#and well. him feeling things So Deeply and He DOES Care Actually (but clamping things down into a ‘resting bitch face’)?

[psychewritesbs]

Hola capaa~~ argentina y entusiasta de Clamp, JJK y Sonny Boy sos todo❣️❣️

I absolutely love all your psych analysis!! I was wondering if you’d like to write a little about Gojo’s relationship with Megumi, like what he views him as. I know there’s a lot of discourse about whether megumi views him as a father/brother/uncle/mentor/guardián but I’d like to read about Gojo’s probable view.

Saludos de CABA❤️

Hola hola! Mucho gusto ♥!

Dear CABAnon... I just need you to know that your ask is an amazing question that required so much fun and multilayered brainrot.

So thank you for the ask and thank you so much for your kind comments. I will write in English in case anyone else wants to read this word vomit but will say hello in Español at the end of this post.

I'm also so glad you're a CLAMP enthusiast too because I'm going to drop clamptastic moments to illustrate points. My heart rejoices in knowing you'll get it.

So without further ado...

Gojo + Megumi. Let's brainrot...

Also... I may or may not have written a whole analysis post only to realize that I wasn't necessarily answering your question so I ended up deleting most of what I had written.

Hence the delay...

Ok procrastination, attention deficit disorder, and my overall slow temperament might have had something to do with it too. So thank you as well for your patience! 😂

ANY-WAYS!

I've written about my thoughts on this relationship from Megumi's perspective in the past, but I feel like my thoughts could use some more nuance given everything we've seen of this dynamic as of late.

What I'll start by saying is that Gojo isn't a character I spend a lot of time brain rotting about, so I may only scratch the surface of my interpretation of him, or perhaps even mischaracterize him a bit *gasp*.

That to say that in order to answer your question, we kind of have to peel back the layers of this dynamic.

So let's start by taking an in-depth look at Gojo:

Gojo Satoru is human af

Ok so... names have meaning in JJK, right?

So given how popular he is in the JJK-fandom, I am assuming it is common knowledge that his name, and the kanji in his name, alludes to an enlightened being.

In other words, Gojo is a bodhisattva--an enlightened being who is able to enter Nirvana but delays doing so out of compassion for others and their suffering.

But here's the thing...

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

Carl Jung

What is interesting about Gojo is that, despite his exalted spiritual status as the personification of a bodhisattva, he is actually VERY human.

For one, in relational dynamic to others he keeps others at a safe distance. Like that's literally part of how his Cursed Technique manifests, which is a beautiful example of how Cursed Technique can be a metaphor for the sense of self.

Second, Gojo CARES SO MUCH AND SO DEEPLY, it is actually shown how his emotional entanglements are one of his main weaknesses.

Now, for context, consider that emotional entanglements are a form of self-related attachment and that, in very simple terms, the goal of enlightenment is to transcend attachments that might hold the sense of self back from Nirvana.

Third, Gojo is a direct product of the society he is a part of since he does carry the burden of The Strongest / The Chosen One.

It's almost like Gojo's clown externalized persona is an attempt to add some much needed comic relief to the self-definition others have given him. An attempt to lessen the heavy burden of what it means for others to think of him and define him as The Strongest.

Now, what does strength/power mean in JJK? Overwhelming sense of self which is the byproduct of self-knowledge.

So I headcanon that it is precisely because he knows he is The Strongest, that, true to his character archetype as a bodhisattva, Gojo seeks to alleviate the suffering of others. Thus, his actions in an attempt to alleviate suffering are the result of his nature.

And here's the fun twist: Gojo seeks to do so through "power".

Now let's add Megumi to the mix.

Issai shujo to tomo ni

To answer your question, in addition to understanding Gojo's nature as a compassionate being driven by his attachment to others, we have to consider his actions and motivations.

Gojo bringing Megumi under his wing is an interesting rabbit hole for many reasons.

So let's start with the idea behind the theme issai shujo to tomo ni (“together with all sentient beings”—regardless of what hell one might fall into).

Consider that "it’s not enough for a bodhisattva of the Mahayana to just uphold the precepts. There are times when you have to break them, too. It’s just that when you do, you have to do so with the resolve of also being willing to accept whatever consequences might follow" (source).

To put it in JJK-words, how is Gojo abusing his position of power to further his own agenda?

Basically, it's a major red flag in terms of how Gojo might initially see Megumi as a means to pushing his own agenda for seeking power in order to fulfill his function as bodhisattva.

It's just that Gojo, as the adult in the dynamic, consciously and willingly manipulated Megumi into something that was beneficial for the both of them.

In other words, this is a red flag because Gojo, the adult, acted like a child and gave Megumi, the child, an adult choice.

This might loosely remind you of this fantastic meme and the context behind it:

(Source: noa-ciharu's fantastic talent for shitposting).

I just wanted to use the meme because it's about someone taking advantage of someone else's lack of psychological maturity.

As a side note, this also made me realize just how much JJK is exploring the idea that people's vulnerabilities get exploited by those who are in positions of power.

The thing is that Gojo could have just as easily ignored Megumi or reported him to the authorities. But he didn't do that, did he?

Instead he took Megumi under his wing and groomed him to become a tool that could help him change the Jujutsu-scheme of things. You could look at this and think "that's awful!" and you can also look at this and think "yes, it's shady, AND Gojo was also looking to help Megumi maximize his highest destiny and potential." More on this in a bit.

This is relevant because it says a lot about Gojo's "humanity" and the lengths he will go to for the sake of his goal and desire to alleviate the suffering of others.

Again, Gojo gave Megumi a choice Megumi should not have had to make. I have a 9 year old nephew, so I'm all for giving children choices so that they can develop their own sense of self. But the choices have to be age appropriate.

In other words, the adult in the room, Gojo, anticipated and used Megumi's innocence and love for Tsumiki as leverage to manipulate a specific response from Megumi that would benefit the both of them.

Which brings us to the next layer...

Noblesse Oblige

I think that because I come from a last name De los Reyes, I LOVE and deeply resonate with this term.

It's so...

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Voltaire

This is where the rabbit hole gets fun because, were it not for Toji's last words to Gojo, Megumi and Gojo might have never crossed paths.

And is there anything more clamptastic than the idea that inevitable emotional entanglements are the result of fate bringing people together?

The question this brings up for me is... even though Toji gave Gojo the choice (here we have choice as a theme again) to do as he pleased, can we consider this to be a curse that Toji put on Gojo seeing as these were his last words to him?

So the fact that Gojo chose to follow through with Toji's last words is the stuff of tragedy given we've already seen that Gojo's weakness are his emotional entanglement to others. And now that Sukuna has taken over Megumi's body... well... should we brace for tragedy?

But I digress...

The point of this layer is to introduce the idea that perhaps Gojo is someone who fosters strength / power in others through self-knowledge, both for the sake of his own agenda, and also because of the idea behind noblesse oblige--with great power comes great responsibility.

In other words, consider Megumi's theme in the sense that it would have been a complete waste of the talent he was born with, the prized family jewel worthy of one chosen by fate, to be squandered away in a lifetime spent fighting bullies.

Did Gojo see Megumi's worth only in terms of his family's name and his Cursed Technique? I think initially that might have been the case.

There's definitively something to be said about how Jujutsu society as a whole is a microcosm for the toxic Capitalist zeitgeist that permeates our world where our worth is measured against what we can do rather than for the mere fact that we are alive.

But... that's the thing, even if Gojo, as a product of his environment who is ironically seeking to upturn the very system that gave him the power that he has... Gojo is still Gojo, and Gojo is human af.

And for someone who is as enlightened as he is...

To blind himself to this truth about himself, to keep others at a safe distance in an attempt to lessen those emotional entanglements... well, it is kind of tragic, isn't it?

My precious student

I could have literally written this section only and called it a day but like... where's the fun in not word vomitting?

I have to say that I am loving how Gege is starting to tie loose ends. Promises he made early on in the manga are starting to unfold before our eyes.

For Gojo, the Hidden Inventory arc sets the stage for seeing just how much Gojo cares and the lengths that he will go through to alleviate the suffering of others because of how deeply compassionate he is.

So there is no doubt in my mind that Gojo CARES for Megumi deeply and holds Megumi in high regard both intellectually and emotionally.

Like... even if the way he recruited Megumi can be considered shady, I personally think it's in Gojo's nature to care deeply.

As a result I personally like the idea that Gojo came to care for, know and understand Megumi deeply. I should probably open a thesaurus to find a synonym for deeply, I've used that word like 5 times already.

I also think that Gojo sees in Megumi a mirror of himself given their fate has been somewhat defined by their respective Cursed Techniques. There's actually a lot of parallels in their behavior if you look closely.

Now, one of the biggest questions in fandom has been what life was like growing up in the Fushiguro household and what it was like to grow up under Gojo's tutelage.

So I love that Gege has finally given us a sneak peek at that dynamic because it sheds light into the answer to your question.

To me the panels above might show how Gojo approached fostering Megumi's talent. I could be wrong, but I get major "let's go for a walk so I can teach you something" vibes.

And like... I can't imagine how Gojo could have possibly avoided getting attached to Megumi if he basically saw him grow up. Whether he was around every day or came and went is the stuff of head canons.

But I definitively think there's a lot of love between these two characters and that Gojo sees Megumi not just as a student whose power he needs to foster through self-knowledge, but also as a protégé that was entrusted to him.

Now... given emotional entanglement is one of Gojo's major weaknesses, it makes me wonder what Gege is going to do once he lets Gojo out of the prison realm.

It makes me wonder what lengths Gojo will go through to alleviate Megumi's suffering.

Spanglish alert!

Merci a ma chérie (@justafrenchlondoner) for being a sounding board to help me answer this loaded question. We both loved the brainrot that ensued because of it.

Finalmente...

EAAAAA! Mucho gusto CABAnon!

Así es! Soy entusiasta de clamp, JJK, y Sonny Boy! Me encanta q t gusten a ti tb! The trifecta of perfection if you ask me. Lo único differente es q soy Mexicana pero al fin de cuenta, esa diferencia importa poco :)

Espero halla podido contestar tu pregunta... jeje... con eso d q me fui por una tangente q ni al caso me tardé un poco mas de lo esperado pero la vdd disfruté mucho contestando tu pregunta.

Espero escuchar de ti y tus pensamientos al respecto d nuevo!

Saludos desde mi pedacito en el Desierto de Chihuahua, victoria la psicoloca.

[themauvesoul]

Ok so. Profoundly nsfw post but. In MY hypothetical erectile dysfunction fic dean would have erectile dysfunction for YEARS before he ever got with cas. And like. Dean just didn’t overly care about it, because he, quite, didn’t have anybody to share that with. But now he has cas. And he DOES care. Because he has certain ideas about how romantic relationships (and particularly intimacy in romantic relationships) are supposed to work. So dean, who was mostly ambivalent before this, suddenly feels like he NEEDS to somehow overcome or cure his erectile dysfunction so he can have sex with cas.

Only like. The whole point of this fic is that dean has a deep, dark secret: he LIKES that his dick doesn’t work. Prefers it, actually. Sex itself is very complicated and fraught, and it’s just so MESSY. so like. The entire fic is about cas trying to pry this out of dean while dean does everything in his power to hide it from him.

So like. It’s a LOT of sex. Of course. This is a fan fiction about erectile dysfunction. When it starts off, dean is exclusively bottoming. In the opening scene, dean bottoms, and when cas finishes he IMMEDIATELY runs off and takes a shower. Cas is just sitting there, in shock, and when dean comes back cas sort of interrogates him until he admits that he has erectile dysfunction, has had it for a while, and only started CARING that he has erectile dysfunction when he started dating cas.

So the fic progresses through a series of sex scenes where dean and cas sort out their respective issues and try to figure out what works for both of them. Dean is highly uncooperative because he is a lying liar who lies. So like. Scene where they’re experimenting with prostrate play, because dean insisted, but after a while dean clearly isn’t into it, and when cas finally stops and refuses to continue, dean breathes a sigh of relief. Eventually cas coaxes dean into admitting that it’s the MESS, man! The whole time we were—you know—I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a bitch it was gonna be to clean everything up!! And cas is like okay. So we won’t do that again. And dean is like wait that’s allowed? Oh thank god.

All of this eventually builds to a scene where cas is like. Very deeply frustrated with dean. Because cas sort of has an inkling of dean’s Deep Dark Secret at the top of this post and eventually cas just sort of snaps. Dean is like. Talking about trying a spell to “fix” his dick, and cas just snaps dean I don’t CARE if you can’t get it up. I want it in my MOUTH. and then cas well. He kneels down and he puts dean’s completely soft dick in his mouth. Dean, of course, loses his fucking MIND. not because of the sexiness (even tho it IS very sexy). Dean is like. He’s stunned by the sheer intimacy of the act. He’s reduced to tears after ten minutes, and when cas pulls away to check on him dean is like no no keep going. And THAT is their first foray into cockwarming.

That sort of breaks the case wide open, so to speak. Cas starts doing things that are deeply, deeply intimate, but don’t require dean to have Sex sex. He makes dean watch. He buys some sex toys and amasses a delightful collection that he, of course, makes dean watch him work his way through. So now it’s like. Scene where cas hand-feeds dean breakfast in the kitchen. Scene where cas is ordering dean around. Spank me, dean. Go get my favorite dildo, dean. Put these nipple clamps on me, dean. And so on and so forth.

Eventually they end up creating this dynamic that is virtually undefinable. Cas is clearly domming and dean is clearly subbing, but it’s also flipped. We typically associate domming with giving pleasure and subbing with receiving pleasure, but cas is DEFINITELY the one receiving pleasure in that relationship. And gradually, as dean and cas continue to figure out a way to navigate sex and intimacy that works for them both, dean gets closer and closer to confessing his Deep Dark Secret. And when he does confess, when he finally breaks down after they haven’t had quote unquote normal sex for months and tells cas he feels like he’s a horrible failure, cas just looks at him and says dean. If I only wanted sex from you, I would’ve propositioned you years ago. You’re already giving me everything I’ve ever wanted. More, actually. And dean says even if I like it like this? Even if I never want to get hard again? And cas says even then. I love all of you, dean winchester. Broken dick included. And besides. I like what we do together far more than the sex we had before. It makes me feel—treasured. In a way I’ve never felt before. And dean just goes oh. And kisses cas before he rolls over and goes to sleep.

The final scene in the fic is like. They’re lying in bed watching a movie. Dean hasn’t been hard once in literal months. And then, for WHATEVER reason, he starts to chub up a little. But instead of doing anything about it, cas just pulls dean a little closer and they both ignore it until it eventually goes away. And they fall asleep like that; curled into one another, still wearing six layers apiece.

[thedevilsdom]

should’ve behaved

Mammon’s usually such a good boy! It’s a shame that he’s gotta make a mistake at some point or another

A request for MC/Mammon with vibrators, punishment, overstim, and aftercare. Technically Male MC but it doesn’t really come up

~1.9k words

Mammon had been a bad boy.

He usually does his best to be your good boy, wanting nothing more than to please you and earn your rewards and praise, but you’d just been edging him for so long! What else was he supposed to do? His hands had zipped down from where he kept them behind his back to his dick so he could finish himself off, and the very second his orgasmic high left him, he felt the dread set in instead.

His eyes are wide as he looks down between his cum covered fingers and up at you. You’ve got a stern look on your face that lets him know what’s in store for him and he shivers in anticipation and fear.

“Hm.” You cross your arms and he whimpers. He knows that you’d never be unnecessarily cruel to him, you’d never hurt him to the point where he’d be questioning if you still love him, but he’s well aware that there’s going to be at least some punishment.

“-M sorry,” He shrinks under your gaze.

“I know you are, I know,” You pet his hair. “Lay down on the floor, on your tummy.”

There’s a thud as he drops down on his knees and immediately positions himself on the tiled floor just as you want him. You kneel down and position him, moving his body until he’s laid half on his side and half on his front, with one leg bent to keep him like that. His still hard cock is resting on the smooth floor, drooling precum. You leave for a second to grab what you’ll need, speaking as you come back.

“Tell me everything you did wrong, pup.”

“I- ah- I moved my hands from where they were supposed to be,” He says. With that you slide a cock ring down his length. “I touched myself without your permission.” You put a pair of nipple clamps on him, relishing his little yelp. “And I c-came without your permission.” With that final confession, you spread his ass cheeks and push a lubed up vibrator into his hole.

“Nice and honest, puppy.” You give him a little spank and you slowly stroke down his back. “Just for that I won’t be too rough. Okay?”

“Yes, Master.” His heated body is trembling. If he had a tail it’d be between his legs.

“Good.” The vibe in his ass gets powered on first, then the vibrating ring around his cock, then you sit cross legged in front of him so you can reach forward to the thin chain that connects the nipple clamps. His watery eyes can’t help but look between your legs as you sit, and he’s grateful that this display is having at least some effect on you.

The vibrations start out weak, but in just a couple seconds you ramp them up and he’s suddenly very aware of how oversensitive he still is from having just cum earlier. His eyes go wide and he yelps, trying to squirm away, but you keep holding the clamps’ chain, keeping him where he is. As he writhes, his slick cock slides against the tiles, the cool pressure only feeling overwhelming on his hot skin, and the vibrator in his ass keeps brushing against his prostate.

“Mas-ah!” Tears already start to brim in his eyes. He can’t stop his body from trying to move away from the sensation, but it only makes you tug on the nipple clamps and his cock move against the tiles. “Oh fuck fuck fuck!”

“What, pup? Don’t like it?” You give the clamps another harsh tug. “You shouldn’t have been naughty. You knew what you were doing was wrong and you still did it. This is your punishment, so take it.” As mean and cold as your words are, you know he’s got the safeword, and you would stop the instant it’s said. Yet, he doesn’t say it, so you continue.

“It’s so much,” He squeaks, interrupted by whines and whimpers. “Ple-please, need- need you-“ His head feels like it’s floating off his body. He doesn’t care that your touch would feel like molten lava on his skin, he needs you to touch him, pet him, hold him, anything.

