As if he never expected to be called that.

Grogu coos happily, reaching his little hand out, and Din steps forward, tilting his head down to place a soft kiss on Grogu’s fuzzy head. “Be good, ad’ika, no causing problems.”

The child tilts his head, as if he’s asking could I ever? and Din gives him an unimpressed look. Luke whistles sharply and Artoo whirls out from the other room, beeping and whistling merrily. “Ready to go, Artoo?” Din walks them to where their ships are nestled close together, the x wing covered in a layer of dust from Din’s takeoffs. Artoo speeds ahead of them, lining himself up and lifting up into his spot. He slots in easily and Luke grins when the x-wing roars to life. The vibrations from the engine pulse through Luke and he feels giddy all over again: he hasn’t flown since Grogu came under his care, and he desperately misses it.

The cockpit swings up and open with a pneumatic hiss, the ladder sliding down for easier access, and Luke pauses at the bottom, turning back to Din. He looks at him one last time, not because he won’t see him again but purely because he wants to look, and Din’s answering smile is encouraging. Luke realizes with a jolt he’s projecting a little strongly, and he grins sheepishly, dimming himself down despite the way that Grogu giggles at Luke’s infectious eagerness. “Come back safe.”

“Nothing could stop me from coming home.” Luke promises, staring at the way Din’s lips twitch, color flushing the tips of his ears and brown eyes sparkling. It’s so ridiculously attractive that Luke almost stumbles hoisting himself up into the cockpit. It isn’t until Luke has his headset on, Grogu safely in his lap and yolk in his hands that Luke clears his mind. Din’s ship is a little close to his, wings overshadowing Luke’s vessel, but Luke maneuvers himself smoothly away from the Crest and circles into the air, rising higher and higher, leaving Din among the greenery of the planet.

Grogu stays firmly in Luke’s lap until they break through the atmosphere, but once the sharp nose of the x-wing cuts through and vaults them into space Grogu perks up, crawling to peer out of the cockpit window. “Alright Artoo, next stop Coruscant.”

Artoo beeps affirmatively through the comms and Luke watches the coordinates flash through his display, Luke turning himself in the right direction and increasing his speed. Grogu squeals in delight at the stars rushing past, and Luke braces Grogu’s little body as they slip into hyperspace, stomach dropping momentarily as his body adjusts to the drag and Grogu’s wide eyes take in the smears of blue and white that scramble past them.

“You’re gonna love Leia. She’ll spoil the devil out of you, little womp rat.” Grogu turns, crooning, and Luke smiles. “Just for a couple days, then you’ll be back with your buir and I.”

Luke doesn’t dare call himself a parent, not with what Din and Grogu went through together, not yet, but calling Din Grogu’s father? That feels right, like breathing after breaking the surface of the water, and Luke knows Din has been his father far longer than he ever realized.

-*-

Coruscant is as huge and sprawling as he remembers it, stinking of artificial ozone and smog. No one is there to meet him at the landing pad, but Luke is grateful for the chance to slip into the city anonymously. He tucks Grogu a bit deeper into the sling strapped across his chest and pulls his hood up, letting the dark fold of fabric obscure his face and cover the lightsaber hanging at his belt. He won’t need it in the city if he’s lucky, and Luke dives headfirst into the chaos of the city.

The electronics hum around him, sharp and bright, and Luke feels Grogu’s overstimulation rising in him, a surge of panic and anxiety. Luke tries to push some of his hard earned calm onto Grogu, smiling under the hood when Grogu relaxes, gurgling happily and sinking into the sling to nestle against Luke’s chest instead. Luke rests his hand against Grogu’s little form, both to protect and comfort him, and Luke makes a beeline for Leia’s home. He’s a half hour early, having made good time in hyperspace, and he’s itching to get inside and see his sister.

Leia's house is on one of the upper levels, closer to the Senate building, and Luke has to take two separate speeder lifts just to get to the top. Speeders whiz and race past him, going in every direction, and Luke wonders what it would be like to try and fly through the heart of the city: how many speeders he'd be able to avoid before finally wrecking. That thought process will only get him in trouble though, so Luke pushes it away and instead focuses on hopping out of the speeder, robes whipping back at the air that rushes from the pit of the city. Luke stops in front of Leia's building, taking a deep breath and battening down the waves of the force that swirl around him, arranging them into something neater, more easily managed. Only once he's gotten himself into something resembling the normal calm demeanor he's praised for does Luke knock on the door.

The door swings open, revealing an older man with dark brown hair, who smirks at him. "Hey kid."

"Hi Han. Leia home?"

"Nah, off on some Senate errand. Told me not to let you run away though. That your kid?"

Han motions toward the bundle on Luke's chest as he steps away from the door, Luke ducking inside and brushing the hood off his head only once the door has shut.

"My student, yes. Did Leia say how long she'd be?" He looks around while Han closes the door- the house is clean, immaculately so, but if he knows his sister, which he does, she spends about as much time here as Luke spends on Tatooine. Which isn't much anymore, if he can help it.

"Aww, don't want to hang out? I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore." Han's grin is easy and genuine and makes Luke roll his eyes.

"I just don't have much time before I have to leave. It's a tight turn around."

"Then you'd better speak fast." Luke jumps at the sound of Leia's voice, and he turns, watching as she slinks down the stairs, dressed in a cream suit that flatters her figure. Luke scowls when Han laughs at him, but Leia is sweeping him up into a tight hug that Luke stoops down to accept, pressing his cheek to hers but keeping his chest carefully angled away. Grogu squirms against his chest, curious, and Luke pulls back, letting the child poke his head out.

At first it's just his eyes and ears, staring curiously at Leia, who regards him with open wonder. Luke feels her reach out with the force the same instant Grogu does, and they release twin noises of surprise, Grogu kicking his legs to try and pull himself from the sling.

"Okay okay, no need to kick, here you little womp rat." Luke tugs Grogu free from the sling, depositing him in Leia's arms, who takes him with minimal hesitation. Her eyes are bright and friendly, and she pets a finger along the ridge of Grogu's ear.

"How did you find him?"

"I didn't. Din did." Leia looks up, keeping Grogu nestled in her arms while she waves for Luke to follow. They head into the living room off the main hallway, Leia sinking onto the couch while Luke remains standing, too tired of sitting to bother settling down. "Grogu can tell you the story- he's much more descriptive."

"I heard that a mandalorian was tearing up the outer rim in search of something. I didn't realize it was him." Leia coos at Grogu, letting him tug on the end of her long braid while cooing back.

"But you know he's Mand'alor?"

"Through word of mouth, mostly, though his reaction confirmed it." Leia looks up at the thought of Din, regarding Luke with something akin to exasperation. "Why didn't you say anything about him?"

"He's a private person."

"I'm your sister."

"You know now don't you?" Leia purses her lips, displeased, but she can't argue against that point, even if she did want to know sooner. Leia opens her mouth to say something just as the clock chirps the new hour, Luke's eyes flying up to check. He holds a hand up, sly smile on his face. "I have an hour before I have to leave again. You get one question about him: how we got together, who he is, or what he's like."

"The last two are the same." Leia points out, frowning.

"You have two options then." Luke replies, Leia's frown deepening.

"How you two got together?."

Luke's expression goes wistful, and he paces the length of the living while thinking of what he wants to say.

"I saved him and the child from a squadron of dark troopers on an Imperial cruiser. It's how Din became Mand'alor, actually. He won the Darksaber in a fight against Moff Gideon."

"That isn't how you got together."

"I'm getting there." Luke shoots back, squinting unhappily at Leia until she holds up a hand in a placating gesture. "Din was… unprepared for Grogu to leave. They'd done all this work to save him, to rescue him and I came in and just- well I didn't steal him, Din gave full permission but… he was heartbroken. For a long time I felt echoes of it, and eventually I sent him coordinates to visit. Grogu missed his buir as much as Din must have missed his ad'ika."

"He taught you Mando'a?"

Luke laughs, shaking his head. "I just picked up the important words." Luke's expression sobers, and his hands disappear into the sleeves of his robes, worrying away at the shirt underneath. "I had visions of Din nightly- glimpses of him with friends or alone, but always heading in my direction. When Din finally did land on the planet I couldn't be sure if it was him or another vision."

Luke's voice peters off as he hesitates, but Leia is silent and Luke lets the words come to him faster and faster, flowing past his lips in a tidal wave. "He only stayed a day the first time- but when he came back and he- never left. For Grogu, I knew, at least at first, but denying attachments had never been my strong suit and- he's force sensitive Lee, not that he can use it really, but it drove me half mad with the way he could use it. I didn't- want him to leave after a while. The house seemed too empty and his cooking is much better anyway."

Luke hears Leia laugh and he finds himself smiling along. "He was the one that kissed me first, actually."

"You've seen his face?"

"We're a clan." Luke replies, voice soft with awe. "But kissing is different- like what you saw over the holo. He doesn't have to remove it, and half the time he doesn't. It was a relief just to know how he felt that night, but he's- brilliant. He's smart and he's funny and he's such a good dad and he's handsome."

"With or without the helmet?"

"Yeah." Leia laughs at the dreamy look that clouds Luke's face, glancing over at the clock. He's already ten minutes past when he was supposed to leave. “I’m… very lucky to have him, and to have Grogu as well.”

“You’re happy.” Leia says, fondness written all over her. “What are you doing that you’re leaving Grogu here?”

“Meeting his family.” Luke breaks from his reverie finally, glancing at the clock before gasping with outrage. “Leia! You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Leia denies, the spitting image of innocence, and Luke scowls. He jogs over, ducking down to bump his forehead against Grogu’s little head. A clawed hand pats his cheek and Luke leans back, catching his gaze and staring pointedly.

“Be good, Grogu. She isn’t just a normal person, she’s like me. Which means she can tell when you try to use the force to sneak snacks.”

Grogu gurgles in disappointment, obviously displeased, but Leia bounces him a little higher in her arms and he giggles. Luke presses a warm kiss to Leia’s cheek before jogging for the door, waving goodbye and slipping outside. He’s much too impatient to wait for a speeder to take him down a few levels, so Luke does what any person would do.

He jumps off the edge of the city, letting himself plummet faster and faster until he jerks to a stop, the force catching around him like a net. A speeder with a family inside screeches just above his head, and he carefully maneuvers his way back to the level needed, hoisting himself up over the edge and dusting his robes off. All around him people stare at him with wide, confused eyes, but Luke is already slipping from their view before anyone can ask him questions. Artoo whistles happily when Luke comes bounding up to the ship, ignoring the ladder in lieu of hopping lightly, kicking off of the wing and vaulting up into the cockpit.

Luke shoves the helmet on, securing it under his chin as the cockpit seals around him and Luke gets comfortable. “Alright Artoo, we’ve got time to make up!”

Luke’s hands are barely on the yolk when the ship roars into movement, and Luke allows Artoo to guide them out of the city and into open space before he takes over. He doesn’t have to pilot, Artoo could easily handle it, but Luke hasn’t let Artoo truly fly him anywhere in years. Instead he lets him chart a path and then takes off, following with careful precision and overexaggerated loops just to make his stomach flip and roll with the g force.