It’s been only about half a minute since you started, but Mammon’s a mess. There’s drool where he’s got his face pressed to the floor, his poor, abused cock is deeply flushed and throbbing, his hands form fists behind his back. You feel sorry for him.

“Cum again and you can be done.”

He sobs against the ground and weakly thrusts his hips. The feeling against his sensitive skin is almost too much, but he knows that he needs to push himself over the edge for this torture to end.

“Cum, gonna- gonna, ‘m cumming! Nnngh!” With a low whine, his orgasm washes over him and he shudders, cock giving pitiful little drops of white against the dark tiles. Immediately you go and turn the vibes off, then gently remove the clamps from his sore chest. You let him rest like that for a moment, panting and warm on the floor, your hand gently placed on his bicep to ground him. Once you think he’s ready, you slowly, carefully, take the vibes off of him and set them aside, ignoring his whining complaint at the oversensitivity.

He looks like a mess. Drool on his cheek, the beginnings of tears in his eyes, a shine of sweat across his body. You feel a sick sense of pride inside you, knowing that you made him be this way.

“Oh, my little pet, come here.” You open your arms and he eagerly- though shakily and slowly- clambers his way into your lap. He fits himself against you as best he can. One of your hands comes up to rest on the back of his head, cradling it against your shoulder, while the other holds him across the back. “You did so good for me, you’re always so good for me.”

He tilts his head, turning his face to your neck, and shifts into his demon form. You begin to preen and care for him wings, feeling him shiver as he comes back to his body.

“Come take a bath.” You say. Your voice is soft, and it’s taken on more notes of care and compassion than you’d had in the scene, but you keep just enough sternness that it still registers as an order from his dominant. You’re not looking to give him whiplash from jumping out of a scene too soon. He nods, mindful of his horns as he pulls back from you, taking your hand as you walk him over to the bathroom connected to the room. You plug the tub and get the water running.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get some stuff for this.”

You’re fleet footed as you move back to the room and grab the things you need, heading back with them in your arms. A pack of cookies, a bottle of water, and some bubble bath soap. You come back to find Mammon with his hands in the warm water filling up the tub as his body is wracked with shivers.

“Come on, let’s get you in there.” You feel a little bad for taking your eyes off of him long enough for him to get chilly, but you know that he’s fine. You help him into the bath and he immediately sighs at the warmth, relaxing into it until just the top half of his face is above the water. He looked at you with puppy dog eyes, requesting something despite not wanting to move his lips out from under the warm water to actually ask. Though, you know exactly what he wants.

You remove the remainder of your clothing and slip into the tub, situating yourself behind him. He immediately leans back into your warm chest, a low, demonic trill resonating from him like a purr. You gently splash water across the parts of his body that aren’t under it and you pour the bubble soap into the bath, allowing it to foam. Gently, caringly, you clean his body. You hadn’t done any impact play tonight, so there are no wounds to take care of, but you still check him over for any injuries.

“Anything hurt?” You say, hands massaging down his body.

“Just a little sore, ‘s all. Usual stuff.” He was hesitant to move up enough out of the water to speak, but he knew that you wanted an answer. Almost immediately after, he sinks back down into the comforting warmth.

“Good, let me know if anything feels off.” You begin to wash his hair. You move delicately as you wash his hair and pay careful attention to his wings and horns, slowly coaxing him out of the scene until you’re both on equal ground. Though, you still turn him down when he wants to return the favor of being washed, citing that he should just relax after such a scene.

“It makes me happy to take care of  you, Mams.” You say with a smile as you work some shampoo into your own hair. You don’t spend nearly as much time cleaning yourself as you did cleaning him, just simply doing your usual shower routine. He waits idly by, eyeing you as you wash yourself. His wings dip passively into the water, casually swishing about in the foam.

“What are you looking so hard at?” You giggle. His eyes track the bubbles that cascade down your body as you wash the shampoo out of your hair. Mammon instantly huffs and pouts, stuttering out a few syllables as he tries to think of a response.

“Can a demon not keep an eye on his treasure?” He says, resolute in believing that that was somehow a correct and convincing answer.

“I don’t mind you watching, baby, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Reaching out, you take one of his hands in your own and place it at the side of your waist, physically giving him permission to touch and hold you. You finish cleaning yourself up, noting that- while he’d moved off of you so that you could wash up your own body- Mammon has been scooting closer and closer to you the whole time. You rinse the both of you off, then get out of the bath and unplug the drain. You towel dry Mammon off first, laughing at the way he bats his wings to get the water off of them, before moving to dry yourself off next.

Next comes the pajamas. After finding out a while ago that Mammon usually just slept in an old shirt and boxer briefs, you’d gotten him some actual pajamas to wear. You hand them over to him. They’re the softest, comfiest set of pajamas you could find, and they’re extra comforting after a scene. He puts them on himself and waits for you to get dressed before following you out into the bedroom once again.

He’s in bed the first chance he gets, slipping under the covers and waiting for you, looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes. Naturally, you relent and get in with him, allowing him to pull you close.

“Was that all good, Mams?” You ask as you wrap your arms around him.

“I can’t think of any complaints.” His words are already slurring with the pull of sleep.

“We can talk in the morning.” You pet his hair, “Good night, baby.” He nuzzles into you, nearly hiding his whole face against you. You can feel his dopey smile against your skin.

“G’night, MC.”

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[moonlit-jeno]

fifth time’s the charm? (m.)

pairing: johnny suh x female reader

genre/warnings: explicit sexual content | mentions of recreational drinking/ drugs (weed) | fluff | jaehyun being, well, jaehyun

words: 5.2k

summary: sometimes the universe aligns for you. and sometimes, it really doesn’t

1. There’s a delicious warmth between your thighs, growing with every slow grind of the guy’s hips. You don’t know his name and there’s no chance to ask, not with the way your lips are practically glued together, his tongue doing wonderful things as he licks at the seam of your mouth. He nips at your bottom lip at the same time his hand slides up your thigh, stooping just short of the hem of your dress, and you jolt, whining loudly.

He’s got a cocky smirk on his face when he pulls back to catch his breath, lips swollen and eyes dark. You stubbornly try to pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist and grinding your hips up more desperately. The two of you are as close together as the kitchen counter allows you to get. The muscles in his back flex under your fingertips and you’re so turned on that you think you could cry.

You’re just about to ask his name but then his lips are on your neck, leaving a trail of marks down the delicate skin. His hand squeezes at the meat of your thigh and you moan, tossing your head back and smacking it against the cabinet. A soft curse leaves you but the pain doesn’t really register, not when you’re being touched like that. His fingertips are so, so close to your core but he doesn’t dare move there yet. That spot is reserved by his dick, the impressive hardness dragging deliciously against your core.

There’s a commotion next to you and you turn your head to look, immediately regretting it. A guy from one of your classes- Jaehyun, you think- is emptying his stomach contents all over the floor. Your nose wrinkles and you rapidly tap your hookup’s shoulder, trying to get him to pull away. He does, a little confused, but then he follows your gaze just in time to watch Jaehyun throw up again, this time on the opposite side of the same counter you’re sitting on. Your arousal fizzles out and you groan, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that replaces the lust.

“Oh, for fucks sake Jae.” Your hookup groans, running his hand through his messy hair. He turns to you. “I gotta go take care of him, sorry.”

“Friend?” You ask as he lifts you off the counter.

“Best friend. And roommate. Which means I’m probably gonna hear him all night.” He sighs, glancing over to where Jaehyun’s got his face shoved under the faucet. “Thanks for this, though. It was fun.”

You smile, pulling him in for one last kiss. “Sorry we didn’t get to finish.”

He winks as he walks away, throwing a “next time, then.” over his shoulder. You watch as he rubs Jaehyun’s back soothingly, whispering something in his ear before picking him up. “Don’t fucking throw up on me.” Your hookup tells him, adding a “please,” as an afterthought. It makes you laugh.

It isn’t until you get home that you realize you never got his name.

2. You’re on the couch at yet another party when you see him again.

“I’m Johnny.” He offers you a joint and you take it gratefully, placing it between your lips. He even lights it for you. What a gentleman.

“Y/N,” You finally respond after taking a deep hit, watching all of the smoke leave your mouth and float overhead. “Nice to see you again.”

His eyes drift to your mouth when you take another hit and you let your head fall back to expose the column of your neck. “It is.” Johnny murmurs quietly, tongue wetting his lips.

It doesn’t take long before you end up on his lap, his hands grabbing desperately at your hips as you grind down, kissing him with the same ferocity as last time. The only difference now is that you’re high, you’re so, so high, and Johnny feels so good against you that you’re drowning in him.

Johnny pulls away to take another hit, tugging your mouth back to his so that he can pass the smoke between your lips. You accept it easily, loving how the burn in your chest matches the burn in your gut.

“Mhmm, if you feel this good now, I can’t imagine what it’s gonna feel like when I finally get to feel your pussy.” Johnny groans, bucking his hips up against your core. “Bet you’re so wet, so fucking tight.”

“Just for you.” You whisper in his ear, giggling at the deep groan he lets out in response. His hand makes its way under your skirt and you gasp, fully prepared to let him finger you on the couch in front of everyone.

His fingertips graze your core over the thin fabric of your panties and you whimper, swiveling your hips. Johnny’s a tease, just lightly petting your folds, not quite giving you what you want. You open your mouth to beg when a hand clamps down on your shoulder.

You jump when you realize it’s not Johnny’s hand, turning to find a very nervous looking Taeyong.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt. Uh, the house is currently on fire so we’re evacuating everyone.” He explains, trying valiantly to keep his eyes from wandering to where Johnny still has his hand under your skirt.

“Oh, fuck. Is everyone okay?” You ask, standing on shaky legs.

Taeyong nods. “Yeah, I think we’ve got it under control. But we don’t want to take any chances.”

Johnny nods. “Yeah, for sure man.”

Taeyong walks away after bidding the two of you a goodnight. You and Johnny look at each other, sighing deeply before he breaks into laughter.

“Damn, we are so unlucky.”

You groan, laughing despite yourself. “It’s unbelievable.”

3. The last time you’d seen Johnny wasn’t perfect, but at least you got his number.

Johnny texts you like you’ve known each other for years. He doesn’t bother with ice breakers- thank god, because you can’t stand small talk. It’s all memes and stories about how chaotic his day was and honestly? It’s refreshing.

Especially because he always takes the time to ask about your day, letting you rant and giving you support. He doesn’t leave you on read for hours at a time, either- you’re pretty sure the longest you’ve had to wait for a response was about an hour, and that was because he’d been in a class.

Surprisingly, there hasn’t been one suggestive message from either of you. You’d certainly been expecting it, considering the nature of how you met. But Johnny keeps everything family friendly, with the exception of a few dirty jokes and curses.

The most suggestive text he’d sent was a “hey, wanna come over and watch a movie?” But even then, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to lead to sex. You can certainly hope, but it isn’t determined.

Of course, you still shower and throw on your sexiest lingerie. Hell, you even lotion your legs.

Which you’re very thankful for as of right now, because Johnny’s got one hand up your dress and the other cupping your breast. He’s half on top of you, his lips pillowy and insistent against yours. You moan and pull him closer, tugging at his soft hair.

The movie is still playing from his laptop and you lean up to close it, reaching to set it on the floor. You’d hate for it to fall off the bed and break later on.

“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to fuck.” Johnny huffs a laugh, pulling away to catch his breath. You giggle, tugging at his shirt to get it off.

“Hey, we haven’t fucked yet.” You remind him, sliding your hands up his toned stomach, feeling the firm muscles. He flexes and you slap his chest lightly.

Johnny leans back down to connect your lips, finally moving your panties to the side to run his finger along your drenched entrance. “Well lucky for you, I have a solution for that.”

The door creaks open before the first finger can even slide in. “Johnny! Taeyong baked us a shit ton of cookies, you want some?” You and Johnny jump apart at the speed of light, your hand flying to smooth down your dress while Johnny pats down his hair. The impact of your back hitting the headboard has you grimacing and you distract yourself by focusing all of your energy on glaring at the intruder.

Fucking Jeong Jaehyun. This is the second time he’s interrupted you, although if you take into account that it was probably him that caused the fire, it’s the third. You’re fully prepared to kill him, though you suppose you’ll spare him if he gets the fuck out of Johnny’s room.

He doesn’t.

The idiot’s looking down at his phone, so he doesn’t even notice what position you and Johnny had been in, and he somehow doesn’t even notice how both of you are panting and sitting in unnaturally stiff positions. Finally, he looks up from the device. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to notice that Johnny’s shirt is off and that he has multiple hickies scattered across his skin, but he doesn’t! Jaehyun smiles and lifts the tin of cookies.

“I’m okay.” Johnny says shortly. He’s holding a pillow over his lap and he looks absolutely murderous. 

“Suit yourself.” Jaehyun shrugs, wandering further into the room. “Were you watching a movie?” Doesn’t this kid know how hookups work? He had to have seen the two of you together at one of the last parties, has to know that there’s a reason you both have swollen lips and messy hair. 

“Yeah. Inception.” Johnny responds, clearly hoping that the complicated nature of the film will have Jaehyun sprinting away. 

“Oh, I love that movie!” Jaehyun drops the cookies onto your lap and clambers in between you and Johnny, excitedly opening the laptop. “Oh cool, you’re only fifteen minutes in!” He presses play.

Johnny groans. You shove a cookie into your mouth.

4. To say that you’re sexually frustrated is an understatement. 

You like Johnny, you really do. Spending time with him is fun. Texting him is fun. He’s a good person overall, and you want to get to know him better. Another thing you desperately want? His cock.

Every time you try to hook up, you get rudely interrupted. Maybe it’s a sign that you should actually start a committed relationship. Maybe it’s a sign that you and Johnny aren’t meant to be. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe hates you. 

It’s late, way too late to text him to come over, but you’re horny and annoyed and your imagination just isn’t doing it for you. Your attempts at fingering yourself are fruitless, and even though you’re so turned on that you think you could explode, you just can’t get wet. It must be a curse. Probably Jaehyun’s fault, you grumble, though there’s absolutely no way it could be his fault considering he isn’t here.

Your fantasies keep failing you and despite you having clear ideas of what you want Johnny to do to you, it’s not enough. After a full minute of consideration, you grab your phone.

[Me] 11:43pm

You up?

[Johnny] 11:45pm

Of course I am

It’s not even midnight yet

What’s up?

[Me] 11:46pm

Bored

Thinking about you

[Johnny] 11:46pm

Oh so I’m boring now

The little quip has you huffing a laugh, smiling down at your phone. You bite your lip and roll onto your stomach, propped up on your elbows.

[Me] 11:46pm

Hmm

I mean I guess I could change my mind if you prove me wrong

[Johnny] 11:48pm

You only think I’m boring bc I haven’t had the chance to show you how much fun I am

I might even be too much fun for you

[Me] 11:48pm

Prove it

It’s not surprising that your phone starts ringing, the stupid selfie Johnny had taken last time you hung out popping up on your screen. Your stomach jolts in anticipation, teeth finding your lower lip as you answer it.

“Hello?” You roll back over, shoving your pillow under your head. Your free hand rests on your stomach, drawing shapes into your skin.

“Hey baby,” Johnny’s voice is a low purr over the phone and just the sound of it has your stomach flipping, the pet name drawing a soft whimper from you. “It’s awful late for you to be thinking of me. Mind sharing what’s on your mind?” You consider it, sinking further into your mattress and drawing your knees up a little. “Mhmm, I dunno. I’d rather you share what’s on your mind.” That draws a soft laugh from him. “Oh, nothing much. Was just debating if you’d rather come three times on my cock or three times on my tongue.” The bluntness of his words has you sucking in air through your teeth, though your chest is so tight that you doubt you got any oxygen. “Oh.” Your voice is small and you may have been the one to initiate it, but you have no idea how to continue it. “Oh, fuck.” “Yeah?” Johnny laughs lowly on the other line. “Well, which one is it?” “Both.” You try to sound confident but you’re a mess, hand trembling with how hard you grip the phone.

“Greedy girl.” Johnny clicks his tongue, and you can almost see him shaking his head. “How are you going to earn it?” Your mind is blank, nothing but warm arousal shooting through you. “I-” You try to start, finding yourself unable to finish the sentence. The words are too filthy to be spoken out loud.

“Would you suck my cock baby? You’d probably like that, hmm? I know I would.” Johnny’s voice sounds breathless, and you can vaguely hear the slick sounds of him jerking off. “Would look so pretty with your mouth full. Do you want that?” “Yes.” You manage to gasp out, letting your hand find its way between your thighs. Two fingers dip into your core before moving up to trace quick circles into your clit.“Wanna be stuffed full.” A deep groan leaves him. “Fuck, I’d stuff you so full, baby. Do you think you can take my cock?”

“Mhmm, yeah, I can take it.” You moan, finally starting to pleasure yourself the way you want to. Fingers fucking into your core quickly, palm hitting against your clit. “Oh god Johnny, I’m so fucking wet.” “You sound so good princess. Makes me want to-” His voice cuts off and you hum, urging him to continue. He doesn’t.

“Johnny?” You ask, frowning at his silence. A sigh leaves you when he still doesn’t respond and you draw your hand out of your panties to pick up your phone. Your confusion turns to annoyance when you're met with a black screen and a spinning circle. “God fucking damnit!” You scramble for your phone charger but it’s too late, the dead battery symbol popping up when you try to turn it back on. 

You flop onto your bed and scream.

5. It’s been a long time since you’ve had sex, and it’s all you can think about.

Now look, you’re not unreasonably horny. You think about sex the normal amount, and it never actually interferes with your life, but there’s something about Johnny that’s just fucking you up. He’s nice and considerate and makes you laugh so hard that tears stream down your face, and you catch yourself smiling at him fondly even when he’s not doing anything besides frowning at his laptop. Everytime your phone lights up with a notification, you dive for it to check if Johnny had texted you. You’re not in love, but he’s got you wrapped so tightly around his finger that it almost hurts.