He’s on a crash course for Din, and nothing will be able to stop him.

-*-

There’s a charlie horse in Luke’s leg that he can’t shake out and he wants to rocket himself into space. He’s been in his cockpit for far too long for his liking, having gone straight there and back, and by the time he slams through the air into the open sky of where he now calls home his knee is jittering anxiously. Luke’s landing is a bit hot but Luke swings the back end of his ship in a wide arc before easing to the ground, touching down and powering down as soon as he’s able to. Luke tugs his helmet off, storing it before popping the hatch to the cockpit, shoving the hatch up and open. He drags in a deep breath of balmy air, eyes closed, before he steps up onto the edge of the cockpit, crouches, and leaps off.

The burn in his muscles is fresh and beautiful and Luke craves it more than anything as he flips and lands in the dirt, laughing to himself. Luke dips into lunge after lunge, moving through defensive stances that intentionally stretch his aching thighs and calves out. He’s so caught up in the rush of being able to move after being in the cockpit so long that he doesn’t notice Din standing in the doorway to the Razor Crest, arms crossed over his chest and whole body tense. When Luke does finally notice him he goes stock still, nearly in the splits, eyes wide.

“Din! How uh, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see the flip.” Luke grimaces, straightening up and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It was a long flight back.” Luke supplies in defense, Din only humming. He doesn’t move from his spot and neither does Luke at first. “I know I’m a little late, I got caught up talking to Leia and I didn’t notice-”

“I’m not mad.” Din interrupts, Luke’s shoulders sagging in relief, and he takes a few steps toward the ship, stopping at the bottom of the ramp. Din tilts his head down, watching him, and Luke feels something like apprehension or eagerness crawl up his spine. Din’s hard to get a read on at the best of times when he’s actively protecting himself, and Luke still hasn’t gotten used to having to try. Din finally breaks away from his spot by the door, walking down the ramp with heavy, purposeful steps. They’re nearly close enough for Luke to reach out and touch when Din does so first, holding his hand out in an offer. “Are you ready to go?”

“No time to waste, we’re already going to be fashionably late, huh?” Luke turns to Artoo, nodding his head toward the ship. Din doesn’t seem.. Thrilled, but he’s warmed marginally to Artoo, and doesn’t object when Artoo rockets up the ramp and disappears into the ship.

“No time like the present.” Din agrees, Luke taking the other man’s hand, skin sliding along worn leather. Luke allows Din to lead him up the ramp and into the belly of the ship, eyes adjusting to the lighting as the ramp lifts up behind them.

Luke isn’t quite sure what he expected when he saw the outside of the Razor Crest, but a bounty hunters ship was about it. He can see a carbonite bay tucked near the back, but there aren’t any people encased, and Luke edges away from the contraption with barely concealed anxiety. He’d seen what happened to Han so many years ago and still felt the remnants of his own brush with that fate anytime the weather took a particularly cold turn. Din doesn’t seem to notice Luke’s apprehension about the bay, instead pulling him deeper into the ship itself. He allows Luke to look around the living space; Luke goes straight for the weapons locker, letting it swing open before nosing around. He hems and haws over the selection, and Luke can see Din go still when Luke lifts a particularly powerful rifle, hand smoothing up the barrel as he inspects it.

“You didn’t have this one before.”

“How do you know?”

“Your signature isn’t on it.” Luke replies, grin just slightly unsettling. It’s enough to remind Din that he does have powers, as Din calls them, and he shelves the gun again, giving it a lingering look. He’s going to have to ask Din to let him shoot a couple of them. Din closes the weapons locker while Luke goes to snoop in the sleeping bay, humming when he sees his bag tucked away in one of the cubbies built into the wall. At least Din remembered to grab it. Luke doesn’t pay much attention to the refresher, though it does intrigue him how spacious it seems to be- usually it’s just a vac tube and maybe a sink, but Din’s is nicer, obviously meant more for comfort than straight efficiency. Once Luke has snooped enough, Din climbs the ladder up into the cockpit, Luke following close on his heels. “Can I fly?”

“Maybe on the way home.” Luke practically bounces out of his seat at the reply, and he tries to be patient and out of the way as Din settles himself in the captain’s chair. Luke watches as Din’s hands slip along the dashboard, flipping switches and pressing buttons in seemingly random orders. Luke has to admit he’s never really flown anything quite like the Crest, and not even the Falcon seemed to have quite so many buttons. Din’s movements are easy and precise, and Luke shouldn’t admit it but watching Din work makes the back of his neck flush.

Din handles them all like he has a thousand times, and he flips two more switches before the engines whine to life, powering up and shaking Luke’s bones. They’re so much more powerful than the x-wing’s single engine, and Luke feels like he could be shaken out of his chair as Din takes hold of the yolks in front of him. Din doesn’t give him any warning before the ship lifts, easing into the sky. Luke sinks back into his seat, fingers gripping the edges, and watches, eyes on Din’s hands the entire time that they ascend.

His hands shouldn’t look so lovely around the yolks, really it’s practical and necessary for Din to hold them the way he is, grip firm and tight around them, applying even pressure to guide the ship higher. What isn’t necessary is the way that Din’s thumbs swipe over the tops of them, Luke’s breath hitching in his throat at the sight as he tries miserably not to think about Din’s hands elsewhere. Luke sees Din’s helmet tilt infinitesimally toward him, as if he heard, and Luke has to fight against the urge to cross his legs to hide whatever reaction he may or may not be having. If he does that though Din will definitely know, so Luke leans back in his chair and thinks his purest Jedi thoughts.

Jedi thoughts turn out to be useless when Din works them through the atmosphere: Luke is used to the drag and jittering of ripping through the layers between space and whatever planet he’s leaving, and he expects the bulk of the Crest to be less than elegant. But when the ship begins to shake Din eases the yolks back, tipping the nose and increasing the throttle in one smooth movement. They slip through like water seeping between a crack in the earth, smooth and uninterrupted, and Luke could kiss Din senseless at the pure artistry in his piloting skills. Luke might think himself an ace pilot, especially with his x-wing, but even he would have struggled with such a smooth exit.

“You’re good with the yolks.” Luke blurts it out without thinking, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he’s done. Din’s laugh is honey thick, simmering with heat, and Luke tries very hard to sink back into the seat and disappear. Din doesn’t say anything until they’ve slipped into hyperspace, and it’s only to turn to Luke with a simple command.

“Go shower.”

“Do I stink?” Luke lifts his robe up, but he can’t smell anything other than smog and the lingering scent of Leia’s perfume.

“No, but I can tell you want to.” Luke pauses, frowning, but he had been lamenting that Din’s ship didn’t seem to have one. “Take your time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to wait?” Din shakes his head once and Luke rises from his chair, lingering a moment to watch Din fiddle with the autopilot before slipping back down to the living quarters. As much as he wants to wait or ask Din to join him he does feel gross, and he leaves his clothes in a pile on the cot before slipping into the ‘fresher and letting the door close behind him. It takes him an obtuse moment to figure out that the showerhead is tucked back into the wall when not in use, and another moment of cold shock before he gets the water to heat.

The hot water is a delight that Luke has sorely missed, and he allows himself to stand under the spray, pounding against his back with surprising pressure. He’s slow to wash himself up, to hurry the process along, but Luke knows there’s limited water and he doesn’t want to use it all lest Din wants a shower later. Alone in the steam of the shower Luke allows his thoughts to drift: Din’s fingers wrapped tight around the yolks, guiding them up and away, Din’s hand on his waist, holding him close in the moments they steal when they can. It’s almost embarrassing to say that he wants Din this way so often- he’s perfectly content to do nothing more than kissing, and it’s honestly never been something Luke thought about in regards to other people.

But there’s something about Din that lights his skin on fire when he sees something he particularly likes, or thinks about the things he wants to ask for but never will.

Luke turns the shower off, watching the water circle the drain as he uses a small towel to scrub himself dry and wring out his hair. He's still in the 'fresher when he hears Din call for him, and Luke grabs his robe, slipping it on and cinching it at the waist before climbing the ladder. His skin prickles with cold and he probably should have gotten dressed first, but Din never calls for him unless he needs something and Luke is eager to see what he can help with.

"Din?" Luke pokes his head into the cockpit, padding inside on bare feet when Din doesn't answer. Din turns his head once Luke gets close enough, and Luke sees the predatory tilt of Din's head when his eyes sweep over Luke's form. "You needed something?"

"Mm." That… doesn't answer anything really, and Luke raises a brow when Din reaches out, resting his hand on Luke's hip and smoothing his thumb over the line of bone there. Luke tries not to let the touch get to him, but Din's fingers press in gently and he finds himself being tugged forward. He skids a hand against Din's vambrace, trying to brace himself, but Din hauls him forward regardless and Luke finds he very much likes the attention. Din turns the chair so that he's facing Luke, and with another insistent tug Luke finds himself settling into Din's lap, thighs snug around Din's and knees digging into Din's hips.

"Oh." Luke utters, tongue tied as Din's hands move to brace Luke's waist as the chair swivels back to face the front. Luke can tell from the viewport they're very firmly in hyperspace, but the back of Luke's neck tickles with awareness that in other circumstances someone could see him, perched in Din's lap in only a robe. A robe that Din is toying with, tracing the edges up to where it's draped shut, barely covering him. Luke feels like his skin has caught fire, and he shifts in Din's lap just slightly.

Din's thigh plates are gone.

Heat sears down Luke's spine at the heady implication and he tips forward, pressing his forehead to Din's helmet and letting his breath fog the visor. "Din."

"Do you remember what you said," Din begins, voice low and smooth. "The night you found out I could feel you using the force?"

"Which part?" There were a lot of things Luke said, both during and after and in between, but Din's hands slip beneath the robe to trail over his thighs and Luke realizes Din doesn't have gloves on. Din doesn't say anything for a moment, instead smoothing both hands up and down Luke's thighs, pushing the robe away and letting it fall back around Luke's hips. It bares Luke to the cockpit and most embarrassingly to Din, who watches the way that Luke's cock twitches with interest at each touch. "Din." Luke entreats, puffing out a sharp breath when Din's thumbs dig into the junction of hip and thigh, drawing out that wonderful wobbly feeling that makes Luke's stomach clench and thighs jerk underhand.

"The part about having fun, if I'd asked sooner."

"What am I supposed to be asking for?" Luke is breathless now, eyes wide, and Din uses his hold on Luke to tug him forward, slotting their hips together and letting Luke's weight rest fully against him. Luke's brain shorts out at what he feels because there's no way that shape was there before and Luke never mentioned anything and-

"Oh." Luke says again, voice weak and needy, and Din huffs out a laugh that makes Luke's toes curl. "Din I-"

"Our connection goes both ways." Din whispers, hands wandering as Luke shivers in his lap when the tie to his robe is tugged open, allowing the robe to fall loose around him. "You're most open in your sleep, when you dream about things you think you shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't ask for." Luke corrects softly, teeth catching at his lower lip when Din rolls his hips up. The press of whatever Din has hidden away against Luke's own rapidly growing interest is sublime and Luke barely keeps himself from grinding down. Only the careful way Din watches him keeps him from doing anything too desperate just yet.

"You should ask for it, Luke. I want it too." Luke's heart hammers in his chest at the words, and Din never ceases to amaze him in the steadfast acceptance he shows. The attention that the armored man showers on him, whether they're alone or not.

"You want to do it… here?"

"You look good against the stars. You belong here, in my lap." Luke can feel his cheeks flush at the compliment but the only thing he can really focus on is the pitiful moan that he lets out at the phrasing. "We can wait until we land, if that makes you more comfortable."

"Din, I am not leaving your lap."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Luke laughs softly, but Din's hand wraps around him in a gentle, teasing touch and Luke gasps, hips bucking up into Din's fist. "How long were you planning this?"

"A while." Din admits, thumbing at the underside of the head in a way that makes Luke's brain go fuzzy. Luke isn't sure what to do with his hands so he just rests them against Din's chest plate, closing his eyes as Din's hand squeezes lightly around him to draw out a soft whine. He's fully hard now, soft and warm and pliant in Din's lap, and Luke groans when Din pulls his hand back.

"Wanted to ask you for a while, but I was never- ah- brave enough." Luke can't help the noise that interrupts him when Din grabs his ass, spreading him teasingly as his other hand messes with something behind them Luke can't see. Din hums, goading Luke on, and Luke tries his best to focus. It becomes increasingly hard to do so when a single slick finger rubs absently at his rim, circling the sensitive muscle without dipping in quite yet. Every time Luke goes to speak again Din shifts his fingers, and Luke shudders when Din finally slides a finger in, letting Luke adjust slowly. He finds his voice once the initial teasing is out of the way, eyes shut to help him focus. "I know after some of the stuff we've done it should be easy but ah- mm, you're very good at that-"

Din moves his finger in slow, languid strokes, content to let Luke speak even as a second joins the first. Luke is more than ready for it and he takes it easily, grinding back onto Din's fingers as his head tips back. Din lets Luke fuck himself on his fingers, watching with unabashed interest at the way Luke's thighs flex with each movement. Luke can sense Din's attention more than he can see it, even when he does open his eyes, and he catches a flash of his own eyes in Din's visor, electric blue in the light of hyperspace. "Have you done this while I was away? Touched yourself this way?"

"Yes." Luke isn't afraid to admit it, not now with Din crooking his fingers and bumping against his prostate every other pass. Luke's fingers curl around the edge of Din's armor, holding on for dear life when Din finally gets the angle right and presses up firmly and rubs, Luke's hips shoving back as he keens. "Fuck, Din- it wasn't- good like this."

"No? All that power, and you never once used it on yourself?" Luke shakes his head, whimpering when Din nudges a third finger against him. Luke whispers his agreement, tugging on Din's armor, and he moans when Din's fingers stretch him wide. "You could have. Could have opened yourself up for me, waited patiently till I got home."

"Mhm- Din, please if you keep going I'll-" Heat races through him and even in the cool interior of the Crest Luke feels feverish with want. Din's ministrations don't slow at all, even when Luke's hand drifts to twist in the fabric of Din's cloak at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Luke is one second away from bursting, whining pathetically and hips grinding back. "Din- Din don't tease, wanna come with you in me-"

"You will." Din promises, and his fingers ease back just enough for Luke to focus on Din's voice. "Can you hang on?"

Luke whimpers, achingly close, but he nods after a second. He can do this much at least, and Din's fingers slowly resume their slow rhythm, though Din pointedly avoids Luke's prostate in favor of spreading his fingers a bit to stretch Luke wider. He groans at the feeling, right hand gripping Din's cloak in a death grip just to have something to hold on to. Din is maddeningly good at this and Luke feels stupid for not having asked sooner, breath catching in his throat when Din finally pulls his fingers out, circling Luke's rim in a final teasing touch before his hand disappears.

Luke hears the soft pop of a cap and his mind goes blank, hands shooting down to fumble at Din's pants. Din hums a low approving noise that cuts short when Luke finally works the toy free. Luke has no clue how long he's been wearing it or how long Din has sat here with it pressing into his hip. The sight of it though stops Luke short, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles from him: it's green. Obnoxiously so, but when Luke glances up, raising a brow Din shrugs defensively.

"It reminded me of you."

"Thank you." Luke's voice is sincere, and he can imagine more so than see Din roll his eyes.

"Don't be a brat."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mand'alor." Luke laughs again when Din's hand swats at his ass, probably harder than he means, but Luke finds he doesn't mind it terribly, especially when Din's fingers soothes over the red mark it must have left. Luke shuffles himself a bit closer, lifting his hips as Din slicks the length of the toy, watching him.

"Come here." Luke tries not to seem so eager when he moves closer, though he knows he fails miserably when Din hums quietly. Din's hands settle on Luke's hips, holding him steady, and Luke stops, kneeling above Din's lap and waiting. He doesn't know what he's waiting for until Din nods, tilting his head as Luke reaches to steady the base of the toy. The first initial press makes his hips still, overwhelmed, but Din's thumbs sweep over his hip bones as Luke pants, slowly fitting more and more until he's pressed to Din's lap, trembling. "Okay?"

Luke nods his head frantically, gasping when Din's hips shift: the toy carves deliciously into him, and it's been too long since he had this, since he let someone get close enough to do anything like this. Luke should be embarrassed at the way he moans, but Din pulls back before snapping his hips back up and Luke's vision whites out. He hears Din's own shaky noise in response and that spurs Luke into action, lifting his hips of his own accord and letting Din drag him back down.

"Din-" Luke doesn't know what to say, brain fried by the way that Din thrusts up into him, but he tips himself back, letting the cold metal of the dashboard dig into the small of his back. He doesn't have the strength to stay sitting up fully, thighs trembling and jerking each time that Din rolls his hips, but the angle is better, tighter and Luke cries out at the first hard slide against his prostate. He braces an elbow back against the panel, robe pooling at his elbows as the other hand shoots out, grabbing blindly for something to hold on to. He feels a button depress under his fingers and Luke swears, but Din doesn't break his stride, hips thrusting up smoothly as he leans over, flipping another switch to fix whatever Luke's wandering hand had done.

The image of Din piloting while Luke is helpless in his lap makes fire roar through him, and Luke is shamelessly close, chest heaving with his breaths. The edge of the console digs uncomfortably into his back but he arches up and away from it anyway when Din grabs at his hip again and pulls him a bit closer.

"Careful." Din soothes, a hand sliding down Luke's thigh while the other braces against his side. "You don't want to knock us out of hyperspace."

"That'd be- bad." Luke agrees, though he can't find it in himself to care too terribly much when Din is very warm and very talented with the movements of his hips. Luke glances at Din, wanting desperately to see him, but the muddy image in his beskar makes Luke pause: he stares at the way his skin has gone blotchy, chest and neck red and cock curving up against his hip, and when he spares a glance up his eyes widen. He looks- wrecked, for lack of a better word, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and half lidded, and Luke can't help the way he moans at the thought of Din seeing him this way, fucked out and desperate. Luke suddenly can't take it anymore, doesn't want the barrier, and the force sweeps along Din harder than necessary as Luke pops the lock on his helmet, whimpering. "Off, please, please I wanna-"

"Take it off, Luke." Luke surges forward, pushing off the dash and narrowly avoiding jostling a yolk on the way as he reaches for Din's helmet. It slides up and off without any resistance and Luke doesn't care where it lands as he tosses it toward the direction of the co-pilot's chair. Normally Din would scold him for the mishandling of his beskar but the other man only moans, brown eyes dark and half wild with lust as Luke surges to kiss him.

He cups Din's neck with one hand, the other burying in his hair and tugging as Din fucks up into him, hips stuttering when Luke laps into his mouth, tasting the noises he lets out. Luke can feel his own release boiling just under his skin and he drags the force along the length of Din's back, delighting in the shudder and gasp that earns him. Luke doesn't miss the small brush of an electronic, so quiet compared to the rest of the ship that Luke's curiosity is peaked. Luke reaches out, turning the little device on and pulling back when Din's hips jerk hard up into him, losing their rhythm completely. Luke watches the way that Din's eyelids flutter, and Luke grins, using a bit of help from the force to ratchet the power in the device up a notch. Din whines his name, breathless, and Luke grinds his hips down, panting and edged in sweat.

"Don't wanna come alone."

"Fuck- you could have warned me."

"Didn't know it was there." Luke shrugs, as if it were Din’s fault for not telling him, and Luke gasps when Din finds his rhythm again, hard and fast. Luke doesn’t bother trying to talk anymore because each thrust punches weak, needy moans from his lips and he’s so close his thighs are starting to go numb. Luke knows that he could come just like this, fucked open and mind hazy with bliss, but he bumps his forehead against Din’s, leaning heavily against him as his hips cant up, changing the angle and keening when Din hits his prostate head on.

Luke is dizzyingly, staggeringly close and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to hold on. Din’s hands are bruising on his hips, dragging him down with each sharp thrust and Luke is helplessly in love with the way that Din’s eyebrows scrunch, thighs twitching under Luke’s as sweet moans drift from his lips when Luke quiets long enough to hear them. Luke lets his normal, tight control on the force loosen now, letting all that he feels rush around him, filling the cockpit with battering waves of energy. He feels Din quake underneath him at the feeling and Luke dips to kiss Din’s neck, trailing his lips up in a slow arc until his cheek presses to Din’s, Luke moaning softly into Din’s ear and smiling when Din grips his hips harder.

Luke can feel a wave building higher and higher in Din, raging and powerful and Luke wants to drown. He wants so badly that he doesn’t think he could stop the way Din’s own emotions batter him, and their pleasure twines together so closely that Luke doesn’t know how he’s going to untangle them again.

Luke isn’t sure who comes first- him or Din.

All he knows is that Din is entirely too good to him, a hand snaking between them to take him in hand and stroke him in time with the movement of their hips. Luke shakes apart in Din’s lap, pressing his face into Din’s hair and riding out the shocks that skitter along his nerves, lighting him up from within as Din ruts his hips up, whining low in his throat until Luke gets the memo and turns the vibe off with a twitch of his fingers. Din sags in relief underneath him, chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths, and Luke can feel the mess he’s made of Din’s beskar smearing against his stomach. Luke sits heavy in Din’s lap, unwilling to move away quite yet as he regains feeling in his legs while Din’s hand wanders from his hip, petting across the small of his back and tracing the bumps of his spine up and down in a soothing motion.

Luke is groggy, half heartedly tugging at the strings of the force around him to arrange them into something more easily worked when Din turns his head, kissing his jaw and smiling against his skin.

“What?” Luke questions, tilting his head to the side to allow Din to leave warm, open mouthed kisses along his neck just for the sake of touching him.