It doesn’t help that he’s fucking hot. He’s tall and strong and sexy, and carries himself with so much confidence that you find yourself swooning. You’ve gotten just the slightest taste of what he’s like in bed, but you want the full experience. The whole legs going numb, eyes rolling back, head empty experience. Preferable without any cockblocking roommates.

So no, you don’t think that you think about sex too much. Even if you do end up paying Jaehyun twenty dollars to go see a movie and get dinner so that you and Johnny will finally have the apartment to yourselves. Honestly, you think that locking him in the abandoned storage room would have been more efficient, but this is definitely the more legal option.

Johnny doesn’t look surprised to see you when you knock on his door, letting you in with a smile on his face. He dips down for a kiss and pushes your jacket off of your shoulders, hanging it over the back of a chair. 

“My baby.” He whines, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight to his chest. “I missed you!” 

You giggle and melt into his embrace. “Let’s make up for lost time, then.” “Did you have something in mind?” Johnny pulls away a little to look you in the eye, an amused smile on his face. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and you press into the touch like a cat. His smile widens. “You know, Jaehyun’s not here tonight. We have the whole place to ourselves.”

You act like this is new information. “Oh, well then it looks like we’ll have to make the most of it.” 

Johnny hums. “Wanna watch a movie? I’ve got some popcorn waiting to be popped and some wine just begging to be drunk.”

“We could do that.” You humour him, smiling and pulling away when he leans in for a kiss. He pouts and you giggle, pressing your lips to his cheek before moving closer to his ear. “Or you could fuck me.”

Johnny stiffens for a moment and you swear he stops breathing, but then a deep groan rumbles in his chest. “Fuck baby, you can’t just say that.” You giggle and pull back to look up at him with innocent eyes. “I can’t? Why, do you not want to fuck me?” It’s meant to be rhetorical, because you know just how badly he wants you. He’s made it plenty clear. You turn to walk away and Johnny grabs you by your shoulders, anchoring you to him, your back to his chest. He brings his lips to your ear and leaves a lingering kiss on the skin just under your lobe, pressing his hips to your ass. There’s already a sizable bulge there and your stomach flips, mouth suddenly dry.

“Does it feel like I don’t want to fuck you?” Johnny asks, rolling his hips into you. “I want to fuck you so badly that it hurts, baby. Do you know what I imagine doing to you?” 

His breathing gets a little heavier when you grind back on him. “Mhmm, no. Why don’t you show me?” Johnny effortlessly spins you around and picks you up, the squeal you let out muffled by his lips. He laughs softly and the corners of your mouth twitch up. “What?” You whine, pouting at him. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not.” He doesn’t sound convincing at all. “I’m not! You’re just too damn cute.” The pout on your face is kissed away by his insistent lips and he closes the door to his room with his foot, setting you down on the edge of his bed. 

There’s still a teasing smile on his lips but his eyes are dark. You swallow thickly as he drops to his knees in front of you, the heat of his palms on your bare thighs nearly too much for you. “Will my cute baby let me show her what I’ve been imagining?”

His words have your breath hitching and your head feeling fuzzy but you manage to find the energy to nod, a shaky “yes,” passing through your lips. Johnny moves his hands higher up your thighs, thumbs playing with the waistband of your shorts. Your stomach jolts when his thumb brushes over the bare skin just under your belly button.

“I’m gonna eat you out.” There’s no hesitation in the way he speaks, his gaze determined. Your core clenches at the thought of having his mouth on you, his pretty lips and tongue working to please you. “Help me take these off?” You stand up just long enough for Johnny to tug your shorts and panties down your legs, kicking them off so that they land somewhere far away from you. And then Johnny’s pushing you back down onto the bed, palms on your thighs to push your legs apart, and you nearly scream with the anticipation. You’ve waited so long for him that you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you right this second. 

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” Johnny groans, staring at your pussy like he’s in awe. He parts your folds with his fingers, tongue coming out to moisten his lips. “You’re so pretty.” He kisses your inner thigh and hooks your legs over his shoulders, dipping down to press a kiss to your clit. You inhale sharply, and Johnny looks up at you with nothing but lust in his eyes as he begins to eat you out eagerly.

You have to throw your head back when he drags his tongue up your entrance, dipping the muscle inside just slightly before moving up to suck at your clit. It’s too much too fast and you feel like you’re falling, head spinning and feeling fuzzy with all the sensations he’s giving you. His hair is soft between your fingers when you reach down to grab a hold of it, trying to simultaneously pull him closer and push him away.

Johnny moans into your core and pulls away to smirk at you. The lower half of his face is covered in your arousal and his plump lips glisten. “Feel good, princess?” There’s a filthy noise as he spits onto your cunt, using his thumb to spread the saliva around. “Because you taste fucking divine.”

Breathless curses of his name leave you as your elbows finally give out, your body hitting the mattress only to arch right back off of it. Your hands fist in the sheets and your head rolls from side to side, your body not quite sure how to handle this much pleasure. “I’m gonna cum,” You whimper, pressing your heels into his back to draw him closer. “Johnny, keep- keep doing that, ‘m gonna cum.” It comes out as a plea, and another few cries of his name leave you before your orgasm washes over you, drowning you in the pleasure. 

The fog finally clears from your mind and you pry your eyes open to find Johnny still kneeling in front of you, licking his lips clean of your release. “Feel good?” You scoot back a little to allow Johnny room to join you on the bed. “Amazing. Knew you had pretty lips for a reason.”

“Aww, you think my lips are pretty?” Johnny teases, making an exaggerated kissy face. You scoff and steal a slow kiss from him, slipping your tongue past his lips at the same time you slide your palm over his dick, feeling the shape of him through the confines of his pants. He moans and tries to pull away but you catch his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling gently.

“I think you’re pretty. I also think we should take care of this, hmm?” You squeeze him gently and his thigh jerks. Johnny laughs breathlessly and reaches down to untie his pants, pushing them down his thighs just enough to free his cock. You waste no time wrapping your hand around the thick length, stroking him slowly. And Johnny makes such a pretty sight, his eyelids fluttering closed and his mouth hanging open. You shuffle back a little further on the bed, moving to lower your mouth to his cock, but he stops you.

“Too impatient,” He pants out, stepping off the bed and throwing his shirt off, kicking his pants to his ankles. “Wanna fuck you.” “I think I’m okay with that.” Your core clenches painfully at the thought of being filled up, and some of your arousal leaks down your thighs. He laughs at your response and reaches for a condom, rolling it on while you rid yourself of your shirt.

You throw your bra at him in an effort to get him to move faster, but it has the opposite effect. He looks at your bra for a moment before moving his gaze to your breasts, swallowing thickly. Both of you groan, but for different reasons.

“Babe, you can look at my boobs while you fuck me.” You whine impatiently. Johnny nods, tongue licking across his bottom lip slowly, eyes still locked on your breasts. It takes him a moment to crawl over to your body, settling between your legs and drawing you into a deep kiss. His dick brushes against your thigh and you wrap your legs around his waist.

Johnny’s always been a tease but you didn’t think he’d be this bad, holding what you want right in front of you, just out of reach. He presses the tip of his cock to your pussy, drags it through your folds, bumps your clit, does essentially everything except for what you want him to do. “Ready?” “Yeah, please,” You sigh, trying and failing not to sound desperate. And yet he still doesn’t put it in. He bends down to place a kiss on each of your nipples, swirling his tongue around one of the buds before moving to the other one. It has you sighing out in pleasure, and his teeth graze the sensitive skin at the same time he finally slides in.

The way his cock stretches you out has your eyes rolling back, your walls clenching around him desperately to adjust. Johnny swears and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, babe, you gotta- you gotta stop doing that.” “I can’t,” You arch against him, the action only pushing his cock deeper. “Johnny, you’re so big.”

“You’re just too small.” Johnny quips back, but it’s lacking the normal bite. This time it sounds strained, and your stomach flips at knowing he’s just as affected as you are. “Jesus Christ, how are you so fucking tight?” He finally bottoms out with a groan, grinding into you with a little half-thrust before moving to pull out again. “Guess I’ll have to change that.” Johnny fucks like he simultaneously has all the time in the world and like he has none at all. His thrusts go from hard and fast to slow and deep, the overall effect leaving you with your head spinning and your body burning with pleasure. Your nails dig into his back and you chant his name like it’s a prayer, and he responds by fucking you even harder, sucking bruises into the soft skin of your neck.

One of his hands grasps at the sheets near your head, the other resting on your breast. He gives it a loving squeeze before moving his hand up your arm to lace your fingers together, lifting his head up to find your lips. Both of you are panting heavily but Johnny kisses you like oxygen isn’t important, messily sucking at your bottom lip and meeting your tongue with his own. He lets out a deep groan and breaks away from you, dropping his face back to the crook of your neck. His grip on your hand tightens. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” “Mhmm, okay,” You squeeze his hand back. “Touch me?” He lets go of your hand to clumsily work his hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles into your clit. Your eyes roll and you arch against him, gasping out his name. Your orgasm is so close, you just need that extra push…

Johnny gets there before you can, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his groan. His hips stutter and his rhythm grows sloppy but he keeps desperately fucking into you, fingers still frantically rubbing at your clit. He presses a messy kiss to your shoulder, moves up to your ear. “Come on, baby. Wanna see you cum for me.”

It only takes a few more of his dirty words, a few more desperate thrusts, a few more presses of his thumb to your clit before you’re coming, legs locking around his waist and nails digging into his back. He swears at how your walls lock around him in a vice, his hips stuttering again as a hiccupy moan leaves him.

He all but collapses on top of you after, rolling to the side and panting heavily. You giggly breathlessly and curl up next to him, head on his chest. His entire body shivers when you press a kiss to his nipple, and he misses the shot when he tries to throw the condom into the trashcan.

“Did it live up to your imagination?” You finally catch your breath enough to ask. 

Johnny shrugs. “I guess.” He cackles and catches your hands in his own when you slap his chest and make an indignant noise, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m kidding! But actually, it might’ve been even better. We might have to try this again soon, just to be sure.” “Right.” You drag the word out in one long syllable. “Is this your way of saying you wanna go for another round?” “That depends,” He says carefully. “Do you want another round?” You laugh and shake your head. “You’re insatiable.” The air is cold when you roll out of bed and help yourself to Johnny’s closet, slipping one of the sweatshirts that you’ll ‘forget’ to return later on over your head. “But yes. Later though, I’m starving.”

The popcorn Johnny had offered you earlier gets stuck in your throat when Jaehyun barges into the apartment, the door slamming open with way too much force. Johnny snickers and pats your back, moving your water closer.

“Hey man, you have fun?” Johnny asks, only half paying attention as he tries to make sure you don’t die. You manage to dislodge the kernel and give him a thumbs up.

“Yep, nothing better than a free movie!” Jaehyun states happily, chugging the red bull in hand before opening the fridge for another one.

Johnny furrows his eyebrows. “Free? How’d you get free tickets?” 

Your eyes widen and you try to motion at Jaehyun not to say anything, but he’s as oblivious as ever. “Y/n bought them for me.”

“Oh, did she?” Johnny grins, the pieces clicking into place. He turns to look at you, grabbing your hands in his own when you try to bury your face in them. Jaehyun’s already wandered away and Johnny shakes his head in disbelief. “You had this planned, didn’t you?”

“It’s not my fault!” You whine, pouting at him. “Can you blame me for wanting to have sex with my hot boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I am pretty hot.” Johnny sighs, laughing with his entire body when you glare at him. He coos at you and pulls you into his chest. “But am I your boyfriend?”

Your face goes hot and there’s a moment of sheer panic before you shoot your shot. “...yes?”

“So that makes you my girlfriend, then.” His smile looks even brighter now. “Well girlfriend, it looks like we’re gonna be buying Jaehyun a lot more movie tickets now.”

You groan. 

[youbloodymadgenius]

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​

[avintagekiss24]

THE FALLEN || BUCKY BARNES

-- DEMON!AU -- ONE SHOT --

pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x black!reader || word count: 5,783 || warnings: smut, sex, vaginal fingering, demon possession, language, angels/demons || challenge: @wxntersoldiers​ 6k au challenge - demon!au || summary: heaven was above, hell was below - but now they’re both on earth, and you’re stuck in the middle. || author’s note: i stole a little from supernatural, a little from the bible (this is not a religious fic and I am in no way trying to push any religions/beliefs onto anyone!), and also took some liberties for this one! also, major thanks to @tropicalcap​ & @littleheavensangel2​ for helping me figure this fic out. love you two ladies!

just for reference, steve is archangel Michael, bucky is fallen angel Azazel, sam is archangel Uriel, rhodey (james) is archangel Gabriel.

line divider by @/writeyourmindaway!

You grip the shotgun tightly, your finger curled around the trigger as you stare down the long barrel. You keep your left hand cupped around the forearm as you press the tip of the gun into the rusty, old metal door, pushing it open with a loud creak. Your eyes dart around the abandoned warehouse as you move into the damp, dank room, the smell of sulfur hitting your nostrils.

Something shifts from somewhere deep in the warehouse - the familiar click of something metal hitting the floor. You whip in the direction of the noise, your eyesight aligning with the small sight at the end of the barrel, your breath going shallow. You stand stark still, just waiting for something - anything - to move, growl, or breathe, so you can blow it right back to the fiery pit of hell it came from. But nothing moves, nothing growls, nothing breathes - it’s just you and the silence of this new world.

You cut your eyes back into the center of the room and move forward, each step balanced and focused. You lower your weapon, very slightly, as you walk up on a small, burnt out fire. You kick at the old newspapers and napkins before you scan the room with your squinted eyes and kneel down beside it. You pick at the burnt rubble, lifting some to your nose to sniff at it before throwing it back into the burnt pile. Whoever was here is long gone. 

You close your eyes and bring your hand to your face, letting out a deep sigh. You rub your forehead and then your eyes before you grab the back of your neck. Sleep is pulling at you. Steve’s voice rings in the back of your mind - you can’t keep going like this. You’ve been through worse. All the survivors have. A few nights without sleep is considered a privilege these days. 

You take another deep breath but jolt back up on your feet, spinning around and hoisting your shotgun back up to your face. Sulfur fills your nostrils, stronger than when you first stepped into the warehouse. Then, there’s a soft sound of steps, one slowly after the other, circling you. You blink, but move with the noise, following it in a circle, training your eyes on the darkness.

“Come out.” You say firmly, adjusting your grip on your weapon, pressing your finger a little harder into the trigger.

It doesn’t answer. It just continues to circle you slowly, making sure to stay in the darkest parts of the empty warehouse, careful of the moonlight. 

It’s amazing how calm you are now in moments like this. A year ago, when the world first collapsed and heaven and hell was unleashed upon it - you prayed for death. You weren’t meant for this; you weren’t strong enough. You were a city girl. Starbucks in hand, AirPods in your ears, Christian Loubotins on your feet, a (huge) engagement ring on your finger. Your worst fear was someone parking their luxury vehicle in the spot that was reserved for your luxury vehicle.

Then it all went to shit.

Your Loubotins have been replaced with a pair of old, ripped Adidas that you took while out on a supply run. Your Birkin bag is now a high school boy's backpack, again, picked up while rummaging through an abandoned house. The only thing you have that reminds you of you, is that engagement ring, placed on a simple gold link chain and tucked underneath your tattered shirt. The weight of it, the feeling of it pressing against your chest keeps you grounded - it helps keep your memory of Bucky alive. 

Now, this shotgun, two hunting knives, and a katana are extensions of your body. Killing - demons or humans - is second nature to you. You are strong enough. 

“Come out,” you announce again, “Now.”

A deep chuckle rings out. You fire a round into the wall opposite you before pulling back on the forearm, the spent cartridge flying past your face and falling to the ground. You push the butt of the gun back into your shoulder and keep moving with the sound of the steps.

“Ooh,” a voice calls towards you, “Tough girl, huh?”

You fire another round, slamming the forearm back again to push another bullet into the chamber. The steps stop. Soft curse words float toward you as you finally spot a shadow doubled over. You smirk.

“Imagine if I were aiming for your face,” you shrug, “Bucky, come out.”

He chuckles again. He steps out into the moonlight, rolling his shoulders as he glances down at the bullet wound in his side, “I liked this shirt.” 

You peer at him over the barrel of your still raised gun, “Looks good on you.” 

He does indeed look good - like the old Bucky, the one you still dream of. He even keeps the simple silver chain that you gave him a few Christmas’ back around his neck. His hair is longer, and dare you say, you almost like it better than his tailored look from before. It’s pulled up into a bun - a bun! - a few loose tendrils falling around his face. The human Bucky never sported a beard, or even the smallest trace of stubble, but demon Bucky…. he’s, well, everything your Bucky was not.

Gone are the crisp, ironed, button down shirts, slacks, and designer loafers. Black combat boots, black jeans, black leather jacket now dress his muscular frame as he stands before you, his head cocked, a shit smirk on his face. 

His eyes are different, and that’s the most unsettling part. Those deep, ocean blue, often demonstrative eyes are just a memory now. Two yellow orbs stare back at you, devoid of any notion of who he once was - or the life you shared together. 

You blink, remaining steady as you watch him dig into his jacket pocket and pull out a loose cigarette; the gaping hole in his side closing up on it’s own. He places the thin stick between his lips before flicking his eyes back to you, and snaps his fingers. A bright fire starts to burn at the tips of them. He keeps his eyes on you and covers the end of the cigarette to shield it from any wind that escapes in from the broken window overhead, and lights it slowly. 

He inhales deeply, pulling his head back up straight as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke in your direction. He winks at you, playing with you seemingly before he shakes out the fire on his fingertips.

“Why are you following me?” He asks after a few silent seconds, taking another drag of his cigarette.