“Nothing.” Din’s voice is far too light, too casual, and Luke brings his hand up, snapping his fingers as the vibe thrums to life. Din jerks, swearing, and Luke snaps his fingers again, groaning when Din bites his neck in retaliation. “You’re being a brat.”

“You didn’t say how long I had to be good.” Luke says, lips curling in a self satisfied smile when Din snorts against his neck, resuming his ministrations.

It’s a minute before Din stops long enough to talk, and by then Luke is able to lift himself up and off the toy, settling in Din’s lap again. “I’m just- happy.”

“Mm, no need to hide that.” Luke sits back on his haunches, ignoring the way his thighs protest the movement as he looks Din over, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Luke traces his fingertips across Din’s forehead, over his temple before cupping Din’s cheek and sweeping his thumb over Din’s lips. “I am too.”

Luke watches the way that Din’s eyes sparkle, lips quirking into a small, pleased smile that Luke knows he doesn’t know how to hide. Luke finds himself smiling too, just to see Din’s grow at the sight, and Luke tips forward to place a soft kiss on his lips, the curve of Din’s smile soft underneath his lips. Din’s hand stills against the small of his back, pressing him a bit closer as Din tilts his head, slotting their lips together easier and sighing softly. Luke keeps his eyes open for a moment more just to see the soft, relaxed way that Din’s eyes slip shut, the way his head tilts just so to kiss him easier. Luke closes his eyes, letting his other senses take over as his skin pricks underneath Din’s palm, hypersensitive to each touch. Kissing Din is a luxury that Luke gladly takes as much of as he can, and he only pulls back when his skin begins to stick to Din’s beskar.

“As much as I could sit here forever, I think I could use another shower.” Din hums noncommittally, but Luke swings from his lap in one graceful movement that ends in his knees buckling, hand shooting out wildly to grab the edge of the dashboard as he laughs. “Ah, maybe I’ll just wait here.”

“Something wrong?” Din questions, head tilting as he turns in his chair, watching the way that Luke leans against the console. The bright eyed glare he levels over his shoulder is scathing and Luke scoffs in annoyance when Din’s smug smile only grows.

“No, not at all, just waiting for you.”

“I’ll follow behind.” Luke locks eyes with him, blue against brown, and it’s ultimately Luke who wins, Din unused to prolonged eye contact and Luke too stubborn to look away. Luke shoves away from the console, heading for the door and down the ladder into the sleeping bay before his legs can decide to give out on him again. He makes it down the ladder with only minor struggle, and Din is right behind him, nearly at the bottom when Luke snaps his fingers.

Luke watches Din’s back go rigid as his knees go weak, and he watches in smug satisfaction as Din’s knees hit the floor at the bottom of the ladder, bare hands tight around the rungs bolted into the wall. “Something wrong?” Luke parrots, leaning back against the doorframe for the refresher as Din hauls himself up using the strength of his arms. Din’s eyes are lava hot, black in the fluorescents of the ship, but Luke raises a brow as Din stands there, shaking.

“Turn it off.” Din’s voice is rough in his throat, but Luke catches the pleading, desperate edge to it because he crooks his finger in a come hither motion. Din doesn’t move for a moment and Luke thinks that he’s misjudged, but then Din shoves away from the ladder and storms over to him, beskar digging in uncomfortably as Din presses him bodily back against the wall. “Turn it off, Luke.”

“In a minute.”

“Luke-” Din’s voice finally cracks and Luke makes that same crooking motion with his finger, gripping Din’s bicep to keep him from collapsing as the vibrations grow in intensity. Luke drinks in the way that Din’s eyes go distant, lips parting as a soft moan falls from his mouth as his brow furrows. He hangs his head, hands gripping uselessly at Luke’s robe as his hips jerk. It doesn’t take long, not with the way that Luke keeps ratcheting up the intensity before Din is shaking in Luke’s arms, moaning desperately and only just keeping himself standing as an orgasm washes over him. Luke presses a kiss into his hair as he dims the intensity slowly until finally turning the vibe off, letting Din stand in his arms, shaking against him and forehead pressed to Luke’s collar bone. “You’re awful.” Din says eventually, though there’s no venom in his voice.

“I’ve been told that once or twice.” Luke agrees, hands skimming over Din’s armor to release the clasps and slip the pieces off one by one. By the time he’s got Din in his clothes Din seems more inclined to help, and he wiggles out of his shirt and pants, shucking the underwear with the toy off. “Shower?”

“Sleep.” Din argues, voice groggy. Luke waves for Din to go crawl into bed and Din doesn't argue, collapsing onto the cot without bothering to get into pajamas. Luke takes another quick shower, ass and thighs sticky from the lube, and then spends a bit washing the front of Din's chest plate so that Din won't forget in the morning. Only once he's gotten everything set does he duck into the sleeping bay, crawling over Din and using a sweep of his hand to close the bay off from anyone's sight. He won't sleep, not with them in hyperspace, but Din grabs for him greedily in his sleep, tucking his head under Luke's chin and causing the other man to smile and wrap an arm around him. Din's greatest strength seems to lie in passing out immediately after sex, and Luke wishes sometimes he could follow, but his brain won't shut down.

All he can think about is the way Din's hands had held him so tight, the way it had felt to be fucked in the captain's chair on display for Din and Din only. Luke has never been one to run toward being known, but Din looking at him, brown eyes soft and molten with lust made Luke want to bear himself in the hopes that Din would never look away. Din somehow manages to surprise him in some way each and every day, and Luke looks forward to the unknown more and more each day. Despite his own reservations about sleeping during hyperspace he will meditate, and he allows his mind to empty, thoughts scattering.

-*-

Din wakes up only a short time after Luke has drifted off.

At first he forgets where they are, but the cot in the ship is small and slightly lumpy and Luke is smashed against his side. Din doesn’t care too terribly much that every inch of them is touching in some way, reveling in the easy contact and the way Luke’s arm remains a constant heavy weight over his ribs. Luke’s hair tickles at his nose and he brings a hand up to push it away from his face, freezing when Luke shifts and mumbles something under his breath.

“Luke?” Din doesn’t want to wake him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s sleeping and when Luke shifts, humming quietly Din knows it was the right call. “We’ll drop out of hyperspace soon.”

“How soon?” Luke’s voice is groggy, half asleep, and Din almost chokes on the affection that swells up inside him.

“Have to go up to see. You’re trapping me.”

“Mm.” Luke makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t move his arm, instead hugging Din a bit tighter and sighing happily. Din allows the cuddles for a minute more before shoving at Luke’s hip lightly, recoiling when Luke’s lips part in a pained gasp as Luke rolls onto his back, drawing away. Din sits up so fast that dizziness slams into his skull as he drifts careful hands over Luke’s stomach and sides, Luke protesting. “Din, I’m fine, stop fussing-”

“That,” Din says quietly, voice trembling, “Was not an okay sound.”

Din watches as Luke sits himself up, narrowly avoiding knocking their heads together as he tosses the blanket back to show Din that he’s fine. But- he’s not. Bruises bloom over his hips in splotchy lines and curves, and Din’s hands clench into fists. He should feel shame: he knows it in the back of his mind, that hurting Luke this way, leaving these kinds of marks is unacceptable, but Din reaches forward, sliding his hand over them lightly and lining his fingers up to each purple bruise. His hand settles comfortably on Luke’s hip and Din can feel his cheeks burning.

“I told you I was fine.” Luke insists, though his voice has gone soft and breathy as Din pulls back to sweep his fingers over the marks.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Din looks up, frowning, and Luke smiles, sheepish. “Okay, so they’re sore, but I like them.”

Din comes up short at that: he doesn’t really see a reason to be upset if Luke likes them, and Din has to admit they do look rather fetching against the pale ivory of Luke’s skin. Din smoothes a hand over them again, pressing lightly and watching the way that Luke’s hips twitch, a rueful smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t start things you can't finish.”

Din hums, thoughtful, and dips to kiss the Jedi, a thrill going down his spine when Luke presses up against him. Luke’s hand comes up to cup the back of his neck but Din pulls back, kissing the tip of his nose and slipping out of bed. Luke groans loudly, annoyed, but Din only chuckles, moving to find his clothes and pull them on. He’s expecting to have to clean off his beskar but he’s pleasantly surprised when it shines dully in the light, clean of the mess they made a few hours ago. Once he’s armored again he hauls himself up the ladder, ducking into the cockpit and scooping his helmet up off the floor.

The display in front of him glows softly and when Din looks he’s surprised to find that they’re only minutes from dropping out of hyperspace. He slept longer than he expected. “Drop in five.” He calls, listening as Luke bangs around in the sleeping area below. Din isn’t worried about him going flying, Luke can handle himself, but he doesn’t want to cause anymore bruises if he can help it. He takes hold of the yolks when the computer beeps, guiding them through and down out of hyperspace as smoothly as he can, letting his body sag back against the chair as the ship slows around him. The drag of leaving hyperspace always disorients him for a minute, but he’s long trained himself to push through the dizziness to guide himself down toward the planet in question.

Nevarro’s atmosphere blooms hot around the nose of his ship as he plummets through, sweeping down through the clouds and dipping low over the dark sand and familiar rivers of lava that warm the flats. Din expects Luke to join him up in the cockpit, but he’s still fumbling around down below and Din isn’t going to call him up if he’s busy. It gives him time to worry privately about their meeting- Luke isn’t meeting his convert, not since they scattered to the wind: He’s meeting arguably the most important people in his life- all the ones who helped guide him toward the path he’s on now and kept him on it even when he was teetering on the edge, ready to fall off. It takes a minute to find a spot in the port clear enough for him to land, and he lowers them carefully, touching down with little more than a bump before switching off the control panel and snatching the steering chip out of it.

Din drops down the ladder easily, knees dipping to absorb the shock as he peers around. He finally catches sight of the door to the cargo bay open and heads that way, padding down the ramp and glancing around. He spots Luke’s blonde head of hair a few paces away, peering curiously up at the twin suns that light the sky. Din stops short at the bottom of the ramp, heart stuttering in his chest at the sight of him. The cloak around Luke’s shoulders is white- soft and plush looking and far too warm for the climate of Nevarro. When Luke turns, smiling, Din loses his breath at the sight of him, blue eyes bright against the stark snow white contrast of his clothes. They’re simple, pants and a form fitted long sleeve and boots, but the way the cloak hangs across his front like a cowl before draping over one shoulder flatters the slim angle of his shoulders and hips.

“What are you wearing?” Din feels stupid instantly at the question, but the lightest color he’s ever worn is tan, and Din’s eyes flick down to the dark sooty dirt that’s bound to stain the bottom of the cloak.

“Thought I should look nice.” Luke answers, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, just a shy quirk of his lips. His cheeks are pink and the white makes his skin look tanner, warm and flushed and Din can’t seem to formulate an intelligent reply. “Din?”

“Hm?”

Luke’s grin is pleased, affectionate as he beckons Din forward. The ramp rises behind him when Din finally steps off and walks forward, taking Luke’s outstretched hand. Luke’s right hand is clad in a white glove to match and Din worries his old leather is going to ruin it, but Luke doesn’t seem to care, smiling the way he is. “You have to lead. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Oh. Right.” Din shakes his head to clear it, leading them away from the Crest and through the arch that guards the entrance to the town proper. Din moves through the crowd the way he has a thousand times, dragging a wide-eyed Luke along behind him. Din knows the town is safer than ever, but Luke’s child-like wonder is a neon sign for them to get robbed and Din ushers him along through the streets, ducking into an alley and heading for an unmarked door. He knocks twice and kicks the bottom once, Luke raising a brow and snickering when the door slips open. Din ducks inside, mindful of the low threshold, and Luke follows behind, glancing around the room.

It’s mostly empty with a kitchenette tucked in one corner with a huge table dominating most of the space. There are a couple of couches that are devoid of people, and Din feels himself relax a bit.

“You’re late!” A feminine voice calls, Din turning toward the sound and snorting when Cara comes striding up. She hasn’t changed out of her armor, and Din can see the gold of her badge heavy on her hip. Cara stops at the sight of Luke, whistling and raising a brow. “Dressed to impress, Jedi?”

“Always.” Luke says, grinning. “Marshal now, eh?”

Cara’s hand strays to the badge, tracing over it, and Din can feel the pride radiating from her. “Was about time I went straight.”

Luke’s brows go up at the phrasing and that draws a laugh out of Cara, Din glancing between the two of them. For all Cara’s talk of Luke being New Republic she doesn’t seem very worried, at least not now with the badge on her hip. “It suits you. Bossing people around.”

Cara rolls her eyes and reaches out to swat Luke’s shoulder, the man in question reaching up to brush at his cloak as if she’d gotten dirt on it. A new voice chimes in, quiet and brash, and Din’s hand nearly goes for his pistol on instinct before he recognizes it.

“Stop hogging the Jedi, Cara. Some of us actually want to meet him.” Din inclines his head toward the asian woman, said woman nodding back before holding her hand out. Luke shakes it, barely reacting when Din knows she’s squeezing as hard as she can. She’s holding the wrong hand to intimidate with, because Luke squeezes back, mechanical hand whirring softly in Din’s receiver as the woman’s lips twitch. “Fennec Shand. Din’s told us a lot about you.”

“Terrible, gritty things I hope.” Fennec pauses, blinking for a moment before a small smile colors her face. “Luke Skywalker. Din has been willfully vague about most of you.”

Fennec nods, tilting her head, and her grin is sharklike when she glances at Din. “For good reason. Speaking of good reasons… Cara, care to join me in hunting down enough cups for all of us?”

“You brought Spotchka?”

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” Cara and Fennec link arms as they head to raid the cupboards of the kitchenette and Luke turns to Din, nodding his head toward them. There’s a question in him that Din finds entirely predictable and Din nods.

“Since you saved us on the cruiser.”

“Interesting. They’re a good match.” Luke glances back over at the two women who bow their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at them before snickering and looking away again. “So, I know this can’t be it, or you wouldn’t be so nervous.”

“We’re waiting on two others.”

“And are they the ones I need to impress?”

“You don’t have to impress anyone.” Luke hums, unconvinced, and Din grimaces in his helmet. Okay, so the only person he’s actually worried about is Boba- the man doesn’t know when to shut his mouth and has an ego a parsec long and Luke is so willfully neutral that Din doesn’t know what will happen. “They’re just- rougher.”

“Is it because I’m from Tatooine?” A new voice, laced with a drawl and smooth as molasses chimes in, and Din makes sure not to let himself rock forward when a hand claps across his back. “Good to see you again Mando. Who’s this?”

“Luke. My partner.” Din can feel his cheeks flush at the phrasing, astounded at calling him that, and he looks the silver haired man over, tilting his head. “You knew he was coming.”

“Didn’t know he was from Tatooine.” the taller man grins easily, looking over toward Luke with an appraising look in his eyes.

“You know I’m from Tatooine?” Luke chimes in, voice amused and curious all in one. "Though, I suppose most people do."

"Nah, you walk like you belong on sand."

"Excuse me?" Din watches Luke's brows go up in surprise, and he thinks that Luke might be offended until he laughs, stunned and cheerful and reaches to shake hands. "I haven't heard someone tell me that in years. Your name?"

"Cobb. Cobb Vanth."

"Mm, the Marshal of Nothing." Cobb smirks at that, nodding his head and trying not to seem so pleased. "You fly here on your own?"

"Nah, I leave the piloting to the experts. Hitched a ride on the Slave I."

"Yeesh, quite a name." Din freezes when he hears the soft, near silent steps of another hunter, and he watches as Boba Fett slips his helmet off, faint amusement in his eyes.

"It was my fathers." Luke turns toward the new voice, smile on his face, and Din watches in shock as Luke's face cycles through a plethora of emotions. Curiosity, anticipation, confusion, wild sweeping rage, cool acceptance, all before settling on careful, painted on indifference. A mask Din knows his Jedi training has supplied him with. Din glances at Boba, who's primed and ready for the normal comments he gets about his father or lack thereof, but Luke doesn't go for the low blow. Din stares in open confusion as Luke holds his hand out, shaking Boba's and tilting his head. The movement is predatory and dangerous and Din shouldn't find it attractive, but the brittle, sharp smile Luke plasters on only makes it worse.

"Fett. The scars are new."

"Skywalker." Din watches Boba's grip tighten for a moment before he lets go, lips twitching. "The hand is new."

Boba says it easily, sympathetically, but Din catches the razor edge and he knows Luke does too. Luke only flashes that same sharp smile as before, shrugging his shoulders and dropping his hand. "No one gets through a war without a few scars. Is that sarlacc still kicking?"

"Is your father?" Din's vision goes blurry with the blinding, all encompassing fury that billows from Luke in enough of a wave to make his cloak rustle, and when Din sneaks a look around the room everyone is wide eyed and fearful, even normally rock solid Fennec. The emotion is there and gone faster than Din can blink, and Luke sniffs haughtily, looking Boba up and down once.

"No. Much like the emperor and the death stars, he's been gone for years." Ah. The threat stitched so finely in Luke's casual words lance right through Din and he's suddenly very hot underneath all the armor and slightly ashamed at that fact. Din looks between the two, everyone up on pins and needles, but then Boba laughs, skirting around Luke and moving to stake a claim at the table, helmet placed in front of him like a shield. No one is sure what they should do, but then Luke moves, going and sweeping into the chair directly across from Boba as Din follows suit. He sits to Luke's right, Cobb on his left and the ladies on either side of Boba. It feels like a protection deal, a meeting between two rivals, and Din was not expecting the night to go this way.

"So I'm going to assume y'all know each other. But I don't, so Luke," Cobb turns hazel eyes on him and Din watches the way Luke softens, lips quirking as he nods for Cobb to go on. "What'd you do on Tatooine?"

"Besides pod racing and shooting?" Cobb nods, smirking, and Luke leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "My aunt and uncle who raised me were moisture farmers."

"Tough job. They raise you your whole life?"

"Just about. I was nineteen when I left home with my first Jedi Master, Ben. I met Han and Leia shortly after, and then joined the Rebellion."

"And wreaked havoc." Cara pipes in, Luke smiling sheepishly and shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd never left Tatooine before. Could hardly blame me if I was a little reckless in my ah, pursuits." Care snorts, pouring a glass of Spotchka for everyone and sliding the cups toward them. Din catches his, but he isn't going to drink it and they all know it. Instead he rolls the glass between his hands, watching as Luke downs his and then trades their glasses, letting Din fiddle with the now empty glass while he throws back Din's drink. No one blinks at the silent arrangement, though Boba watches, head tipped to one side.

"Was one of your pursuits to plunge the galaxy into chaos?"

"Only partially." Luke replies coolly, carefully letting go of the glass with his right hand to drop his hand onto Din's thigh plate instead. The metal won't shatter like the glass will, and Din doesn't say a word when Luke's hand trembles on his thigh. "What were your pursuits, Boba Fett? Working for Jabba and the Empire?"

"Money talks." Boba's voice is careful, threaded with warning, but Luke smiles charmingly, blue eyes glittering, and Din listens as everyone takes a collective breath and holds it.

"And I'm sure it's speaking to you now. Tell me, does Jabba's throne seem a bit big for you? It seemed rather uncomfortable last time I was there." Din watches in amazement as Boba's expression shutters, eyes narrowed, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. It's such a startling sound that the rest of the group join in after a moment, and Din shakes his head.

"Like a couple of rabid jawas." Cobb murmurs, hiding his grin behind his glass and holding it out for a refill when Cara swishes the bottle invitingly. Luke does the same but allows Din to hold on to his empty glass, this time sipping slowly at the fluorescent blue liquid.

Fennec sits back in her chair, eyes carefully neutral but a smirk on her face. "No wonder you fell for him, Mando. He doesn't pull punches."

"Mm." Din doesn't say much, but the thought pleases him greatly and he glances over at Luke. He finds the man watching him back, eyes soft and none of his rage present in the pale blue of his eyes. Din looks away before he gets lost and loses his train of thought, and he glances around the room. "Any questions for them, Luke?"

Luke perks up at the chance to ask now, nodding. "Plenty. Fennec, you work for Boba?"

"I do." She agrees, shifting in her chair and eyes carefully guarded. "He saved my life."

"Noble. What did you do before?"

"Odd jobs. Contracts, cleaning. The works." Luke hums, somehow not surprised, and Fennec quirks a thin brow. "What else?"

"How'd you meet Din?" Fennec glances at Din, as if asking his permission, and Din nods. He figured Luke would ask, and he doesn't particularly care so long as they don't say anything too embarrassing.

"He tried to kill me. Well, that's not strictly correct. He was helping a fellow guild member try to bring my bounty in, but the dumbass shot me and went after Mando."

"At your coaxing." Din interrupts, frowning, but Fennec only laughs and shrugs.

"I may or may not have convinced the kid that Mando was worth more of a bounty."

"And you, Cara? What's your story?" Cara perks up beside Boba, nursing her drink and mulling the question over.

"We tried to camp out on the same backwater shithole."

"That's it?" Luke raises a brow and looks at Din. Din shifts in his seat, spinning his cup and shrugging a shoulder.

"We might have taken down a band of raiders and an AT-ST that was troubling a krill fishing village. The raiders had been stealing the krill to distill their own Spotchka, but were doing a pretty poor job." Cara says, grinning. "There was a lady that was sweet on Din, almost got him to settle down too."

"Omera." Luke says, and both Cara and Din look over to find him smiling, head tipped to the side. "Grogu talked about her and her daughter. He said you liked her too."

"That was- a long time ago." Din isn't quite sure why he's explaining himself, but Luke hums low in his throat. Luke's fingers drum over Din's thigh in a comforting rhythm, even as the rest of the group watch them.

"If people falling in love with you bothered me I'd have a lot of anger." Din feels his shoulders slumping, relief flooding him, and Luke winks at him before glancing at Cobb. "Now your story, cowboy, I do know."