You can’t tell him why, although, if you could, you’re not really sure that you would want to. You don’t know if you really believe what Steve is trying to get you to believe. You were always a pessimist - the glass is half empty kinda girl. Something in you keeps nagging at you, telling you that your Bucky is gone. 

You still remember the last time he was truly your Bucky. His frantic voice filled your ears as you lifted your phone to your ear, your eyes wide and full of tears  as you sat in shock while the television at your office played out the gruesome stories from all over the world. Building collapsed, people running for their lives, blood staining the streets. Deep, long cracks in the concrete as fire spewed up from below. 

“Listen to me, baby,” you barely heard him say, “Just get home, ok? Lock the doors, close the blinds, don’t let anybody inside. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Ok? Promise me, baby.” 

“Bucky,” you whimpered as hot tears streaked down your face, “I’m scared, I can’t. I can’t -  what is happening?” You sobbed.

“Hear my voice, baby,” He said firmly, “Just get home, okay? I’ll be there, I promise. I will keep you safe.”

That was the last time you heard his voice.

He never made it home.

It took months before you could even understand what could have happened to him, months more before you could actually confirm it. You were out on a run, alone, looking for supplies and a dry place to sleep. You ended up downtown - apartment buildings made for the best supply deposits. It was dark, the streetlights had long since burnt out, but you grew accustomed to moving around with only the moonlight as a guide. 

You rounded the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. There was a group of them, but naturally, you hesitated - not knowing if they were human or the possessed. Just when you were about to turn and head back from where you came, you heard it. His laugh. When you turned back, he was facing you and every ounce of air was sucked right out of your body. 

He was alive. 

It had been so long. 

Every rational thought drained from your mind. You just wanted to feel him - to hug him and kiss him and tell him how much you missed him. How you’d known all along that you’d find him again. Your feet were moving before you even knew it. Your eyes filled with tears as you crossed the street towards him. You just wanted to feel him. 

“Buc-”

Before you could get his name out of your mouth, you were grabbed from behind and yanked between two buildings. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your screams as a chest pushed into yours. The strange man peeked around the corner of the building before returning his attention to you, shaking his head slowly, “Possessed,” he whispered.

You’ve been with Steve - well, Michael, ever since. He explained it all to you - the centuries old war between heaven and hell - good and evil - that had finally spilled over onto earth. How he, Uriel, and Gabriel (Sam and James, respectively) decided to help, despite their instructions to never interfere. The information made you dizzy. You didn’t believe it at first, you thought he was crazy - until his wings spread out behind him. 

You kinda had to half believe him then.

He also explained how it happened - how you could be possessed. You had heard along the way that just looking at one of the creatures crawling up from the gaping holes in the streets could do it. Others said all that was needed was a touch from one. Maybe it was a bite, or a scratch - some even said the possessed had been chosen from birth - everyone had a theory. 

None of them were true, turns out.

“You have to give in.” Steve’s voice was soft, his eyes cast away from yours as you gasped in terror, “You have to offer your soul to them for the demon to take you.”

You want to know why. You want to know why the man you were about to marry, the solid, the strong, the happy Bucky Barnes you knew and loved, gave up his soul - and if what Steve says is true - you want him back.

“I’m not following you.” You lie.

He snorts, “So, it’s just a coincidence we keep running into each other?”

You shrug, blinking slowly, “Looks that way.”

He nods back at you, taking another puff of his cigarette before he expels the grey smoke again and flicks at the end to rid the ash. He drags his eyes along your frame as you stand in the middle of the room, your weapon still trained on him. He knows there’s a story that you aren’t telling.

He tilts his head again, his eyes dropping from your face quickly before they return, “You knew him?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play with me,” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before he gestures at himself, “This pretty face. This Bucky, you keep referring to.”

You don’t answer. You just blink at him, tightening your grip on your gun again as you keep his chest dead center of the barrel. He kicks at the debris on the ground before he gazes up at the tall ceiling, still sucking on that cigarette between his lips. 

“I can’t give him back, you know.” He says matter of factly, “He’s mine.”

“I understand.” You answer simply.

He smiles widely at your humor, “Why are you following me then? Hm? Why do you keep following me around, girl?” His voice deepens by the end of his question - menacing, trying to intimidate you.

You shrug again, “The same reason you don’t ever try to kill me once you realize I’m around.” You click your jaw, “His body may be yours, but I know Bucky is still in there. He won’t let you kill me.”

Your words stun him into silence. He smiles slowly after a few seconds and tilts his head back as he drops the stub of a cigarette to the ground. He cracks his neck and then rolls his shoulders, humming softly. 

He steps towards you but you’re quick, instantly taking a step back, and then another, and another, in rhythm with him, “You want to know how I got him?” He asks, “Hm? How I took your precious little Bucky?” He mocks, laughing at you as your eyes go wide. 

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you squeeze your finger against the trigger a little harder, “Stop. Back up.”

“He was damn near dead when I found him,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “I thought he was dead when I first saw him. Poor old Bucky here must have been in a hell of a hurry,” he smiles again, his eyes glowing as he recounts the details, “Flipped his car in all the melee. He was trapped in there for days.”

“Stop it.” You whisper, your chin starting to tremble. 

“Oh, he was gullible too.” He laughs again, “He believed every word that came out of my mouth. It’s people like him that make it so damn easy - he didn’t even put up a fight.”

“Shut up!” You shout as a single tear slips down your cheek, “I mean it, I will blow your fucking head off.”

He stops moving towards you, but laughs again, clapping his hands as the stench of your fear and anger fill his nostrils. He titters, “I know exactly who you are.” He whispers, his smile growing larger as your face clicks in his brain, “He had your picture, clutched in his bloody hand, pressed right up against his chest when I found him.” 

You let out a sob. 

“I used you against him.”

“Shut up!” You scream again.

“He begged me!” He shouts at you, making you stop in your tracks. He clasps his hands together as if he’s praying, “Please,” he starts, mocking Bucky’s pleas, “Please help me. I need to get home, please.”

You squeeze the trigger, firing a round straight at his head. He’s quick, but you knew that, the bullet just grazing the side of his face as he sidesteps it. You slam the forearm back and shoot again, and again, the empty shell casings falling to the concrete floor, soft clicks and tings sounding as they bounce. 

Bucky smirks at you again before he disappears from sight. You reach for the hunting knife strapped around your leg and pull it from its sheath, spinning around on your feet and bringing it down with all the force in your body. 

He catches your arm in mid air. He folds your arm behind your back and whips you around, crushing his chest to your back. 

“All I had to tell him was that I could help him get back to you so that he could keep you safe, and he fell for it - hook, line, and sinker.” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath washing over the side of your face as you struggle against him. He starts to laugh, the sound booming through the warehouse again, bouncing off of the walls, “Isn’t that hilarious? Men are so fucking weak, just the thought of you brought him to his knees.”

He closes his eyes again and starts to sway the two of you back and forth, taking a deep breath, filling his chest and lungs with your scent, “God, you smell good. I could taste you on his lips as soon as I took him. I could feel your skin in his hands - smell that sweet cunt of yours.”

He wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you to him tightly as he digs his nose into your hair. You shiver at the feeling of his prickly stubble grazing across your cheek, still struggling and whimpering to get free of his grasp. The hand around your waist sneaks up into your shirt, skirting up your warm flesh, his fingers finding your breasts. You gasp when he squeezes them hard - pushing you back into him with his strength. 

His tongue slithers out from between his lips, licking from your jaw up to your temple before he presses the side of his face to yours. He chuckles as he fondles your breasts with his fingers, his hot skin searing yours, making you jump in pain. He cranes your head to the side with his before he rubs his cheek against yours. He nibbles on your ear as you start to struggle once more, then dips down to your neck where he nips at the exposed skin with his teeth.

Your nipples harden. A shiver runs up your spine. An ache starts to spread through your stomach and sex as heat blooms across your skin. Your stomach starts to churn as hatred and anger builds within you. Your mind knows that this isn’t Bucky - but your body doesn’t. It just knows that these hands, these lips, this tongue feels familiar; and it’s been so long.

You feel his dick start to push into your ass, pulling another laugh from the demonic creature, “Looks like my pal Bucky and I both have a weakness for pretty girls.” He mumbles against your ear. He slithers his hand from your breasts and down to your jeans, his index finger tracing the edge of the denim from hip to hip, “I haven’t even touched you yet and I can smell you from here.” 

You're paralyzed. Stuck between your screaming mind and your willful body. He lets go of the arm he has pinned behind your back and grabs your chin, pushing it upward so that you can see him. You blink furiously as he gazes along your face, his fingers gently caressing your jaw and cheek, his eyes roaming slowly.

Your breath is heavy and audible - small whimpers escaping with each exhale. His hand pushes into the front of your jeans and dives right for the apex, finding your folds and clit wet and hot. Your mouths both fall open in unison - yours from the touch you didn’t realize you had been waiting for, his from the delight of it all.

He hums as his fingers start to play with you, rubbing and circling, flicking at that sensitive little bud between your legs. He feels your body tighten and the soft rock of your hips as a gentle, soft, feminine moan escapes from your lips. He tilts his head as he watches your eyes flutter from the contact - the sight of you, your smell, your soft skin, your sounds - it all makes him wish he’d been human all along. 

He pushes his fingers inside of you suddenly, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. You push your hips forward and let your mouth go slack again as your eyes close to slits. He pulls his fingers out slowly, then delves back inside of you, hooking them as he starts to stroke your slick muscles. 

Your body jerks gently as you grunt, your sounds husky and full. He keeps your chin in the palm of his hand, his fingers pressing into your cheeks as he stares down at you. He licks your mouth - over your chin and lips, up to the tip of your nose before he tongues the roof of your mouth, groaning as lust ripples through his body. 

He kisses you suddenly. Hard. Hungry. You moan into his mouth before breaking the kiss to hiss and groan from his pumping fingers. You roll your hips into his hand as your head falls forward, squeezing your muscles around him to add more pressure. 

He pulls out of you suddenly, whipping you back around and slamming you into the wall. You hold yourself up with your hands, spreading your fingers out on the wall as your chest heaves with anticipation. He pops your button and fly and pushes the thick material down to your knees as you push your ass back into him. You slide your hand to your clit, massaging yourself with the tips of your fingers as you hear him fumble with his own pants. 

His hands are back on your hips, his nails digging into your thick flesh as he slams into you. You jolt forward, moaning loudly as he starts to fuck into you hard - the sound of his skin slapping against your bouncing off the walls around you. You slam your eyes closed as you lunge forward with each thrust, your fingers still working your swollen clit. 

Bucky works your shirt up over your breasts before he pulls at the cups of your bra, freeing your bouncing tits. He cups them, then tweaks your thick, hard nipples before he wraps his large hand around your throat. He squeezes, tightening your airway as he rams into you from behind. Your fingers still push along your clit, slapping at the sensitive bud before you rub it as hard and fast as you can. 

He feels different - thicker than before. His cock seems to pulse while inside of you, filling up every inch of space your cunt has to offer. You can feel the blood coursing through the thick vein that runs the length of his cock - feel the thick, sticky cum bubbling from his slit. He pushes his cum deep; each thrust spilling more of his luxuriant seed into you. His sex is hot - the sheer heat radiating from every inch of him makes sweat pop along your skin. His fingers start to burn you again and you cry out in pain as burns mark your flesh.

You feel the pull in the pit of your stomach, the pressure starting to build as your body tightens intuitively. Bucky curls his fingers over your shoulders as he feels your pussy start to squeeze down on him and pulls you harder back into him. His eyes fall to your ass as your flesh jiggles with each thrust. 

You close your eyes again and let your head fall, bracing for the impending orgasm that threatens to consume your body. Small ripples of it flash through you, making you tense suddenly. Bucky’s fingers cover yours to help you massage your clit until you’re a shivering, shrieking mess. 

You cum all around his rigid cock. You’re loud - panting and moaning as you thrust back into him, releasing more waves of your long overdue release throughout your body. Your clit convulses, jumping with each contraction of your cunt, your muscles tensing and squeezing around him.

Bucky continues to slam into you, each stroke coming harder and faster than the last until a low, animalistic growl rumbles through his chest. Your wet muscles coax his orgasm right out of him, pulling more ribbons of cum from his slit as he ruts into you. He fills you up, so much so that he spills back out of you, making a mess of your already quivering, wet thighs. He grips your flesh so hard as he fucks into you, small bruises form instantly on your hips. 

He pumps into you one last time and holds still, wiggling his hips to push himself deeper into your sex as his cock continues to spit. You tighten your muscles, holding him in, feeling each spurt, each jump, each pulse of his cock until your orgasm recedes back into the depths of your body. 

You keep your eyes closed as your breath rushes, your heart racing. Bucky pulls out of you unceremoniously, slapping his dick against the inside of your thigh before he plunges his fingers back inside of you quickly. 

He then shoves them in his mouth, moaning as your familiar taste explodes on his taste buds, “Bucky has good taste.” He chuckles, slapping your ass before he tucks himself back into his jeans. 

You’re not sure what you feel right in this moment. Shame? Regret? Excitement? Relief? It’s a foreign feeling - whatever it is. One that maybe you used to know, but can’t really put your finger on now. Living through an apocalypse will do that to you. It humbles you. It breaks you down to the bare minimum of what you are; makes you shed everything unnecessary - like shame, regret, excitement, and relief. 

You pull your jeans back up over your hips and turn to face the demon in front of you. You lean against the wall and watch as he pulls another cigarette from his pocket and lights it with the fire he conjures at the tips of his fingers. 

“Feel better now?” He asks after a few minutes, “Maybe you can let me be.”

“I don’t believe you.” You say calmly, blinking at him.

He rolls his eyes as he expels a puff of smoke through his nostrils and lips, “What don’t you believe, darling?”

“You can give him back to me.”

He scoffs, walking right up to you again. He presses his forehead to yours, pushing until your head rests against the wall behind you. He taps on your temple with his index finger slowly, his yellow eyes bouncing between yours, “Your Bucky is gone. Get it through that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whisper, defying his every word. 

He leans back, smiling in pity of you, “Why not?”

“Because I told her so, Azazel.”

You both snap your heads toward the new voice. Bucky grabs you and pulls you in front of him as he backs his way into the center of the room. He peers over your shoulder at the tall, blonde man as he moves slowly into the room, the tips of his long, gloriously white wings dragging on the ground behind him. 

Your chest starts to heave again as Bucky grips your bicep hard as he continues to back up, his eyes squinted as he tries to make out the face of the unknown man. You can feel when it clicks for him. His grip lessens just slightly, he straightens up, he lets out a breath.

“Michael.”

The blonde man smiles gently, “It’s Steve down here.”

Bucky snarls as he keeps you pressed to his front, “These human names are ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs, “I kinda like Steve.”

“You would,” Bucky chuckles, “How are you, brother? It’s been a long time.”

Steve smiles again, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling underneath the moonlight spilling in from the broken windows, “I’m well. I miss you, we all do.”

“I miss you too, Michael.” Bucky answers earnestly, “I do, I mean that.”

“Then come home.” Bucky starts to speak, but Steve holds up his hand, “You can help us end this. Return her fiancé to her, and help us set this right.”

Bucky scoffs, “And ruin all the fun? I don’t think so. I quite like being bad.” He curls his fingers around your neck again, kissing your cheek as he starts to sway with you back and forth, “You should try it. It’s fun - freeing, if you will.”

“This isn’t fun, Azazel. People dying isn’t a game.”

Bucky groans as he rolls his eyes dramatically, “Can you fucking lighten up? Jesus.”

“Azazel,” Steve starts.

“It’s Bucky up here,” he mocks, wrapping his arm around your waist, “Isn’t it, sweet thing?”

Steve steps a little closer, “Talk to me, please. This isn’t about her.”

“This isn’t about her?” he laughs, “You used her, Michael, to get to me, and now it’s not about her?”

“I didn’t use her. You’re my brother, I can feel you, we all can.”

“We, we, we,” Bucky shouts, tightening his grip around you, “So, you’re all here, hm?”

“Yes.” Steve answers calmly, “Gabriel, Uriel - we all came to help.”

“Oh yes, because you love these repugnant creatures so fucking much, right?” Bucky shouts back, a sudden anger flashing through him as he gestures towards you, “Right?!”

Your heart rate quickens as you stare at Steve, watching as he stays as cool as a cucumber, “Yes.” Steve responds softly, “I do. I love them. We’re supposed to love them, Azazel.”

“They’re disgusting!” Bucky seethes behind you, “Humans lie, they cheat, they steal, they kill! They turn on each other like animals, they desecrate their bodies -” he grabs your chin and pushes it upward gruffy, causing you to hiss in pain, “This one just let me fuck her knowing exactly what I am,” he takes a long pause, “And you still believe they deserve our love?” He finishes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve dips his head, but smiles and lets out a small laugh, “I’m not saying they’re smart.”

He drops his hand from your chin and turns his head to the side, staring at the opposite wall. His body is tense, the heat of his anger radiating through every pore of his skin, “We gave him our undivided attention - unconditional love and devotion, and he chose them over us every single time. That doesn’t make you angry?” He hisses lowly, his voice wavering just slightly, “It doesn’t make you want to see them suffer? After everything he’s done for them, how much he loves them and for what? Just for them to turn their backs on him.”

“That’s not for us to decide, Azazel.” Steve says, his voice still gentle, still calm, not wanting to agitate him anymore, “You know what’s happening here is wrong. This is not our playground. If they destroy themselves, then so be it, but we can’t make that happen, especially out of spite.”

“Spite? Oh,” Bucky laughs again, shaking his head, “This isn’t spite, this is full on hatred. I loved him,” he spits, venom dripping from every word, “I loved him more than anything, more than anyone - and he cast me aside that I was nothing.”

“You were proud, Azazel.” Steve says firmly, taking a step towards him, “Too proud, too bold. You started to question him, he had no choice but to cast you out.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky shouts loudly, “He could have just loved me the way he loves these filthy humans.”

Steve closes his eyes, “You can still come home.”