"Oh ya do? Well, I guess you don't need me to explain then."

"Well, I wouldn't mind hearing your voice." Cobb laughs, shaking his head, and Din rolls his eyes. Cobb swirls his glass, letting the blue liquid inside nearly splash over his fingers.

"Mando was looking for others of his kind, and I was just about the only fella in armor anyone had heard of. He just about killed me when he saw me in the armor."

"Left it reeking of cologne, too." Boba interrupts, Cobb chuckling and taking a slow sip of his drink.

"Some of us care about our appearance, big boy." Din wrinkles his nose at the nickname but Boba only rolls his eyes. Din watches Luke's eyes flick back and forth between Cobb and Boba, a smile growing on his face.

"You lost your armor, and Cobb wore it? Oh, that's fantastic."

"Temporarily."

"Sorry, not funny. Moving on." Luke definitely isn't sorry, Din can tell by the smile he's struggling to hold back, but Boba only rolls his eyes before motioning for Cobb to continue.

I traded the armor for his help in taking down the krayt dragon that was plaguing Mos Pelgo.” Luke’s brows go up despite already knowing the story, and he turns his body more toward Cobb, listening. “Din here let himself get eaten to get the cattle loaded with bombs into the damn thing. We lost a bunch of good people in the fight.”

“From the acid. Grogu remembered the smell, and Din covered in it.” Luke’s nose wrinkles remembering that particular memory Grogu had pushed onto him. “You met them all through fighting. Why am I not surprised?”

Din shrugs again, as if it’s the only thing he can do. “That’s how I meet people.”

“What about you, Luke?” Luke turns toward Fennec, who looks like she’s about to make a bad decision. Din sits up, frowning, and tries to silence her with a kick to the shin under the table. She isn’t deterred, and instead jerks her head toward Boba. “You two have history. Did you know Boba was Mando’s best friend?”

“No, I didn’t. But who Din is friends with doesn’t affect me.” Din could kiss him at the smooth, graceful answer, and he kicks Fennec again when she opens her mouth to speak. It still doesn’t stop her.

“How did you and Boba meet?”

The room goes silent once the question is out, and even Boba has the good sense to look uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as Luke leans forward with singular focus. He braces his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin as he levels a long look at Fennec. Din quakes in his chair at the roiling, raging storm that boils under Luke’s skin, so lacking in color or light or anything that Din knows what it is. Recognizes it from the same ugly, sweet pull of the emotions within his blade.

“Luke-” Din murmurs, trying to draw his attention away. Luke doesn’t seem to hear him.

“He tried to capture me to bring me into the Empire when I went to my mentor’s house. He also captured my brother in law, froze him in carbonite, and nearly killed us when he got him back.” It- doesn't sound like much to half of them sitting at the table, but Din reaches up, touching the soft underside of Luke’s upper arm, trying to draw him from whatever memories have snagged him. “Do you know,” Luke says, voice shaking, “How terrifying it is to fight blind with almost no basic knowledge of how to fight?”

“Not really.” Fennec says softly. Din had blinded her, true, but she was in her prime- untouchable at the time. Luke stares unblinkingly for a moment more before he abruptly stands, turning to Din and dipping down. Din blinks when Luke presses their foreheads together, asking a question, Din nodding when Luke pulls away and slips from the room out into the alley beyond the door. The door seals behind him, beeping as the lock clicks, and Din sits in the middle of his friends, all with varying degrees of confusion and worry on their faces.

“He needs a minute.”

“I’ve never seen a Jedi get upset like that.” Cara muses, fingers worrying at the decorated bottom of her glass.

“He’s a person. Everyone gets upset when people don’t know how to stop pushing.” The glare that Din levels on Fennec doesn’t go unnoticed, and she grimaces, slumping back in her chair. “He likes you all, and he wants you to like him.”

“Oh, does he? Couldn’t tell.” Fennec mumbles, wincing when Din’s third kick lands harder than all the others.

“He isn’t going to let you dig up every ghost in his closet, Shand.” Cobb says, glancing toward Din and then toward the door. “We all have things we would rather forget.”

Fennec softens at that, sighing heavily and standing from her chair. Din knows what she’s going to do before she says anything and he holds a hand up to stop her. “Just wait.”

“I was an ass.”

“You were. Now be nice and open the door.” Fennec looks at him, bewildered, but there’s a faint tap on the door and Din hums. Fennec goes to unlock it, stepping back and out of the way as Luke slips past her again. He looks as unruffled as when they first came in, and Din turns in his chair just to watch the muscles in Luke’s thighs shift under the white of his pants. Din leans his head back, anticipating the way that Luke leans down, cupping the back of his neck and smushing his forehead to Din’s helmet. He stays there for a moment, breathing, and Din’s hand comes up to cup Luke’s cheek, not caring that they have an audience.

“That is weirdly cute. Mando, is that really how you guys kiss?” Din makes a low sound in his throat, something distinctly annoyed, and Cara laughs, Din lingering in the same position for a moment even when Luke pulls away.

“We just had sex in front of you. Surprise.” Din jerks in his chair, head whipping to stare at Luke, but he’s grinning, brow raised as Cara stares, dumbfounded. She doesn’t know if he’s lying or not, but surprisingly it’s Boba that laughs, deep and from his core, covering his eyes with a hand and leaning back in his chair. Luke’s smile doesn’t dim this time, though something in his eyes flickers momentarily, but then Cobb is laughing too, slapping the table in front of him and rocking back in his chair. Din can hear Fennec snickering behind him, still standing, and Cara’s cheeks flush, outrage and embarrassment twisting her face.

“That is not funny.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Luke folds his hands in front of him, instantly the picture of a solemn Jedi. It only lasts a second before the facade cracks, Luke’s eyes twinkling with mirth as he snorts, choking back a laugh. Din’s heart soars in his chest at all his friends laughing, at Luke standing tall and proud among them, glowing like the brightest star in Din’s universe.

#dinluke #trans din djarin #force sensitive din djarin #major sluttiness #meeting the family

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spinchip · 5 years ago

Text

Here and Now

Wordcount: 675 words of Opposite things

a/n: i didnt proofread this lol

Kai wakes up to an empty bed, which isn’t exactly out of the ordinary usually- but isn’t right at this time of night, when even his early-bird boyfriend should still be asleep. He rises from the bed on stumbling legs, the sun's fire having set for the day and taking part of himself with it, and wraps their comforter around his shoulders like a cloak. The clock on their bedside table blinks an obscenely early number, far too early for even the biggest of headstarts on breakfast, though Kai does peek into the kitchen first. Bleary eyes and sleepy, he checks the bathroom and courtyard next before circling around to the living room, where he finds him.

Zane is sitting curled up on the couch, holding his knees to his chest and hunched over them, staring reflectively at the blank TV and deep in thought. It’s dark and quiet and strange in here at this time, the only light barely cast from the window in the hall. Kai waddles around the couch and Zane perks at the sight of him, smiling tiredly as Kai takes his rightful place by his side, slinging the comforter over his boyfriend so they can share. He snuggles into Zane's shoulder, leaning on his boyfriend for support in his sleepy state.

“Missed you.” He mumbles, fighting the weight of his eyelids. Training had run long today and Kai was exhausted. He didn’t even know why Lloyd was pushing them so hard, things had been quiet for months.

“Sorry,” Zane keeps his voice low, carding a hand through Kai's hair, “I did not mean to wake you.”

Reaching up, the red ninja catches Zanes fingers and intertwines them with his, holding them close to his chest, “What’s wrong? You've got your thinking face on.”

It’s quiet for a few heartbeats too long and Kai squeezes Zanes hand reassuringly, spurring his boyfriend to admit, “I am afraid to lose this.”

Kai blinks the bleary out of his eyes, looking up at Zane with a bit more focus than before, “Lose what?”

Zane stares at their fuzzy reflection in the TV, “I am happy.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“When have we ever gotten to keep anything good?” He lays his head on Kais, tired and drained from his paranoia, “I feel like I am always waiting for the next shoe to drop. It scares me. I am happy here, I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Kai stretches up to loop his arms around Zanes neck, pulling him into a hug. He holds Zanes head to his chest, cradling him close, running soothing hands along the base of his neck as his boyfriend reciprocates and winds himself around him, seeking touch and warmth. Zane doesn't cry but Kai doesn’t expect him too, “I love you, Zane. You're so strong.” He murmurs into his hair, “I know it’s scary. I’m scared too.”

Zane exhales, frost crawling on his lips, “How do you deal with it?”

Taking his hand, Kai stands up and tugs Zane with him, “Come lay with me, Snowflake?” He asks softly and Zane obliges, grabbing the other end of the comforter and slinging it over them both like a cape to share. His hands are cold where they brush Kais, but Kais are too hot anyhow, and it feels nice.

He crawls into bed and Zane dutifully follows, falling into a familiar cuddle position, holding Kai close to his chest. Kai hums softly, snuggling closer, “I’m happy here with you, now. I try not to think about what could come, and I focus on how I feel this minute. I want to remember this moment. I will.”

Zanes fingers tighten in his shirt and he nods, expression pinching like he’s fighting off tears. He pulls Kai into him, curling around him and clutching onto his shirt, “I love you.” He presses a kiss into kais ridiculous bed-head.

Kai smiles against his pillow, rubbing a comforting circle into Zane's back as he relaxes enough for them to both drift off, “I love you too.”

#oppositeshipping #zane julien #kai ninjago #spinchip fic

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Note

what about my favorite trope of person a saying “i never went to prom” and then person b dancing with them to make up for it??? thanks a million you’re the best ❤️

Been going through my prompts lately because I know I’m woefully behind on writing them for you guys, so I hope you enjoy this very little snippet.

On ao3 | here | if that’s how you like to read!

-/-

She’s beautiful.

After so much time, Killian assumed he would grow used to the way his heart beats when he looks at her, his love. He assumed that seeing her smile, seeing her tuck her golden hair behind her ear, seeing her laugh, seeing her do all the little things he loves about her would grow old. They wouldn’t make his heart race or his chest ache. It would all grow normal and be just another day in his life.

Some days it’s like that. Killian won’t lie.

Some days he wakes up, and he’s too tired to do more than tell her good morning or to look at her and nod in acknowledgement. Some days she (or he) picks a fight over what to have for dinner or the color of the new couch. Some days he wants to sleep in another bed to keep from having to feel her moving when she’s restless and keeps them both up all night with her movement.

Most days, however, he takes the time to look at Emma, to talk to her, to be intimate with her in a myriad of ways, to simply be with her and appreciate how beautiful she is, body and soul.

They are not each other’s first loves, not the second either, and while they had good, wonderful, lovely moments in their past relationships, there is a reason they are not with those people anymore. There is a reason he gets to stand with his hand on Emma’s back as they watch Henry very awkwardly get into Killian’s car with Ava in the passenger’s seat.

“Are you worried he’s going to crash your car?” Emma asks him. She leans into his side until her head rests on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm further around her, pulling her closer and tucking his finger into the belt loop of her jeans. Killian leans over and gently presses his lips to her temple.

“He’s a responsible kid. I don’t think I should be worried.”

“He’s a seventeen-year-old boy going to prom with the girl he likes, and it looks like his arms can’t stop shaking. I’m not worried about him drinking tonight. I’m worried about how nervous he is and that he’s accidentally going to drive your car into a tree because Ava decides to hold his hand or something.”

“Bloody hell, love, why would you mention that?”

Emma pulls away from him and shrugs her shoulders, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a beautiful color green. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones. A stupid man, but a good man.”

“I’m obviously trying to win points with the lad.”

“You’ve known him since he was ten and have been living with him since he was fourteen. I think you’ve won enough points.”

“I’m still trying to make up for that time he came home from Avery’s early and saw us…”

“Okay,” Emma hums, patting Killian’s chest until he quiets. “Let’s go get dinner and go home. We have a night without a teenager, so, you know, we can get really spicy and go to bed early.”

“Scandalous, Swan,” he whispers, kissing her temple once more.

They get takeout from their favorite Italian place and eat it standing at the kitchen counter with the washing machine running and the timed vacuum running around them. He bloody hates that thing and the way it’ll get tangled up in lamp cords and phone charged, but if it keeps his cleaning time down, he guesses he’s okay with it.

…if it stops hitting against his ankle. Henry gave it to him for Christmas after Killian complained about their old, standing vacuum, and he tries to be appreciative even when he thinks it’d be more effective to get one of the new Dysons.

Killian moves away from the vacuum and looks to Emma, who is staring at her phone like she has been all night. “Love, stop refreshing your feed looking for pictures.”

“I am not doing that,” Emma lies even as she taps her phone that is very obviously on Instagram.

“You definitely are.”

“I’m checking to see if he’s crashed your car.”

Killian sighs and walks around the counter to Emma, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips along her jaw and her neck, breathing in the flowers of Emma’s perfume and the taste of her skin. He glances over her shoulder and watches her feed scroll by. It’s full of cooking videos – Emma definitely does not cook, so that’s an interesting discovery – and pictures of their friends, but there are a few prom pictures sneaking in.

“These dresses are so different than when I was a teenager,” Emma tells him.

“What was that? Fifty years ago.”

“Shut up,” Emma scoffs, patting his hand against her stomach. “I’m only thirty-four, and you, mister, have no room to talk about me being old.”

Killian hums and tightens his grip on her stomach as the stupid vacuum whirs by, nearly hitting them. “What was your dress like, my love?”

“I didn’t go to prom.”

“No?”

“I mean, no. I got pregnant at sixteen, and had already dropped out of school to be with Neal. They don’t exactly have prom for pregnant teenagers in jail. I’m not sure if I would have gone had my life been different anyhow.”

Sometimes he forgets Emma’s past and how awful it was when he gets to listen to that beautiful laugh or see that beautiful smile, but just like with him, there’s darkness buried beneath the laughter. He likes to think it diminishes a little more every day as the past is left further behind.

Out of the bad came good, and though Killian knows Emma wouldn’t trade Henry for the world, he does know she wishes her childhood could have gone differently.

She wishes she could have gotten a childhood, for one.

Killian reaches over and grabs Emma’s phone, tapping out of Instagram and hitting her Spotify.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to remember what songs were popular seventeen years ago.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question it.” Killian chuckles when he finds an early 2000’s playlist and presses play on Shakira’s ‘Hips Don’t Lie.’ It’s the exact opposite of the song he was looking for, but he thinks it’ll work. “May I have this dance?”

Emma raises her brow. “You want to dance to this?”

He pulls back and pulls her off the kitchen stool, taking her hand in his and resting his prosthetic on her lower back as her free hand wraps around his neck. “This definitely would have been played at your prom, so yes.”

“I don’t think a soul would have been slow dancing to this.”

“No, I think not, but we make the rules here.”

“Oh?”

“Most definitely. This is our house.” He spins her around, Emma giggling and rolling her eyes all at once, and then continues to shuffle them around the room. He learned to dance in a rather unfortunate boarding school when he was a lad, and while he never had any kind of dance as a teenager, he did have Naval balls. They were not his taste, but they were nice before he’d lost his love for Her Majesty’s Navy and lost his hand. Milah had always loved them, though, so he holds onto their memories like he’ll hold onto this one. “I’m sorry you never got your prom, Emma.”

She settles a little closer to him, their movements completely contradicting the words blaring from Emma’s phone. “There are a lot of things I’d change about that time in my life, but for all of the shit, I got Henry. I couldn’t regret him for a second once I got to keep him with me, and now he gets everything I never could have had. I don’t know…I screwed up a lot, I was screwed over a lot, but I feel like I’m making the world a better place with him.”

“You are,” Killian promises, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “If I may selfishly say, you and Henry have made my world infinitely better, so at the very least, there’s that.”

“You don’t need to win points with him, Killian. He loves you. He may not say it often, but he does. I love you, too”

“I know,” Killian sighs. “I know. And I the both of you.”

The song ends and another one begins, and while the music ebbs and flows to different tunes and paces, he and Emma keep dancing. Sometimes it’s slow, sometimes fast, but it’s a damn good time.

And he decides that his heart is never going to settle when he sees Emma, no matter how much time passes. There was never any guarantee that either of them would get to this place, but they’re here. He won’t take that for granted.

After a lifetime of searching, he’s found his home in her arms.

“Hey,” Emma says, tapping his cheek with her finger and breaking into a wide smile, “you want to finish prom night off by getting drunk and sleeping together? To make it a full cliché.”

“I definitely want to do one of those things,” Killian teases as his lips ghost over Emma’s. “I’ll let you guess which one.”

#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #Anonymous

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doctors-star · 4 years ago

Note

16 for cowboys??

“Look, I care about you, alright? Quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

Johnny flops on his back, head slightly downhill of his feet in a way which makes the blood in his skull rush and whirl bewilderingly and his eyes pressed closed against the burning-bright sun, as yet undimmed by the afternoon. Someone drops a hat on his stomach and he flinches as though it had been a cannonball, sticking his tongue out and playing at being injured like the hognose snake Will had found in the shade under the general store’s porch - he’d rescued it from being killed as a copperhead, scooped it up in his hat, and brought it round to Ainsel’s back window to show the kids, thoroughly derailing all schooling for the day, as they all crowded around the hat to watch the creature resolutely turn on its back and stick its tongue out in repeatedly feigned death.

He stretches massively on the grass, smiling at the gentle laughter and the feeling of someone sitting near him and reaching across to give him two firm pats on the flank like a well-behaved horse. It’s been a long day, and it started early, but Johnny does like the big drives and hay harvests - all Danser collected together for one purpose, to help their neighbours and be rewarded in turn. Before dawn, he’d been drummed awake by fists on his door and had dressed quickly in the dark to stumble out into the street and go about mustering up others in turn. Of their little gang, he’d been first out of doors, followed by Will - looking bleary but drawn out by the other men staying in the saloon - then Ainsel, who seems to think they might be more use in bed than on horseback every time they see their own horse, then Tommy and Finn looking respectively disgustingly bright and alert, and still mostly asleep. Will, with his extremely biddable broad-chested nearly-a-draught horse, is quickly co-opted into driving one of the carts out of town and along the dusty prairie roads, uphill to the Wilder ranch to deliver tin pails of food and heavy stoneware bottles of drink and the very young and the very old, so that all of Danser may equally participate in the drive. Johnny, Finn, Ainsel and Tommy saddle up and cut north through the prairie, up the steeper side of the hill where the road can’t run; there, Diaz, Wilder, and Wilder’s eldest lad are calling instructions over the heads of the crowd and pointing in disparate directions to where the cows oughtta be, and where the cows oughtta go. A further crowd of skirts and fine hats - for today the town congregates, and it had better be in full finery and Sunday best - has collected around Mrs Wilder and Mrs Diaz to make tea and grits and beans cooked with salt pork in molasses, the scent sticky and inviting on the air even now, with hours of cooking left. Johnny tilts his nose into the air and breathes deeply, shooting a wink at Jody Masham when she passes near and earning a delightfully saucy grin for it. Her ma notices, of course, and gives him the evil eye, but Jody lets her fingers trail down his thigh from hip to knee on the pretense of admiring his horse and looks up at him through her lashes and he could perish on the spot for love of her, so what does he care anyhow.

She passes up chunks of soda bread, steaming in the dawning light and golden with butter, and he tosses them to his fellow riders - dinner will be late today, what with the distance the herd might have gone. And then they’re away, riding nearly the full complement of the town’s horses across the plains to where the herd stands, sedate and well-fed on the last of their summer grazing and ready to be collected up, split once more between Wilder and Diaz, and stowed in smaller paddocks with good solid barns over winter.

There ain’t no point in racing, really. There’s no advantage to getting there ahead of any other person. Johnny grins up at the sky, remembering the wind in his hair, hat brim in his teeth, crouching low over his horse to eke out those crucial inches that keep his horse’s nose ahead of Finn’s as they hoot and holler with the freedom of the run.

“Aww,” Finn says in a tone of very mocking gentleness as he nudges Johnny’s knee with the toe of his boot. Johnny cracks an eye open in preparation to glare at him for the inevitable teasing; against the bright and sunny sky, Finn’s hat is like a halo though his face is dark in the shade. “Didya go too fast today? You ain’t got no endurance, Johnny.”

Johnny allows the glare to settle, but before he can retort, someone on his blind side snorts. “No endurance - how many girlfriends has he got, again?”

Johnny chokes on startled laughter. Finn is wide-eyed in delight as he stares across Johnny’s prone form. “William,” he says, sounding scandalised.

Johnny props himself up on his elbows and sticks his hat back on his head so’s he can watch Will spread his hands defensively. “What,” he says, “I can’t be crude sometimes?”

Finn gestures at his own cheeks. “Naw, sure ya can, only it makes your face go so red that I get worried about ya.”

“That’s just the sunburn,” Tommy says cheerfully, clapping Will on the shoulder hard enough to make him sway and dropping to the grass next to Johnny. As promised, Will’s fair skin is flushed with embarrassment and striped with an angry red across his angular nose and cheekbones, the skin already starting to peel from a day under the sun. He huffs and folds to the floor, knees up to his chest and sleeves shoved up to his elbows to display a bar of red down his forearms too.

“I hope you weren’t teachin’ my kids that kind of joke,” Ainsel says, an enormous black umbrella hooked under forearm and over shoulder to shield them from the sun as they carry a wicker basket in two hands packed with tin pails, bread, biscuits, and bottles over to their little circle. The rest of the town is ranged likewise on the hill overlooking the town and, beyond that, the desert; the horses are tacked out near the farmhouse; the kids themselves are enjoying the freedom and sunshine having been released from hay harvest duties and are tearing up and down the hill, weaving in between groups and only occasionally stopping by their families to grab more food before haring off again.