“I don’t want to come home. I told you, I like it here.” He seethes, his voice low in your ear, licking your cheek with his hot tongue to antagonize Steve. 

“Bucky was a good man,” you say softly, your voice shaking as you try to reason with him, “You know that, you can feel it, I know you can. That’s why you don’t hurt me. You can’t - he’s too good, and you can’t control it.”

You feel his eyes on you and the anger still brimming underneath his surface. He drags his fingernails along your cheek before he cups your chin again, “Thanks for the swell time, baby girl.”

“Wait,” you say, trying to turn to face him, “Wait, please. Just listen to Steve, we’re not trying to-“

You blink, and he’s gone. You turn and let out a sigh as you stare into the dark warehouse. 

Steve moves up beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and rubbing softly, “Are you alright?”

You blink again, a numbness coming over you, “Yeah.” You say after a minute or two.

“You…” his words fall away as he tries to make his question as delicate as possible, “You mated with him?”

Your mouth falls open, but you shut it after a few seconds tick by, not having any sort of come back, “Please don’t, Steve.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I realize that,” you sigh again, “Thank you. I just got… caught up. It’s - you wouldn’t understand. It’s been awhile.”

He rolls his eyes, his wings swishing behind him, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world.” He quotes, shaking his head softly. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, sighing lightly, “Not now, okay? Please.”

“For while we were in the flesh, the sinful passions, which were aroused by the Law, were at work in the members of our body to bear fruit for death.”

“Steve!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, bowing his head, spitting out a quick prayer for you before he centers himself, “Did you get it?”

You hold out your hand. In the center of your palm sits the silver chain that was once around Bucky’s neck and the discarded butt of his cigarette. The apocalypse teaches you all sorts of tricks - like slipping a chain off of a demon’s neck while he argues with an archangel. Steve grabs them from you, bringing them to his nose to sniff them quickly, “These will be perfect. Now come, you need to wash the sin off of you.” 

“God, you’re annoying.” You groan. Steve cuts his eyes toward you again as he presses his lips together in a hard line. You throw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jes- I mean… fuck, sorry.” 

He sighs heavily, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laugh a little as the two of you start to move back through the building, “I’m sorry, this is just,”

“It’s a lot, I know. But hey,” he grabs your wrist, stopping you so you’ll face him, “We’re gonna get your Bucky back. We just have to get this back to Gabriel and Uriel and we’ll have everything we need to summon Azazel to us and remove him from the vessel.” 

“He’s not a vessel,” you correct quickly, “He’s a person, he had a life. His name is Bucky.”

Steve notes the emotion in your voice, “I’m sorry. Bucky, we’ll remove him from Bucky. This will work, I promise you.”

You nod slowly as you let him pull you into a hug, “I believe you.” 

He knows deep down that you don’t - not really - not yet, anyway.

He’s determined to make a believer of you. 

[noa-ciharu]

002 | Send me a ship and I will tell you: FuuKam not sure if anyone asks but yeah... It is me ;w;

THEM. *cheers and cries at same time*

When I started shipping them:

I watched X anime as a teen and didn’t think much of it. I liked their original relationship but wasn’t biggest fan of doe!Kamui/Kamui thing. Probably partly because anime really ruined some character’s personalities (especially Fuuma’s, he seems like yet another power hungry villain with no depth; totally evil with no gray area) and because I was 15 and saw things at face value. Then after reading Tokyo Babylon I read X too and wow did my opinion take 180° degree turn. I shipped fuukam by default then sort of? I liked them but wasn’t over moon about them. Then i reread X few months ago and fuukam feels hit me at full speed. I didn’t know what hit me, I was minding my business and bam - feels arrived unannounced and decided to stay. Now I adore them <3 even if they make me hella sad ;-;

My thoughts:

So many thoughts, where to start. First thing first, I’m aware fuukam isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, for very valid reasons (I’m talking about transformed Fuuma here). Especially since X isn’t finished and we as readers don’t really know what happened to Fuuma nor why he’s sometimes so cruel to Kamui. I feel like Clamp planned some tragic and eye-opening reveal and that fandom would never collectively recover. I find psychological element of their relationship intriguing; and homoerotic part as well - sexiest paring Clamp ever made, god bless. I like their relationship in Tsubasa too, especially since it’s not so doomed and tragic.

What makes me happy about them:

In Tsubasa I like their fight-teasing dynamic, how feisty Kamui is and how Fuuma so obviously has soft spot for him. In X I liked their original relationship: how deeply they cared for each other, how Fuuma provided comfort and touched Kamui so gently (at every given occasion) and how Kamui, despite wanting to push away, couldn’t stay away from him. As for post transformation, I have a thing for complexity and angst, so I guess that makes me sad and happy about them at same time. Also they still hold each other dear but just that relationship turned obsessive and tainted, so to speak. And those homoerotic courtship battles, but they’re also tragic at same time because it’s all miscommunication and violence instead of proper talk - but that’s part of drama and tragedy too. This is hard to answer honestly because same things that make you happy about them also make you sad, if that makes sense? They’re complex and tragic.

What makes me sad about them:

EVERYTHING. The betrayal, Kamui’s desperation and longing, his pain and confusion, sweet childhood memories tainted by blood, Kamui’s yearning for ‘Fuuma’ while simultaneously rejecting person he sees in front of him, Fuuma’s wish for Kamui to accept him as different person/’Kamui’ and for Kamui to accept himself (realize true wish). Conflicting expressions Fuuma makes when thinking about Kamui later in series and how he looks at him from time to time. As I said - EVERYTHING ;-;

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Actually it’s been a while since I read a Fuukam fanfic so I don’t have anything too specific. I’m generally really picky about characterization so characters being OOC is pet peeve of mine. I feel like that could be an issue since Fuuma and Kamui are really complex characters and neither of them are black/white ground (which I have a hunch some writers might reduce them to? Maybe in the past). Also Kamui isn’t weak in any aspect, he can and will definitely retort back if he wants to. I know we joke about molestation scenes but if Fuuma tried anything for real and Kamui didn’t want it (not even subconsciously), he’d fight back for real; Fuuma would have hard time subduing him, if he’d be successful at all.

Things I look for in fanfic:

I was about to joke about kinks and yes, smut fics can be fire given canon homoerotic aspect of their relationship. I’d certainly would like to see more of those. But honestly? I’d just want them to talk honestly for once. No jabs, no fighting, no horny grabs - just open (and probably very angsty) communication. They don’t even have to solve anything between them, but just take step forwards instead of backwards for once. I’d like to see Kamui asking questions, Fuuma replying without jabs or double meanings and Kamui trying his best to accept what he’s hearing, instead of fighting both Fuuma and himself. It’d be a long road however.

My wishlist:

Clamp plz finish X. Wishes are problematic in this one so I have to be careful what I ask for (thank you Fuuma and Yuuko for teaching us that, in very different ways however). I’d like them to have happy ending but happiness means different things to different people so that’s hard to define. Because even if both of them survive that ain’t guarantee for ‘happy ending’ (for example: what if Kamui accepts his ‘other self’ at last, those sides fuse inside him somehow, Fuuma returns to regular but has no memories of what happened or Kamui at all? Kamui is torn - he wishes to stay away for Fuuma’s sake but also can’t ever forget him; angst material honestly). Also we need to see Kamui in cat ears at least once, Clamp plz draw him with cat ears in some AU. Kamui is so beautiful tho, true tragedy in X is that he never got laid. Fuuma should pin him to a wall, finally kiss and - alright, we all know. Moving on.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Honestly? No one. For Fuuma there’s no debate since he’s almost always shipped with Kamui. Plus I have hard time seeing his antichrist self settling in a relationship with some else. Would he even want that? As for Kamui, despite being a subkam shipper, I think them ending up together in last 2.5 vols would only mess things up; in a bad way as it wouldn’t make sense from narrative’s perspective; plus wouldn’t have nearly enough time to get properly explored or resolved. Nor am I under illusion Clamp ever planned for them to end up together. In fanfic I’ll be all for it but not in canon.

My happily ever after for them:

It’ll be a happy ending if they both manage to stay alive. I love them and wish for them to be happy together but at same time such Disney ending wouldn’t suit X as a series. So if they get such ending part of me would be happy of course but other part a bit miffed since what were previous 18 vols about then? In that way, even if it’d like them to solve all issues between them, Kamui to give up self-destructive wishes, accept Fuuma as different person from old Fuuma and as ‘Kamui’, make up and try to be ‘happy’ together - it’ll be highly improbable (and sort of unrealistic) to happen in canon. So in the end, I’d just love to see what Clamp originally planned for them, nothing more. I’d like it to be in character, even if it’s tragic.

[angelicsentinel]

This prompt doesn’t exactly have a ship? I’d like to see Ran and Sonoko helping Shinichi after a case he solved. ( Also I hope you have a good day. Sending virtual hugs if you want 🙂)

Friendship is the best ship. Any ship also includes friendship, or none at all, rather. Thank you. And thank you for the prompt. Not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for, but I tried my best.

Aftermath

In the aftermath of a brutal case, Shinichi stares past the culprit as he’s cuffed and led to the back of a police cruiser. 

Things don’t happen for a reason. Things just happen, one after another, unceasing. He wishes for once things would just stop happening. 

Shinichi shakes his head, and limps towards Inspector Ayanokoji to give his follow up, only to be stopped by one Suzuki Sonoko, who steps in front of him with her arms stretched out as if to block his path. “Oh no you don’t!” she says. Blood mats her hair, her headband stained, and she’s a little bit sooty.

It’s superficial, but Shinichi still winces when he sees it. He wishes the culprit didn't try to take her as a hostage. Then he frowns. “Sonoko, let me by.”  

“You’re going straight to the hotel, Shinichi-kun!” Sonoko says, stamping her foot. 

Shinichi crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Sonoko says in response, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "Ran's not here to ride herd on you so that means I have to. Annoying."

"Yes, you are," Shinichi grumps, attempting to push past her.

Sonoko pushes herself up on the balls of her feet for more height, and then she hooks her arm around his neck, pulling him down and trapping Shinichi under her armpit.

"Hey!" Shinichi yelps, stumbling, but Sonoko jerks him forward anyway, strong-arming him to one of the Suzuki company cars and shoving him in.

"Get in, loser."

"This is a kidnapping," Shinichi complains, but Sonoko ignores him and gets in behind him, pushing him over and slamming the door.

"This is an intervention," she says, cutting her eyes at him.

Shinichi scoffs.

"Our hotel," she says, before pulling a nail file out and smoothing the rough edges where she'd scrabbled for purchase on the edge of the building. 

They ride in silence until she's done with her nails on one hand, then she picks up the phone. "Ran, get dressed and be in my room in like, five. No, no arguing, this is non negotiable." She hangs up and begins work on her other hand with the file.

Shinichi crosses his arms and stares at her.

Sonoko looks up, and then snorts and goes back to her phone.

"I was fine," Shinichi says finally.

"You're an idiot and you would have been there all night," Sonoko says. "You forget I grew up with you, moron."

"Like abducting me is any better?" Shinichi asks.

"Yes, actually. You should thank me." 

"In what universe?" Shinichi says. Though he might be grateful. Just a little. He's tired and it's been a long day.

Sonoko rolls her eyes, and the car is silent until they arrive back at the hotel, where Sonoko also proceeds to strong-arm him to her room, a small suite.

Which is how he ends up blinking at Ran as she opens the door for them with Sonoko's hand clamped down on the back of his neck.

Ran giggles, and so he lets Sonoko maneuver him to the sofa in front of the television before forcing him to sit down, limp obvious and in full force.

"Look at his ankle, will you Ran?"

"Sonoko!" Shinichi says, annoyed. The last thing he needs is Ran getting worried.

"I'm gonna go take a shower. Behave, Shinichi-kun!"

"I don't even want to be here in the first place," Shinichi says.

"Uh huh," Sonoko says, and slams the door to the bathroom, leaving Shinichi and Ran together in silence.

"Which ankle is it?" Ran says, thankfully no nonsense, grabbing a compression bandage from the first aid kit she brought with her.

Shinichi says, "...Left."

She sits down beside him, pulling his leg into her lap, easing off his shoe, then his sock. It's already swollen. Ran clicks her tongue. "Did you even get this looked at?"

"No." Shinichi's just glad Sonoko's not here to tell her he ducked out from medical. "It's just a sprain."

"It's not 'just' anything," Ran says. "You should take better care of yourself."

Shinichi can't hide his wince as she probes his ankle, then begins wrapping it tightly, but not tight enough to restrict blood flow. The pressure feels good, relieving, and she's done it often enough her movements are steady and sure. He wonders how many times she's done this for karate, and then more darkly, how many times she's done it after getting dragged into a case with him. More than she should have.

Once she's done, she grabs a few pillows from the bed, then moves the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Shinichi doesn't have to be badgered into elevating his foot. 

“I’ll go get some ice after a couple of hours, okay?” Ran says.

"Hope you're decent!" Sonoko calls out.

"Sonoko!" Ran and Shinichi say in unison.

Just then, a knock on the door. "Room service!"

"Oh, goodie," Sonoko says, and comes back from the door pushing a cart filled with food. A big bowl of caramel popcorn and two smaller bowls. There's boxes of candy, water and juice and soda, and even a sandwich tray and fruit tray. "That's kettle corn for you, Ran, and plain for mister plain and boring here."

“Thank you, Sonoko,” Ran says.

“What’s all that for?” Shinichi asks.

“Can’t you deduce it, Mister Detective?” Sonoko says. When he gives her a flat look, she continues, “Movie night!” She waves her hands in a flourish towards the TV. 

“I’m not watching anything with Brad Pitt,” Shinichi says immediately.

Sonoko scoffs. “Considering the ‘audience,’ I brought a selection,” she slams three boxes on the table, two noticibly bigger than the other. Elementary, Enola Holmes, and Miss Sherlock. “I know your detective nerd self wouldn’t watch anything else. Pick one.”

“What about this one, Shinichi?” Ran says. “She’s supposed to be Sherlock Holmes’ sister.”

“He never had a sister,” Shinichi says in half-protest, and apparently that’s enough of a complaint for Sonoko to decide on it and put it in the player while Ran sits down beside him. 

Sonoko grabs the remote and distributes the popcorn and drinks, and then for some reason she sits down on the other side of him, pushing him into Ran with a wink and a nudge, and then she doesn’t move. 

“Sonoko!” Ran scolds, but she laughs and accepts it.

Shinichi’s annoyed with it for all of two seconds, and then he remembers how much she’s gone through today, just for the simple act of being in his vicinity, and lets it go. Sonoko’s good at having a brave face, but he remembers her frightened one all too well, and that’s why he slips a comforting arm around her. Sonoko must need it more than he realizes, because not only does she not say anything about it, she leans into it, resting her head against his shoulder. 

For good measure, he slips his arm around Ran, as well. It’s hard too, to wait, not hearing things for hours and hours. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she whispers.

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” he replies. Sonoko shouldn’t have been there, either. Neither one of them should have to deal with the work that’s by now ingrained deeply in his blood.  

It’s not hard to get engrossed in the film, which turns out to be much better than he was expecting. Sonoko’s commentary drops off around the middle of the film, and Shinichi looks down to find her dead asleep. 

He turns and Ran too, has faded, resting her head against his shoulder, all of the stress and anxiety of the day knocking them both neatly out. 

Shinichi’s now being used as a glorified pillow. He can’t say he minds though. They’re both here where he can keep an eye on them. 

Once the credits roll, he shifts just enough to grab the remote and turn the television off. Instead of moving and disturbing them, he just tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

It’s been a long day for him too.

[jawabear]

After party Arrangement (Maxwell Lord X Reader)

Not My GIF

A/N: looks like I won’t be getting to watch Wonder Woman after all. Thanks Boris. But oh well. I don’t really mind, safety is more important. But I’m not going to get political. Instead, I wrote some Maxwell Lord smut because that’s the kind of mood I’m in. And this GIF is everything. 10/10 will probably be using again. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, tiny argument, little bit of sub!Max (because that’s my favourite Max), dom!Max, oral (fem receiving), roughness, general Maxwell Lord smut, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: After a torturous day and ungodly event, Max has some anger he needs to let out, and so does she

“I can’t believe you” she spat as she stomped into their grand hotel room that was probably bigger than their bedroom at home.

“Me? You were the one letting every guy down there flirt with you!” Max yelled as he followed behind her, slamming the door.

“Oh will you stop Max? Not every guy who talks to me is flirting with me! They were being nice! And it was nice to actually have a conversation with someone who actually wants to listen!” She threw her hands in the air to exclaim her points further.

“Men aren’t nice (Y/N)” Max pointed an accusing finger at her from across the room “they see a beautiful woman and that all they care about. They’re not being nice. They’re trying to get you in their bed”

“And how is that any different from you?” She said folding her arms across her chest “you did that on me. And you let every girl touch you and try and seduce you. ‘Oh Mr Lord, you’re so funny and rich’” she put on a high pitched voice and acted all flounce-y “and you do the same to them. Complimenting them, touching them... do you not think that hurts me too Max?”

He strode over to her and grabbed her arms before walking her backwards and pressing her against the wall “I’m sorry” he said “I’ll stop. But know that I chose you. I chose you because I love you. From now on, it me and you, and no one else”

(Y/N) looked into his sweet brown eyes looking for hints of a lie but there wasn’t any, he was telling the truth. “I’m sorry too” she said. He leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss to her lips. The gentleness didn’t last long. His pushed his lips harder against hers, kissing her more deeply. His hands began to feel her body, sliding over her hips.

“I can’t wait until we’re married” he muttered against her lips before moving them down to her jaw and then her neck “that ring on your finger will tell everyone to fuck off” he slipped down her body, kissing every part of her even though it was covered by her dress.

“Does that mean the same for you?” She said almost breathlessly causing him to get back to his feet looking straight into her eyes “Does the ring carry the same purpose for you?..”