“I have done no such thing,” Will objects crossly, but Ainsel gives him first choice from the basket and tucks him under the umbrella and out of the sun when they sit beside him so it’s quickly forgiven.

“He was exceeding useful,” Noel pronounces, kneeling by the big enamel dish which represents their share of the molasses and beans and salt pork, and wielding a large spoon like a sword. Johnny gathers that she had appeared some time after dawn, to the disparaging muttering of many of the elder town ladies, but had done so with such a quantity of fine bread and pickles and preserves that her critics had been forced to quiet down to faces of pinched displeasure while Noel held court, knowing that it was not a competition and that she had, regardless, won. She had then gone about supervising the hay harvest, keeping the younger kids in line and occupied while those trusted with scythes cut the hay and Will, on horseback, ran the new hay tedder up and down the field, and then releasing them to stack the hay under her exacting eye. Jody and Peggy had been amongst the scythers and had told Johnny with mouths full of giggles how Will had been left “in charge,” and then done every single thing Noel told him to without complaint or thought of defiance - but the harvest had been done, and Danser is too fond of Will to mock him for being hen-pecked by a woman he hasn’t even married.

Johnny reaches across to ruffle Will’s hair, but he ducks away like a feral cat. “Aww,” he laughs, “you’re useful.”

“Wish the rest of you were,” Will grouses, folding sulkily around his plate.

Tommy catches Johnny’s eye and grins wickedly. He beams in reply; Noel sighs in advance. “It’s true,” Johnny says, assuming a woebegone expression and trying not to snigger when Tommy looks similarly sorry for himself. “We ain’t good for anything whatever. Wholly useless, and you don’t love us.”

Will sniffs, mouth turned down comically in disdain. “You’d be mad to do otherwise,” he tells them sternly, in his finest clipped tones - brought out for special occasions, and their amusement.

“Why, Mister Williams, that don’t reflect very well on me at all,” comes a voice behind Johnny’s left shoulder, light and familiar fingers coming to rest there in accompaniment. Distantly, Johnny is aware of Finn choking on laughter and cornbread, and of Will straightening awkwardly with an air of panic, and of Tommy smirking and kicking at the sole of Johnny’s boot in a teasing, vaguely encouraging fashion - but mostly Johnny is aware of those five delicate points of gentle contact over the ball of his shoulder, and the swishing press of skirts against his side, and how if he tilts his head right back and left he can see all up the willowy line of Jody Masham, hip to hair, her blue eyes and golden curls like a field of cornflowers. There’s a little compressed mischief at Will’s expense tucked into her smile, and Johnny wants to kiss at it until she shares it with him; and there’s a loose, frizzy loop of hair that has escaped from the large bonnet that keeps her pale skin free of the sun, and become darkened with sweat and flyaway in the heat, and Johnny wants to press his nose to it, smooth it between his fingers, tuck it carefully away with pins so that she needn’t mind it - he could do that, he thinks, could give up on all other professions but following Jody around to tidy her hair and carry her basket on one arm, shielding her with a parasol with the other hand.

“Um,” Will says guiltily. “I - well-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean it,” Ainsel says sternly. Jody is smiling fully now; she is so beautiful Johnny could burst.

“I’m not going to lie to the lady,” Will replies, relaxing out of his tense, guilty stance to be indignant at the idea that he might. She is rubbing little circles into his upper arm with her thumb now: Johnny could not tell you for love nor money what Will just said.

“Well,” Jody says, a laugh bubbling in her voice, “how ‘bout you lend me this young man in recompense an’ we’ll call it quits? I’d like a word.”

Johnny is already scrambling to his feet, pressed up on his toes in eagerness to follow her away. Her hand slides down his arm, shoulder to elbow, and the press of it leaves hot lines in its wake that make him shiver. “Ma’am,” Finn says politely, not without amusement, “you keep him.”

Jody curls her fingers around his elbow joint and guides him gently a ways away from everyone else. Once done, he scoops her hands up in his own and holds them carefully like something immeasurably precious. She smiles indulgently and nods at the basket on her other arm, which he’d barely noticed. “Present for you,” she says.

Johnny juggles her fingers into just one hand, freeing up the other to push aside the flannel cover and fetch out a thin, steaming disk of fried batter. “Johnny-cakes,” he says, delighted.

“Couldn’t resist.” He takes a bite, savouring the salty cornmeal cut through with sticky maple syrup, and grins broadly at Jody. She laughs at his enthusiasm and allows him to feed her the other half without letting her hands go, chasing the syrup from his sticky fingers with her tongue until he can barely breathe.

“So, what’s the word?” he manages, biting the tip of his thumb to keep from kissing her, here where her ma is almost certainly watching.

“The word.” Jody bites her lip, huffs a big breath, and looks away - and a solid feeling of dread settles in his stomach. He’s had it good for so long - with Jody, and Cathy, and even Peggy and Anne-Marie, in a way - and he’s always known it wouldn’t last, and that it would ruin him, and-

“The word is baby,” Jody says eventually, tilting her head to one side and pinning him with her gaze, eyes narrowed in consideration. All thoughts leave Johnny’s head in a moment, to be replaced with vague, foggy panic. “Not-” she squeezes his hand until it relaxes a little and ceases crushing hers, “not right now, Johnny, jesus. Come back.”

The fog recedes and he musters up a gentle pat of her fingers in apology for squashing them in his paw. His hands are so much bigger and stronger than hers, tanned and weatherbeaten where hers are pale and delicate with flour worked into the nailbeds, and he oughtta be more careful with them. With her, and with - with the word, if there is to be one.

He can’t tell how he feels about that, in the moment.

“Sorry,” he says ruefully, offering her a clumsy, lopsided smile. “I weren’t - anyway. You go on.”

Jody takes a deep breath and nods firmly, gaze fixed at some point on his left shoulder. “Alright, I will. Johnny, I’ve spent the day cutting hay with a whole herd of the town’s kids, an’ it’s occurred to me, I want one.”

“I’ll get you one,” Johnny says on instinct, like he does with everything Jody says she wants however unrealistic, from hair ribbons to haywains to the entire Union Pacific Railroad. And then she raises an eyebrow at him, and he remembers how that’s what they’re talking about, actually, and to deflect from this he nods his head at one of the kids pelting past on little chubby legs. “That one’ll do - will he suit ya?”

Jody’s face relaxes into amusement and she huffs, leaning forward to press her forehead into his sternum. He must stink of sweat, and wants to tell her to shift in case he does, but he doesn’t want her to move like he doesn’t want to lose his right arm and she doesn’t seem to care. “Sweetheart,” she says into his shirt, “you ain’t never gonna be friends with my ma if you go about giving her grandchildren by stealin’ em.”

“Not even a little one?” Johnny says, tilting his head to catch her eye and watch her giggle. “‘Sides,” he says, considering it with a slight frown, “not sure she’s over fond on my givin’ her grandkids the other way, neither.”

Jody leans back, smiling. “Only ‘cause we ain’t married,” she corrects brightly, and then falters back into seriousness, biting her lip. Johnny squeezes her hands in careful encouragement, for he feels (fears) they have reached the crux of the matter. “Johnny, I - I wanna have kids. Not today, or tomorrow, or maybe even a year or two yet, but I want ‘em. An’ - I know we’ve not ever been traditional, but my ma - my ma really is gonna disown me if I ain’t married when I have ‘em, so.” She shrugs, fingers tapping in agitation against his palm and her gaze fixed back over his shoulder. “I’m not saying now, but I am sayin’ someday, and if that don’t fit with you someday then - I gotta find someone else. An’ I don’t know how that someday fits with you and Cathy, or Peggy and Anne-Marie, or - or I guess just with you, but I’m sayin’... I don’t mind, I guess, so long as you do right by the kids, and we’re…” She trails off.

“Miss Jody Masham,” Johnny says solemnly, raising her hands between his own, “are you askin’ me to marry you someday?”

She meets his gaze at last, frowning shrewdly at him. “Depends,” she says shortly. “Are you gonna say yes?”

Jody hasn’t never said she loves him. Johnny doesn’t need her to: he knows she does, on account of how she smiles at him and teases him and trounces him at cards to win kisses five nights in seven on lamplit nights where her ma can’t see them. And he bandies about words of love to everyone and everything, enough for the both of them, and they’re well-settled into the kind of long-standing devotion that doesn’t need professing very much. She’s told him before that she’s no good at romancing others (though personally Johnny reckons she’s not bad) ‘cause of how she can’t be sentimental with them; she loves them, and they gotta figure that out, or they ain’t trying hard enough.

Johnny told her he loved her on their second meeting, but then, he’s like that. Always has been. And it doesn’t mean he loves her any less, or any more, than she does him; he’s just got an awful lot of love to share, and she doesn’t mind him sharing it.

He could be married, he thinks. He and Jody could do it, and do it well, and marriage was always waiting for him somewhere - now that he’s not looking at it down the barrel of some angry pa’s shotgun, and without the threat of that too, it looks mighty appealing. They’ll have to get a house, of course; somehow stop renting, and own outright, but how hard can that be? He’ll get her fine printed calico, and build a table for her sewing machine, and Ainsel will school the kids. Finn and Tommy can teach them to ride and make great pets of them, and this time years from now Noel will have them harvesting hay neatly under her stern eye, and Will can bring them hognoses cradled gently in a hat.

He could live in that future, and live long and well.

Johnny pretends to think about it, but lets his grin slip through so’s she knows he’s teasing. “Well, you ain’t hardly romancin’ me.”

She purses her lips against a real smile and uses their hand grip to punch him gently in the chest. “I brought you johnny-cakes, special,” she objects, and he laughs. “Look,” she says firmly, “I - care about you, alright? Quite a bit, actually, and so you’re just - gonna have to deal with that.”

Johnny ducks in close and presses his forehead to hers, beaming. “An’ I love you too,” he croons to make her blush, and then ducks under her bonnet and kisses her softly. He can do that, now - here before the town, on the day of the hay harvest and cattle drive, for they are, someday, to be married.

Jody pulls back, smiling secretly in the corners of her eyes, and strokes a hand through his hair. “I always forget,” she says absently, eyes on her fingers as they comb and tangle in his curls, “how nice your hair is without your hat on.”

Johnny frowns, puts a hand up to his own head. “Where is my hat?”

“It fell off when you leaned back to see me,” Jody supplies. “You didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t remember that.

Jody smiles with resigned amusement. “Lord help me,” she sighs, “for I’m marryin’ a moron.”

Johnny puffs up in indignation. “You don’t have to.” Of course she doesn’t - Jody Masham is the prettiest girl in the county - the west - the world - and could have any man she pleases.

“Naw,” she says, rubbing her thumb along his chin. “I’m gonna.”

#recc'd listening: the game of cards by june tabor and maddy prior #not pictured: johnny returning to the group to ecstatically declare 'we're having a baby!'#noel drops the spoon; tommy chokes; will in a very high-pitched voice says 'what; now??'#no not now and not for a good few years yet y'all are not well-behaved enough #a town called danser #this is your captain speaking

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