“Yes” He whispered “I belong to you. Everything I have will belong to you”

“You belong to me?” She laughed “prove it” her voice held a stern tone that sent a shiver down Maxwell’s back. Her eyes flashed with a mischievous look as her hands landed on his shoulders and slowly pushed him to his knees. He looked at her with lust filled eyes.

He bunched up her dress and saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear which made his hunger for her grow. She gasped loudly when he attached his mouth to her pussy. She bit her lip and smiled, her hand moving to grip his hair.

He ate her like a starved man, licking and sucking her as if she were the last thing he would ever taste. “Max” she moaned. He began sucking on her clit making her thighs clamp around his head and her body began to shake at the feeling. She hummed lowly, her fingers carding through his blond hair.

The back of (Y/N)’s head hit the back of the wall when he gave a particularly harsh suck making her hips jolt forwards. She could feel him grinning against her so she sharply tugged his hair making him groan. She was expecting some sort of remark but he said nothing and just carried on eating her out.

She could feel her climax building up, and her teeth sunk deeper into her bottom lip as she tried to suppress her moans, but it didn’t work. They fell from her uncontrollably as he pushed his mouth further against her, engulfing her with his mouth. “Oh fuck Max” she almost yelled. Her knees began to shake as waves of pleasure crashed over her as she came.

He gave her a few gentle licks before pulling away and standing. He latched his mouth immediately onto hers, his tongue protruding into her mouth allowing her to taste her self. She gave him a dazed smiled as she basically fell onto him. “Oh Max” she whispered “you’re so good...”

He hummed a dark laugh and took her bottom lip between his teeth before sharply smacking her ass making her yelp in surprise. “Get on the bed and get on your knees” he ordered her “and I’ll show you how good I can be” he gave her another searing kiss before nudging her to the bed where she climbed onto it.

“Do you want me to take my dress off?” She asked looking over her shoulder at him as one of the straps slipped down her shoulder.

He walked over to her and placed his large hands on her hips before taking the strap between his teeth and pulling it back up her shoulder before he made a trail of kissed from there up her neck to her jaw “you don’t like this dress” he mumbled remembering the way she was when she first put it on earlier that day, how unimpressed she was with it, because she thought it didn’t suit her. “I’m going to make you love it”

He pushed her down onto the bed and pulled her ass up in the air. He pushed the dress up to her his revealing her bare ass that he began to knead slowly. She hummed softly as the loving feeling, but it didn’t last. He pulled one of his hands from her and brought it back down harshly onto her cheek making her yelp again.

“But I should punish you for your behaviour tonight” he said, rubbing her flesh again.

“I-I said I was s-sorry” she stuttered as she awaited the next slap.

“And for not wearing any underwear?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow even though she couldn’t see it, but she could hear it in his tone. He began to stroke over her soaking folds making her moan. “Are you sorry for that too?”

He sunk two fingers into her making her let out a strangle moan as her body went weak. “Yes” She panted, rocking her hips back to encourage his fingers to pump in and out of her “Yes. I’m sorry Max!”

Maxwell didn’t say anything else to her for a little bit. He added a third finger pulling the most beautiful noise from her as she fisted the silk sheets of the bed. Her walls being deliciously stretched by his fingers, mirroring what would happen when he fucked her properly.

Whilst fingering her with one hand, he moved his other from her backside to his belt where he skilfully managed to undo the buckled and unzip his trousers before reaching into his boxers to pull out his throbbing length that was already dripping with pre-come.

His fingers curled inside her and she almost screamed. Her thighs began to tremble, a sign that she was close to another climax. He debated with himself whether or not to let her come from his fingers of shove his needy dick inside her. But he decided that he was enjoying the sight too much to pull out now. So he kept going, but as well as pleasuring her, he went about pleasuring himself. Her moans were music to his ears as his other hand wrapped around his dick, stroking himself.

Her moans turned into pants as she began rocking her hips more against his fingers encouraging him to go faster because she was so close. She tired to say something but her mind was being filled with white pleasure. She made the mistake of looking behind her only to be met with the sight of Max getting off to fingering her.

“Oh fuck!” She cried as she came, her walls pulsing around his fingers as he slowed them to a stop. He pulled his fingers out, watching for a moment as her walls fluttered around nothing, desperate for something to cling too. He swapped his hands on his dick, smearing her wetness on to him before slipping it inside her making her cry out his name.

“You always take me so well” he said through grit teeth. He grabbed the fabric of her dress wasting no time in thrusting in and out of her. He loved the sounds he could hear as he pounded into her. Not just her moans and screams of pleasure, not the way she said his name, but the sound of her wetness as he fucked her. The lewd noises adding to everything. He smacked her ass again.

“Max!” She cried burying her face into the sheets. Max didn’t like this. He wanted to heart everything clearly. So he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up, her back now being pressed against his chest as he drove himself into her.

“I want to hear you” he whispered darkly into her ear making her whimper.

“M-Max...I’m gonna come...” She panted as her head rolled back onto his shoulder. He could feel her walls tightening around him and moved his hand between her legs to rub vicious circles on her clit making her scream. She grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin but that didn’t stop him, it only spurred him on. He grunted into her ear as his thrusts became sloppy, his end nearing quickly.

“Fuck baby girl” he said. His voice vibrated through her and sent her over the edge for a third time. Her mouth fell open and her body shook violently as she came around him, her walls squeezed him pulling him over the edge with her shooting his come into her as she milked him for all he had, his hand and hips working her through her high.

The straps of her dress had fallen down her arms again but he didn’t bother to push them back up. His lips pressed gentle kisses to her left shoulder and her neck as he slowed his hips to a stop. He pulled his hand from between her legs and rested it on her stomach when she interlaced her fingers with his.

Humming happily to her self, she turned her head to place a lazy kiss to his temple. His own kisses trailed up her neck and met her lips again. “I love you” she whispered.

“I love you too” he said “I love you so much”

One final kiss was shared between them before he reluctantly pulled out of her with a quiet groan. He got off the bed and tucked himself back into his boxer, but he didn’t bother do zip his trouser back up.

A tray sat on the desk in the corner room with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, even though he specifically asked for just the one as his lovely wife-to-be didn’t drink. After pouring himself a handsome glass and fell into the black leather chair that went with the desk before taking a swig of the amber liquid and letting out a heavy sigh as he rolled his head back in slight exhaustion.

It had been a long day for Max and his loving fiancé. And Max wasn’t as young as he used to be, and after the especially long and tiring day, the sex kind of wore him out.

All while he was doing this, (Y/N) had shifted on the bed to sit and watch him. She threaded her fingers through her hair to make it a bit more comfortable, but the hair spray she was forced to apply to keep it styled had made it stiff and unpleasant to touch.

“I really am sorry” he said quietly “I didn’t...mean to hurt you. I guess I’m just...not used to being in a relationship” he took another swig of his whiskey, a larger one this time.

“It’s okay Max” she whispered as she walked over to him straddling his lap and kissing the underside of his jaw. “I’m sorry too. I guess we both need to realise that we are in this for the long run now...”

“Do you regret it?” He asked suddenly catching her off guard. She pulled away from his neck and he lifted his head to meet her gaze “Do you regret saying yes?”

She thought for a moment as she looked at him. Of course she didn’t regret it. She loved Maxwell more than anything. She only wished they hadn’t rushed things. For some two years of dating and then the proposal probably would’ve been okay, but for (Y/N) it wasn’t. She want to explore more with him, learn more about him, see him for who he truly was. She felt she had barely chipped away his hard shell, she wanted to know Max before she married him, but she loved him too much to reject the question.

“No” she said quietly as she stroked a loose piece of hair from his eyes. “I don’t regret saying yes Max. I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. All I ask in return is that you love me, and you let me in”

“I do love you (Y/N)” he paused for a moment as he thought over her other request. “And...I’ll try. I promise I’ll try. But it’s hard. I’m no good at that kind of stuff”

“I think you are” she nodded “you just need to be with the right person”

“You are my right person” he whispered before kissing her again.

“And you are mine” she whispered into the kiss. “Come shower with me baby. Let me help you wash away the stress of the day” She smiled and stood, taking his hands and pulling him towards the en-suite of their hotel room “with my hands and my mouth...”

23/12/20

[lixis-sin-cauldron]

The Princess and The Hawk [Hawks | Keigo Takami] Pt. 1

Part Two: Available Here Rating: Explicit  18+ content MINORS DNI. Pairing:  Keigo Takami (Hawks) X fem!reader Word Count: 6.9k Kinks and Warnings: Animal Violence, Blood

Summary: A dull routine, every day like the last. You're comfortable, if a little lonely. Who knew a simple walk home could change so much? Can also be read on Ao3 here: The Princess and The Hawk Big thank you to my lovely beta reader @lilleeboi 

Passing through the park to get home after work was your main way to de-stress after dealing with customers all day, the time of day left the area fairly empty and the fall air carried the wonderful scents of the season that wafted through the trees and flowers. Normally, it was the most calming part of your day. Normally.

Today, you were startled out of your calm daze by the screeching and hissing of two animals going at each other. Your eyes snapped toward the source of the noise, a twisting ball of fur a few meters ahead, beside the park walkway. Correction: a twisting ball of fur and feathers.

A large grey tabby had somehow been able to snag a very large brown bird that was currently doing its best to fend the feline off as it tried going for the bird’s throat, its talons pushing against the cat’s stomach, a smear of red in the fur where it pressed.

Nature is intense, you thought.

You knew better than to interrupt, they were both wild animals, predators that killed to feed and survive, you had no right to push your human views onto the fight. Wanting to return to your calm mindset, you hurried by the unsettling sight, willing your shaky legs forward. You didn't want to think of the fate that awaited the loser.

As the scuffle disappeared out of sight behind you, you heard a hoarse squawk that felt as if it was directed at you. Involuntarily, you turned to see the cat had gained the upper hand. It had pinned the bird on its stomach and was about to clamp down its jaw on the nape of its neck in a killing blow.

Your eyes met the bird’s, a striking golden-brown, and it seemed to be crying for help with its stare.

Forgoing your previous judgment – unable to ignore the desperate plea – you rushed towards the pair, slipped your purse off, and swung it with full force. It connected cleanly against the tabby just before it was able to land its killing blow. It tumbled backward, and after rolling for a moment, righted itself and turned towards you and its stolen prey. It stared you down, hissing deeply, then wincing. It let loose another deep hiss before retreating.

Heart pounding, you took a deep breath and looked at the bird that you had saved, almost positive it wouldn’t be there – having flown off when it was freed. However, there it remained, resting in the grass, its chest heaving just like yours.

“Oh geez,” Taking to your knees you hovered hands over the wounded avian, unsure of what to do. “Please don’t die.”

The bird shifted, trying to stand and move its wings, as if in response to your plea to prove it was fine. However, as it stretched its left-wing it flinched, wobbled for a moment, and collapsed back to the dirt.

You whimpered, unsure of what to do. It was clearly hurt, if you left it alone there was a good chance it would be attacked again or just die of its wounds anyway.

Ugh, why did I do that? There was no point in intervening, it’s going to die either way.

The bird still heaved, giving you a sideways stare. It seemed to study you with its gaze and tried moving again, letting out a cry as it did. Your heart gave a pang at the sight; it clearly wanted to live. How could you just leave it after stepping in?

“Do-don’t move,” you stuttered, reaching forward, “I’ll bring you to a vet, they’ll help you.”

Surprisingly, the bird gave no resistance to your touch. When you found trouble grasping it, especially while trying not to hurt it in the process, you peeled off your light jacket and gently wrapped the fowl in that. Once sure you had a hold that didn’t cause further damage, you raced off in the direction of the nearest animal clinic you could find.

“He’s pretty beat up, but nothing life-threatening,” The Veterinary nurse explained, softly running a thumb over the bird’s crown, its plumage fluttering at the touch. “We cleaned the cuts and the left-wing has a small hairline fracture. It’s been properly set but will need at least 2 to 3 weeks to fully heal, so we wrapped the wing so it can’t move. You’ll need to-”

“Wait, me? Why do I have to?” you were glad to hear the animal would be okay, but you were alarmed to hear they expect you to take care of it.

They looked at you in surprise, “Isn’t he yours?”

“No!” You waved your hands frantically, “I found it being attacked and just… stepped in. I don’t even know what breed it- err, he is. Let alone how to care for him.”

“That’s surprising, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an exotic bird just randomly being found like that.”

“Exotic?”

“Yes, this handsome man is a Red-Tailed Hawk. They’re a North American bird. For it to be in Japan that means it was brought here and must have an owner, so I just assumed that was you.”

“O-oh.” You can’t say you were that surprised at the revelation, you had never seen a bird that looked like the hawk. A closer examination showed that it wasn’t just brown, but a beautiful mix of dark brown, white, and tan. Along with strikingly red tail feathers that you had been sure at the time was blood.

“This one seems very special too, normally the tail feathers are more of a cinnamon-red.” The nurse provided, seeming to have followed your thought process, “He’s very well cared for and in amazing shape, aside from the scuffle. If he hadn’t been grounded due to the wing, I doubt that cat would have ever touched him or stood a chance if it had been able to.”

“The cat didn’t do that?”

“The fracture is very clean; an animal’s bite would have crushed the bone.”

“Oh, that’s good… I guess?” you studied the hawk, resting in a box filled with a plush towel that the clinic had provided, he was perfectly calm under the expert’s touch. You were sure the calm state was in part of the fact he was full of painkillers at the moment, but you had an urge to follow the example and pet the resting creature yourself. You held back though, instead returning to your original topic, “Uh, as I said, he’s not mine so are… you guys able to take him since he’s a lost pet?”

Their strokes of the feather head ceased, instead rising up to scratch their forehead, “Sometimes we do that, sure, but right now we’re a little full plus it normally best for a bird sanctuary to take them but in this case….”

 “In this case…?”

“They’re trained and equipped to handle local wildlife and such. With this being an exotic breed, they wouldn’t take it in due to the trouble it could cause.”

“So… what does that mean for him? You said it would take a few weeks for the wing to heal, so he can’t fly and as a pet, he may not survive even if he could fly.” You had an idea of where the conversation was heading but you really hoped you were wrong.

“There are a few places I could check to see if they could take him in while they searched for the owner, but with how late it is I’d have to wait until tomorrow to contact them and they may not be able to take him right away even if they could…”

You sighed, “Would it be… hard to take care of him for a few days?”

The nurse beamed, happy to hear you volunteering, “Given his condition, no, not really,” They picked up a bag that had been sitting on the table beside the bird’s box and pulled out the contents. “The pain medication would keep him mellow for the most part, so even if he wasn’t such a gentleman,” They preened at the bird, commenting on how composed he had been during the whole ordeal. “You wouldn’t have much trouble handling him. You just need to apply this one orally every twice a day and this one on the cuts—”

You struggled into your apartment, the box in your arms, and your keys fighting for dominance as you unlocked the door. The keys lost and fumbled to the ground as the door teetered open.

“Fuckbucket," you cursed.

Leaving them on the ground, you carried the precious cargo past your couch and to the dining room table at the far edge of the small apartment and set it down as carefully as possible. The hawk had fallen asleep during your travel home and you were very keen to keep it that way.

After ensuring he wasn’t going to wake, you returned to the entrance and retrieved your keys as well as the shopping bag that rested next to the doorway.

While the clinic had been happy to give advice on how to care for the bird, and even charging just the cost of the visit and nothing else – you’d still had to call a ride-share to take the bird home and even stop at a pet store to purchase things to help care for him. Since it wasn’t like you actually owned anything to use while he lived with you.

A big piece of advice to make a safe space for the hawk to rest since you wouldn’t have a cage to place it in, free-roaming was the preferred option if it felt well enough to move around. They also provided a contact line to call if he suddenly became violent. While the wounded wing was wrapped, he couldn’t fly but the talons and beak could still cause damage if you weren’t careful. They would contact you as well once they had a place for him to go while the owner was being looked for.

Stretching with an exhausted sigh, your gaze returned to the box and found the hawk now awake and his head now resting on the edge watching you with glazed eyes.

“Uh, hi,” You blinked, wondering why you had just greeted an animal. Though he definitely didn’t feel like an animal when you locked eyes with him. You had a disconcerting feeling when he looked at you like he was analyzing you.

He let out a weak squawk in reply to the greeting.

“Right…” you decided to just go with it, picking up the purchased items you approached the table cautiously and started setting up an area next to the box with feed and water, “So, you’ll be staying with me for a bit, just while you heal and we find your home.”

He ruffled his feathers as the word ‘home’. You weren’t sure how to take that if it even meant anything to start with.

“So, if you can… I don’t know, not cause too much trouble, that would be great. Think you can do that for me, buddy?” You asked, holding out a hesitant hand to him, curled so the back of your fingers were present.

He stared at the extended appendage and you were sure he was going to bite you, but he leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against your knuckles.

Your heart fluttered, a smile blossoming across your face at the sight. He suddenly seemed a lot less frightening to you; realizing that he was tired and sore, and maybe even thankful to have a safe place after what he had experienced.

He withdrew his touch and curled in the box, head under his free wing and only a moment later, gentle snoring could be heard."

Wish I could fall asleep that fast. You snorted, laughing at the idea of envying a drugged-up fowl.

The concept of sleep did appeal very strongly after the evening you’d had; so, you ate a quick dinner, showered, and slipped into your bed, leaving the door ajar in case you needed to access the living/dining space quickly.

Your oversized t-shirt hung off your shoulder loosely, your underwear peeking out from underneath as your arms stretched above your head while walking into your tiny kitchen. After withdrawing a bottle of water from the fridge, you lazily looked around your home as you sipped it. You sputtered as your eyes fell upon the box resting on the table, coughing harshly as you forced the water from your lungs, having forgotten the previous day’s events in your sleepy state.

The box was tipped over sideways, the towel in a bundle on the table.

“No, no, no,” you chanted, rushing over and looking around for the wounded animal, “Where-” the words caught as the towel squirmed, the dark brown hawk head popping out from beneath it. “Oh, thank god.”

You were wide awake now.

“You scared the living hell out of me, buddy,” you reached forward and ran a knuckle across his crown, enjoying the softness. You leaned over, reaching eye level with him, “You have a nightmare or something?” You cooed.

You noticed his eyes drift, losing connection with yours, and move downwards, his head giving a tilt as they settled. You followed his gaze and realized you were giving the bird a clear view right down your shirt, where you were currently braless. You reacted instantly, straightening yourself and holding the shirt close to your bosom with a flushed face.

It’s a bird! you reminded yourself, He was probably just reacting to the fabric moving. He’s probably hungry. I need to give him his medicine, too.

Calming your nerves, you retrieved the small bag with medication. “Hey, buddy, you probably don’t feel great right? This will help numb that pain. You mind letting me put this in your mouth?” You held a syringe up, filled with a paste, and capped with a rubber tip that you could slide into his beak.

He seemed to glower at the suggestion, and you were starting to dread having to force his beak open when he shoved the towel off his back and stood up wobbling.

“Wow, you’re very clever, aren’t you? ” you exclaimed.

He huffed at the praise, parting his beak marginally to allow the tip to slide in. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, you carefully slid the syringe tip into his mouth and pushed the plunger just enough to provide the proper dose as you had been instructed.

The hawk reacted negatively, chomping his beak and twisting his head, evidently not enjoying the taste of the medicine. He strode over the water bowl resting on the tabletop and dunked his beak into the water, small bubbles rolling the surface as he guzzled down the liquid.

The sight was so shocking, you couldn’t help but start laughing, your chest heaved as you gasped for air between your cackles.

The hawk, having finished his drink, seemed unimpressed with your reaction.

“Oh, come on,” you chided after regaining your composure. “That was hilarious. Geez, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. Thanks for that, buddy.”

He shook, his feathers fluffing, then turned and pushed himself back under the towel, clearly unamused.

“Aw, baby’s embarrassed.” You cooed with another chuckle before returning to the kitchen and fixing yourself some breakfast. Once you’d eaten you returned to him to refill the water bowl he had downed and finally noticed that the bowl with the bird feed had been overturned at some point, most likely when he had flipped the box during the night.

“Can you not make a mess of the apartment?” You nagged, cleaning the mess, and refilling the bowl. He gave no reaction, his bright red tail the only visible part sticking out from under the towel. You gently poked the protruding feathers, feeling him lurch in surprise at the touch, “Hey, make sure you eat, you’ll feel horrible with no food in your stomach.”

The hawk rolled under the towel, sticking his head out to glower at the bowl and then you.

“Someone’s in a foul mood,” You blinked, then grinned. “Pun not intended.”

You could swear he rolled his eyes.

Just as you were about to comment on the action, your phone alarm went off. You groaned, “Time for work,” You studied the bird and the sideways box. “They said free roaming would be best since I don’t have a pen or cage big enough for you…” You shifted a dining room chair so it was angled against the table. “If, uh, you want to get down just use this instead of trying to fly… okay?”

His reply was crawling back under the towel, making sure to be completely hidden this time.

Still talking to a bird.

You grumbled something nonsensical, then returned to your room to change your clothes. Once ready to go, you padded towards your door, pulling your hair into a ponytail and glanced at the lump under the towel, and wondered if you should try and call off instead. You decided against it, knowing there was little you could change by staying home.

“I’ll… be back before you need more meds,” you called out. No reaction. You sighed, wondering why you felt like there would be, and exited your home.

You were more than relieved when you returned home and found it in the same condition you had left it that morning. In fact, you realized as you checked for damages, it seemed as if the bird hadn’t moved the entire time you’d been at work. You trailed over to the table and saw that he was where you had left him, snoozing away under the towel, his beak barely protruding.

“I’m home,” you said softly, running a fingertip over the exposed beak.

He let out a soft cooing sound at the touch, wiggling enough to expose his head and look at you with his intense golden eyes.

“Hey, buddy.”

Another coo with a head tilt so he rested on his cheek as he stared, seeming somewhat dazed.

“You okay?” you asked worriedly, he had been more responsive until now. You were about to call the clinic when you saw that the feed bowl had not been touched at all, no dip in the seed to indicate that he had moved anything within. “You haven’t eaten at all?” you declared, picking up the bowl. “I told you-” you paused and sighed, wondering once again why you spoke to an animal like he understood you.

“Do you not like this brand or blend or something?” you muttered. You pulled out your phone to see what type of bird feed was best for him. You realized something unfortunate. Voles, rats, rabbits… “I bought the wrong type of food.” You groaned. You had been in such a rush to get back to the rideshare you had just grabbed the recommended bag of bird feed, not even thinking to make sure that your new roommate could actually eat it.

You didn’t really have any prey type meat just lying around your kitchen. He needed to eat something.

 “Ugh, maybe I can mix some… gravy or something into the seed. Maybe that will work for him until I can get something better.” You left the avian to stride over to the kitchen, opening the fridge in search of an additive to spur the bird’s appetite since, according to Google, he could eat the seed if he had to, but was just choosing not to.

Before you had really started your search the hawk let out a low screech, pulling your attention back to him. Your head snapped over in reaction, surprised to see him standing on the table and eyeballing you, giving a strong feeling of a hunter studying its prey.

“Uh, what’s up, buddy?” you asked nervously.

He shifted his weight between his feet for a few moments before dipping his head down and hooking his beak around the brim of the metal feed bowl. Once gripped, he raised his head, bringing the bowl with and held it in the air for a second while he fought to keep balance at the sudden weight. You were about to call out for him to stop, in case he got hurt, when he thrust his head downwards and released the bowl.

The bowl bounced off the tabletop and tumbled to the floor, spinning. Feed flew all around him, covering the table and floor.

Stunned, you didn’t move, the apartment filled with the sounds of the bowl spinning in place before settling with a dull clunk. The hawk arched his back and let out a defiant squawk at you, finalizing the production you’d just witnessed.

You blinked, processing what had just occurred before standing up, furious, “Are you serious?” you snapped at the proud bird. “You – that – I said don’t make – I don’t even- Okay!” You shouted, unable to process your thoughts, “I get it, you don’t want the damn seed but what the fuck. I have to clean all this up! That- you-”

I’m shouting a bird.

You sighed, cupping your face in your hands and letting out a long groan. What the hell was wrong with this bird, you had never met an animal that was so damn- you didn’t even know how to describe it.

“Let me see what I have,” you hissed at the fowl, wondering if hawk tasted like chicken.

Hm, chicken...

You returned to your excavation of the fridge and found the pack of chicken breasts you had intended to cook the night before when you had been planning to be home earlier and not as tired as you ended up being.

Guess I can make this tonight and share some with him. Not that you found him worthy of this type of treat at the moment.

“Wait… Can hawks eat chicken? Isn’t that like-” your sentence was interrupted by the bird giving a squawk, he was shifting his weight between his feet again but more in an excited dance than a show as before. “What? You like chicken?”

Another squawk.

“Fine.” Ripping the package open, pulling one breast out, and to your cutting board. A few minutes later you set down a bowl of the raw meat in front of him, cut into bite-sized cubes for easier consumption.

He stared at the bowl, suddenly seeming reluctant.

“Oh, what now?” You groaned, pitching your brow.

Fluffing his feathers and looking at you, his gaze shifted to behind you back towards the kitchen.

“What, you want more?”

He huffed and bowed his head, though that lasted only a moment before he held it high again and had a confident look as if having set his mind to something. Wobbling, he padded to the edge of the table and hooked his beak into the dining chair you had set up that morning for him and started climbing down it.

You found the process fascinating, surprised by his sudden burst of energy. Stepping out of the way, you watched as he landed on the tiled floor, starting his way to the kitchen by hopping and tapping along while doing his best to keep balance. He reached the middle of the area and stood in front of the oven. He was panting, having worn himself out with the exercise. However, he wasn’t done, clearly wanting to strike home just what he was thinking, as he bent his head forward and tapped his forehead against the metal appliance, repeating the gesture softly a few times before stopping and resting it there, turning to look at you to ensure you were watching and understood.

“I’m guessing that means you want it cooked.”

The confirmation seemed to be correct, as he gave a weak note in reply and slid to the floor, exhausted by his show; he landed softly on his back, feet in air.

You stepped up to him and bent down, gently brushing the plumage of his stomach, “You are the most spoiled pet I have ever seen. Fine, I’ll cook the damn chicken. Don’t expect anything fancy, though.”

He only let out a long exhale in reply.

You returned the tired bird to the table, grabbed the bowl of chicken cubes, and began once again to prepare the request. A quick check on the phone and you decided to just boil the meat, not adding any spices or extras since that could hurt his stomach. You also did a double-check and removed any excess fat, noting that also wasn’t great for him

While the cubes boiled, you made yourself your own meal, a mouthwatering bowl of katsu over rice.

You set the boiled meat down in front of the starving avian. “Happy?” You sighed, hoping he would finally eat something.

He huffed at the bowl, as if contemplating how to also toss it in a showy fashion, then bent his head and took a cube. He chomped down on it and shivered. Pausing for a moment, he tilted his head in contemplation then bent again to grab another.

“Glad to see it’s good enough for your refined palate.”

Grabbing your own meal, you plopped down at the table opposite the bird and started eating while browsing your phone. You were only a few bites in when you noticed the hawk leaning over you, staring at the bowl.

“Noooo. No!” you pulled the bowl close to your chest, “You have your chicken, this is mine! And fried foods are bad for birds.”

He fluffed, giving you what you could only describe as puppy dog eyes.

How???

You grumbled, “One bite, one!”  You pinched a piece of katsu with your chopsticks, making a small bird-sized piece, and lifted the morsel for the bird to take. He did so eagerly, snatching the piece and sliding it down his throat.

He let out a contented coo.

“Glad you like it- No,” you snapped as he started giving the same look once again. “I said one, and I meant it! I’m in charge here, mister!”

He seemed to relent, his shoulders slumping then he tilted his head again, a contemplative look in his eyes.

“Wha- Uh.” Your voice caught as he slipped off the table into your lap and pressed himself into your chest, nuzzling you. You held back a squeal of delight at the surprising cuteness of the hawk while holding your food in the air with one hand. “That’s a dirty move and I refuse-”

He cooed, looking up at you with big eyes.

“One more.”

He gave a rumbling sound of happiness as he downed the next piece, continuing to snuggle you.

You set the bowl down and gave your full attention to the large bird, amazed at how affectionate he was. You ran your fingers through his feathers, finding soft down. You lost yourself to the petting; he seemingly enjoyed the pampering. You were unsure how, but you were now at the injured fowl’s mercy.

Both of you jumped as your phone went off in your pocket, interrupting the cuddle session. Holding him still, you retrieved it and answered quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hi, there! This is y/n?”

“Uh, yeah… this is?”

“I’m calling from the animal clinic! You brought the lovely red-tail hawk in yesterday?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t expect you to call so soon!”

“No worries! Hope I’m not bothering. Are you okay to talk?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Great! I wanted to let you know that one of the rescue centers we work with is able to take the darling in. They can have someone swing by ASAP if you like.”

“Oh, already?” you eyed the animal resting in your arm.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I just- I thought it would take a few days.”

“…would you prefer to have their number? That way when you’re… ready, you can call them, and they can come by?”

You pursed your lips, suddenly unsure of yourself. You were in no position to have a pet, especially a predator… yet you found yourself reluctant to let him go. In the short time he had been there, you had laughed and smiled more than you had for a while. It was a welcome disruption to your dull life.

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

They let out a small chuckle, “Sure thing. I’ll let them know. They’ve also posted a bulletin about him, to help track down the owner.”

“Oh, that’s great. I hope they get found, he’s very… special. I’m sure he’s missed.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s doing well! Please feel free to reach out to us or the center if you have any questions or trouble.”

“Will do… thanks.”

Great. Just great. You sighed as you hung up and studied the bird nestled against your breast.

“Welp, I’m crazy. You’re stuck with me for a bit longer, hope you’re okay with that, buddy.”

He nuzzled further into you as if saying thanks for letting him stay.

“Guess if… you’re staying I should give you a name?”

He straightened at that and locked eyes, staring you down fiercely. Clearly, he found the matter very important.

You gave a nervous chuckle, “Don’t have high hopes there, I’m far from great at naming things, bud.” you paused, considering your statement. “Actually, I think I’ve already named you. How does ‘Buddy’ sound?”

He made a disgruntled noise but proceeded to bury himself back into your chest, nuzzling the fabric of your shirt, springing faintly against the fat of your breasts.

“Welp, best you get… Speaking of you getting things, you’re due for your next batch of meds.”

He was less than pleased with the reminder of the foul-tasting substance.

The following morning you woke not to your alarm, but with a start to the sound of someone talking in your living room, the sound seeping in through the ajar door. Your heart raced with panic as you attempted to make sense of the sound. Slipping from the bed and grabbing the wooden bat you kept at your bedside for such events, you approached the door, glancing around the frame to see who dared to enter your abode. Mind whirling, you expected to see masked figures looting your home or-

Buddy! The bird had been asleep on the table when you had gone to bed. What if they hurt him during their looting!

Forgoing your own safety, you rushed out into the open area, only lit by the dim morning sun through the shaded balcony glass door. You reached the couch, brandishing the bat, ready to swing in a moment’s notice. Surveying the room, you found the source of the talking – the television.

Buddy was perched on the couch, the remote next to him, staring at the television. It was on a news channel, going over the latest hero and villain activities.

“What the hell!” you screeched, lowering the bat.

The bird’s head snapped towards you, having not heard your approach. He reacted at your appearance, flapping his free wing and giving a surprised cry.

“You scared the living hell out of me - again! Stop doing that, my heart can only take so much!” You reached for the remote. “How the hell did you even turn that on? I was sure I left it on the ta-” you cut off, reeling your hand back as Buddy jumped atop the device, blocking you from it.

You blinked, confused, “Are… you watching that?”

He squawked in confirmation.

“You are not a normal bird.”

He seemed happy at your realization, fluffing his feathers and stepping off the remote, laying down next to it, and returning his gaze to the screen.

“Whatever, I’m up now. Guess I’ll make breakfast.”

He gave an excited chirp at the suggestion.

“Yeah, yeah. Yours too.”

You joined the fowl on the couch while you ate, giving him another bowl of boiled meat – which he ate disgruntledly.

“I’ll have to swing by the store after work, see how much discount meat I can get you… wonder if the pet store will take back a barely used bag of feed…”

You were already getting used to speaking to the bird, speaking aloud your random thoughts as you went about your morning routine. Cleaning up, giving him his meds, prepping his food and water for while you were gone. You were enjoying the addition he was adding to your day and being able to talk to someone as well – especially since he did provide a type of reply. You enjoyed it so much so that you were reluctant when your alarm for work went off.

“Back to the grind,” you sighed, trudging to your bedroom closet to change out of your nightshirt. “ Was a bit chilly yesterday, should get my spare jacket.” You hadn’t gotten a chance to wash the one from the night you saved Buddy, and you weren’t eager to use a bloody jacket. You spotted the spare folded on the closet shelf, resting under a box.

You pulled the clothing free while doing your best to keep the box in place – your best wasn’t good enough, since just as you were sure it was free, it snagged, and the box joined in the escapade. You tumbled to the ground as the object hit you, its contents partially falling out onto you and the floor.

“Owww,” you whined, rubbing your butt. After regaining yourself, you examined the mess you had created and instantly regretted trying to retrieve the spare jacket, your eyes tearing up at the box’s contents.

It was just a random assortment of objects, all-male ordinated – a razor, a pair of jeans and two t-shirts, a hairbrush, some socks, and other miscellaneous items.

“Dammit…” you mumbled, trying to hold back sobs. With everything that had happened the past two days you had actually forgotten the damn thing was in your closet for the first time in months.

Your self-pity was interrupted as you felt something soft press against your arm. You looked over and saw Buddy standing beside you looking concerned, the sound from the tumble must have drawn him into your room to check on you.

“I’m okay… I’m not crying ‘cause I’m hurt. Promise,” you inhaled deeply, trying to steady your nerves, and started collecting the fallen items back into the box. “It’s a bit silly to cry over.”

He tilted his head in question.

“It’s just some stuff my ex left behind. I should just burn it…” Maybe because you were so used to just saying whatever you wanted to the hawk, you kept following the train wreck of your thoughts, “He cheated on me but somehow worked it to him being the one to break up when I confronted him. I should be glad he’s gone but… here I am, pining over some asshole and his discarded laundry.” Despite your best effort, you started sobbing, “How pathetic am I-”

Buddy pressed into your arm once again, cutting the tirade, and gave a small coo.

You pulled the bird into your arms, holding him close and pressing your face into him, your tears rolling over the water-proof feathers. You stayed like that for a time, buddy not even trying to pull from your embrace. You let him slip from you, your sobs dying away. You felt tired and wanted to crawl back in bed, but work was waiting.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, rubbing Buddy’s cheek. You finished gathering the items, stood, and stared at the box.

Just throw it away.

Your grip trembled as you held it.

Get rid of it.

You slid the box back onto the shelf.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured, glancing away from the concerned hawk.

Time slipped by after that, a new routine being built around your new roommate. You had moments of conflict due to his strange personality, but overall, you enjoyed having him in your home. Even with the dip into your finances that he caused, between meat and clinic visits. Another interesting addition to your day was how your mornings always had a little surprise from him. Mainly him doing something to jolt you awake since he seemed to be a very early riser.

This morning, however, had one of your preferred surprises, your eyelids felt heavy as your brain booted up and registered the light snoring that was taking place next to you. You blinked, looking around for the source, and found the fowl resting next to you, on his back feet in the air and head lolling, on an open pillow.

Giving a sheepish grin, you watched him for a bit, seeing him twitch in his sleep. You had come to terms with his abnormal behavior, your research into the breed showing he did not act like other red-tails or even just other birds in general.

“Buddy,” you purred, reaching over and shaking a talon lightly.

His eyes popped open and then blinked slowly, fighting away his own sleepiness. He turned over and quivered, his feathers fluffing and head jerking.

“Morning.” You giggled, enjoying the show, before turning in the bed and burying your face into the pillow, reluctant to get up. Looking back at him, you saw him observing you intently. Just another thing you’d gotten used to, the way he seemed to examine you up and down with a focused gaze randomly.

You gave a smirk, peering back through your messy hair before pushing yourself up to sit on your knees and stretching your arms up above your head, your joints popping satisfactorily. As always with your nightshirt, it raised with the motion, exposing your thighs to view.

Buddy rolled as you stretched, your movement causing him to be displaced from his resting place, his head landing softly against those thighs as they cushioned the tumble.

“That wasn’t convincing at all,” you laughed, tugging the shirt to the side to lock eyes with the endearing avian. He was very affectionate, finding any way he found to cuddle with you when possible. With a yawn, you checked your phone for the time and saw a reminder on the lock screen. “Oh right! We better get ready; we have the vet appointment today. Your wing should be all healed up!”

As always, the hawk gave a human-like reaction, quickly straightening himself and giving an excited shriek at the announcement.

Buddy wouldn’t stop extending his freed wing as he rested on the perch at the front desk while you signed the paperwork for the visit.

“Calm down, you,” you laughed, glad to see him so happy.

“So, you really plan to keep him?” The nurse asked, grinning at the sight of the overjoyed bird as well.

“I mean… his owner hasn’t been found and he’s not a wild bird. I’ve gotten used to him, so it just seemed best?”

“I think it’s great. He’s lucky you found him. Uh, do you have a leash?”

Buddy flapped and shrieked in disapproval at the remark.

“I saw bird leashes were a thing, but he’s so well behaved I wasn’t sure I should get one?”

“I get your reasoning, but he could fly off, he’s already gotten lost and in trouble once.”

“That’s true…” you looked Buddy over, seeing his hunched shoulders, “Do I need to leash you, bud?”

With a quick flap, he glided off the perch and onto your shoulder, being careful not to cut you with his talons as he steadied himself.

“Wow, you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“I think we’ll be okay.” You decided, scratching Buddy’s chin.

Finishing off the paperwork you exited the clinic, the hawk still perched on your shoulder, sure you were an interesting sight for those you passed. You walked with an eye on your phone, swiping through various avian products.

“We should get you proper stuff, perches, and such, for the apartment. We’ve been making do with the makeshift setup, but now that you’re staying we should-”

He shifted harshly, drawing your attention to him. He was staring intensely down the street, where a store had various televisions on display in a window, an assortment of shows airing with captions turning on. You sighed and approached the display, knowing the bird’s inclination for news. Sure enough, his preferred channel was airing on one of the displays.

“Just for a minute, okay?” you stated, returning to your shopping as he stared at the moving pictures. You kept your word and started to move shortly after, but Buddy gave a loud shriek in protest when you did so, his eyes still focused on the display. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?” You looked at the screen, finally paying attention to the content.

“-the villain has been in a coma since the intense battle with Hawks, so he has yet to be able to answer any questioning as to the whereabouts of the missing number two hero and the other heroes that disappeared-”

You let out a surprised hiss as you felt Buddy’s talons dig into your shoulder, it didn’t hurt thanks to the padding of your coat, but it caught you off guard after how careful he always was. However, before you could reprimand the action, he launched himself and flapped his wings quickly, taking off into the air.

You stared at the hawk as he soared, at first impressed by the way he moved so easily after just getting the wrapping removed, then distraught as you saw him continue to fly away.

“…Buddy?”

——Tag List ——

(Please check this post if you would like to be included!)

@thisisthehardestthing​ @cheeriecherry​ @mindninjax​

[purplesauris]

Oasis of Green

He searches the coordinates, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and hits one that looks familiar- somewhere that instinctively he knows will be safe.

In which Din searches for the comfort and safety he's missing.

Read on AO3 here!

There is agony in his blood, in his bones. 

The world around him slides in and out of focus, going razor sharp and then wool soft, fuzzy and faded around the edges. Each breath is like ice in his lungs, pulling and scraping through his throat, scratching against the bruised parts of him. The bounty had many, many reinforcements. A whole platoon, basically- Din could only do so much, even with the Darksaber on his hip and a blaster in hand. He’d managed to get his mark, always, always did, and he sat, frozen in carbonite on Din’s ship as he hauled himself one handed up into the cockpit. 

There was something wrong with his shoulder- he didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the sharp, dragging pain whenever he tried to move his left shoulder, but his fingers tingle painfully with any movement and he isn’t going to test it. He can feel blood sticking the layers of his clothes to him, seeping down his side and under the seal of his helmet, and he’s woozy with it as he shakily gets the engines going. He can’t quite get his eyes or hands to work well enough to handle the ship himself, and he reaches for the autopilot, pain searing through him at the simple movement. 

He searches the coordinates, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and hits one that looks familiar- somewhere that instinctively he knows will be safe. The ship whines to life, and Din’s grip is death tight on the one yolk he can use- thank whatever is watching over him, because the ship has one handed capabilities. Perks of a bounty hunter’s ship, he supposes. His ascent out of the atmosphere and into open space is sloppy, half assed and just enough to keep his ship from ripping into pieces, but it does the job, and once Din is able to he flips over to autopilot, letting the ship jerk into hyperspace.

He tries to take stock of his injuries as best he can, but his eyes won’t focus anymore and each breath is like fighting to break the surface of the water. He floats, body screaming, and succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness. 

His pain is a living thing, digging into his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, searing through his lungs and eating away at his heart. He fights with every breath to open his eyes, to keep the beating of his heart easy and steady, but any jostle of the ship in hyperspace jars him again and a fresh wave of pain sweeps him under. He fades in and out over and over, until the ship beeps in alarm, breaking through the atmosphere of whatever planet he’s piloted to. Din wakes up enough to sloppily land himself among the sandy dunes of a desert planet and stagger down to the ramp before his vision blanks out again.

He falls hard and fast, dropping away completely, and the only thing he remembers is a sea of sand and an oasis of green.

--

He isn’t expecting to see Din for another month at the least. After his ad’ikas capture and subsequent rescue and relinquishing, Din had taken to the jobs Boba could convince him to take like a fish took to water. With a co-dependence that would kill him eventually when he stopped and let himself settle. He knew that he would be back- Din seemed to gravitate to him in the same way that Boba longed to call out to him, to sit in silence, helmets heavy and breathing slow. To press themselves back to back in a fight, whistling birds dancing around them and Boba’s blood singing with adrenaline. 

It hadn’t been something that they discussed when Din walked onto the Slave after capturing Gideon, saber heavy on his hip and shoulders slumped in hollow defeat. He hadn’t said anything when Din had flinched when Boba had reached to thumb at the dusty mark on Din’s helmet, the faint outline of a fist. He had only tilted his head, observing the quiet, resigned way that Din bowed his head and waited to be shamed. 

“There’s a room in the hull of the ship.” Is all he had said, all he had offered. And when he found himself dropping off an angry Bo-Katan and resolute Dune, he hadn’t told Din to leave. 

Din hadn’t left his side for long since. 

Something in Boba liked that, in having Din close to him. Fennec was a partner, someone he found he could trust, could rely on to get the job done. Din was- different. A remnant of a culture his father had hardly ever spoken of, a reminder in the deadly efficient way that he fought what Boba lost when his father had died. What he gained when Din stayed, helped him take over the Hutt dynasty and stood resolutely near the entrance, ever vigilant as Boba took his place on the throne. Din had looked at him then, nodded in understanding, and Boba had felt the acknowledgement so deeply in his core that it still rocked him to this day. 

So he knew that Din would be back, as surely as he knew what was happening in a small desert town halfway across Tatooine. When the Crest landed roughly in the sand, sending waves of it up into the air, Boba knew something was wrong- he had hardly watched on the camera for a moment before bounding up the steps as the roar of the engines grew louder and louder. The ramp was down by the time Boba made it outside, and Boba is halfway up, heart pounding against the durasteel of his armor as Din staggers out. 

Boba has never seen his beskar so covered in blood. Oddly, it's the first thing Boba can think of when he sees Din, left arm tucked close to his stomach and whole body slumping to one side. He feels his lips form words, hears himself talking, but Din can't respond, knees giving out and hand shooting forward as Boba's arms come up to catch him around the abdomen. A sharp, agonized noise rattles from Din's throat as Boba hoists him up in his arms, the stench of blood and blaster bolts strong even through the filter of his helmet. He clicks over to Fennec's comm without a thought, voice strangled in his throat and whole body weak. 

"Clear them out." The command is rough, sharp, but Boba hears Fennec begin yelling immediately, and relief floods him once again at having chanced upon someone he can actually rely on. It only takes a few moments for any lingering visitors to be ushered out of the entrance, and Boba sweeps down the stairs, Din held close to his chest as the unconscious man's head lolls, clinking gently against his chestpiece. 

"Shit," Fennec says upon sight of him, standing abruptly a bit straighter. 

"Bacta." Boba grinds out, arms straining with the weight of Din and all his armor. He can't stop, can't think past the strangely detached panic rushing every one of his movements. He brings Din to his room, mainly because of its privacy, but also because Boba can't bear the thought of him being further away than he needs to be. He doesn't care about the sheets when he lays Din out, working at the clasps of his armor with brutal efficiency. 

There is something both intimate and betraying about working Din's armor off, peeling it away from his body and watching as more and more blood is revealed. Boba doesn't know how Din managed to make it back here, let alone land the ship and stagger out onto the ramp before finally succumbing. He's working at wrenching Din's jetpack and back plate off with one hand when his comm crackles, Fennec's voice low and only slightly breathless.

"Fett- there's no bacta. The stores are completely empty."

"It's a fucking crime syndicate, how is there not-"

"I can get some, but it'll take days." Fennec interrupts, voice quirking, and Boba heaves a deep breath, trying to clear his muddied thoughts. 

"Fine. Bring water, bandages, whatever we do have."

The door to Boba's room pings softly a few minutes later, and while Boba eases Din back onto the bed, listening to the pained groan that earns him, the door slides open with the override of the lock. Fennec comes in, juggling a basket of what looks like all of their possible medical supplies, two huge jugs of water pinned under her arms. Boba takes the jugs, since there's blood on his hands and he doesn't want to ruin the linen yet. When Fennec's eyes linger on Din's unarmored form Boba finds himself shifting, obscuring her view, her dark eyes flicking up to his. "He needs more than we can give."

"He isn't leaving." Boba snaps, Fennec setting the basket on the bed and shaking her head. 

"I'll get bacta, see if I can find a nurse droid." 

"Do what you have to." 

Fennec pauses, looking like she wants to say something, and then seems to think better of it. She gives him another curious, pitying look before leaving with the intent to get something to help Din. Boba in the meantime, locks the door again and washes his gloves off in the water before yanking them off and reaching up to remove his helmet. He isn’t going to be able to work properly with it in the way, even with its advanced optics, and he leaves it on the dresser as he begins stripping Din’s bloody clothes from him. He manages with the pants fine, keeping his eyes carefully averted, but the instant he lifts Din’s arm off his stomach to remove his shirt a hand comes up, clamping down so tight around his wrist that Boba feels the bones grind. 

Din’s head moves, trying to lift, and Boba reaches to brace his head, allowing Din to look at him. Boba can see his chest rise, taking in a breath to speak, but all that comes out is a pained whimper and Boba shakes his head, shushing him quietly and gently lowering his head back down. “I had to remove it. Stay still.”

Din’s head turns again, searching, and Boba gestures toward Din’s armor, allowing him to look before urging him back down fully onto his back. Din finally drops his wrist, hand going limp, and Boba pulls out a knife, splitting the shirt straight up the front in lieu of trying to wiggle it off. It’s so saturated with blood anyway that it would have been hard to save, and Boba hisses at the sight of Din’s ruined torso. Bruises bloom across his side, so purple they’re nearly black, and when Boba presses in, searching, Din cries out, flinching away. 

The sound breaks something in Boba, but he presses harder, feeling along the curvature of Din’s ribs and gritting his teeth when Din dips back into unconsciousness. Boba finds two ribs broken in his rough examination, and his eyes track further up Din’s chest, toward where he can very plainly see that Din’s collarbone has snapped. It hasn’t broken skin, but each ragged breath makes the skin shift, and Boba has only a cursory knowledge of how to set a collar bone. 

He isn’t setting anything yet, though, not until he wipes away the blood staining Din’s skin, dabs at the cuts that managed to get into the small gaps of his armor. He’s careful about how much water he uses- he wants Din to be able to drink when he comes to, and he can’t do that if Boba douses him. So he uses it sparingly, just enough to get the blood to come away from his skin, to wipe him down until Boba can see the battered, bruised expanse of him in his entirety. 

Din is still unconscious, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen as Boba grabs the bandages and carefully lifts him up. He slips behind Din’s limp form, bracing him against his chestplate, and begins to wrap. It's awkward, working with just himself, but he's bound ribs in worse conditions, and Din isn’t in any condition to fight against him. He’s careful not to wrap too tight- he needs the ribs to stay mostly in place, but Din still has to be able to breathe, and Boba watches his chest for each and every breath. His collarbone is another story: he doesn’t know if anything has been damaged, and without a nurse droid to scan or advise him Boba makes due.

He dips out momentarily to find something long and flat, coming back to the room with held breath. Din hasn’t moved from his prone position on the bed and Boba is grateful; whatever happened to him is over now, and he can only hope that Din was at least successful in getting his quarry. Because if not… There are many, many things that Boba will do to the target before the night is over. 

Boba’s second worst part of the night starts- he gathers the bandages and his length of wood, setting a cloth between Din’s collarbone and the wood before abruptly pressing down in one movement. Din’s screams echo in his ears far after they’ve cut off, and Boba grits his teeth, wrapping around Din’s shoulder and over his chest to secure the makeshift splint in place. Din’s chest rises and falls with broken, grating breaths, and Boba uses a length of bandage to tie it around Din’s wrist and across his chest, pinning his left arm up onto his stomach to prevent him from moving his shoulder. He’ll fashion a more permanent sling when he can see properly, when he can blink the wetness from his eyes and keep the tears from falling onto Din’s bandages. 

With Din’s most pressing injuries taken care of and his blood cleaned as best Boba can manage, he realizes he only has one thing left to do- check underneath Din’s helmet. The thought is horrifying, demeaning, and Boba’s skin crawls at the thought of being the one to shatter Din’s Creed further than it already is, but he- he can see blood, has cleaned blood from the undamaged slope of Din’s neck and he knows that it’s seeping from under his helmet. 

Boba gathers all of what he’s going to need near him on the side of the bed, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. He reaches forward, bumping lightly across the front of Din’s visor, following the t-shape down until his hands are around the back. Din’s seal lock is in the same spot, and Boba pops it with a gentle movement. He pauses there, breath held, and only lets it shudder out when Din doesn’t stir. He pulls back to brace his hands on either side of Din’s head, thumbs dipping into the hollow of the cheeks, and bows his head, eyes squeezed firmly shut. Forgive me.

He lifts Din’s helmet from his head in one smooth, gentle movement, using one hand to catch Din’s head before it can thump back. His brain shorts at the feeling of Din’s hair, soft and curling in his palm. A bit damp with either blood or sweat, but when Boba pulls his hand back, sniffing, he gets only the soft tang of sweat. No blood on the back of his head, at least. Boba sets Din’s helmet off to the side gently, not wanting it to go far, and then reaches out with both hands. His fingers bump over Din’s chin, scratching faintly against stubble, and Boba is surprised to say he never expected that. Boba traces the line of his jaw, following the bit of facial hair he has, and moving up slowly. Din’s breaths are shallow but warm when Boba’s fingers pause over his mouth, tracing his lips for any scabbed blood and finding none. 

He continues his way up, checking to make sure Din’s nose is in the correct position, his cheekbones haven’t been broken in. He brushes over Din’s closed eyelids, feeling the way that Din’s eyes twitch madly underneath them, trapped in a dream or nightmare. He doesn’t find anything wrong until he gets up closer to Din’s hairline, and there he finds a long cut just below his hairline, already scabbed over. Now that Boba can feel where the wound is he grabs for a washcloth, gently dabbing at the cut and wiping the area around it. When he runs his fingers through Din’s hair they tug with the blood dried in his hair, and Boba freezes. He doesn’t want to cause more pain, but Din doesn’t wake up and Boba spends a few minutes trying to work the blood from his hair without being able to see.

The longer he touches Din’s hair the more he begins to admire the texture: it’s curly, though not in the tight, bunched curls that Boba remembers himself having. No, these are softer, easily brushed through, and Boba very suddenly misses his own hair- the care he’d taken, the way it had made him seem like Boba, not Jango, not a clone, but him. He realizes that he’s sitting here, playing with Din’s hair, prolonging his time helmetless, and shame so hot it scalds sweeps through him. Boba touches lightly at the cut again, relieved that it hasn’t opened with his cleaning, and fumbles for Din’s helmet. 

--

Din can’t stand the pain- fingers are digging into his side, rending him, ribs shifting under his touch, and he grabs blindly for whoever has hurt him. Whoever continues to hurt him. Boba’s face comes into view when a hand cradles the back of his head, and his eyes are wide, near imploring as Din realizes with faint shame that he’s been stripped of his beskar. Boba says something, an excuse, but Din is distracted again by the pain, and his neck is too weak to support his head as he looks for his armor. His armor. Boba shows him it, disgustingly red but close, and when fingers stab back at his side Din careens back into unconsciousness. 

The next time he wakes he can hardly breathe- each breath rattles in and out of him, made harder by the bandages crushing at his ribs. He breathes as deep as he can, but that only sends pain searing through his shoulder, and Din’s head lolls. The light in the room is all but gone, and Din searches with what strength he does have. His armor is gone from his side and a bolt of panic goes through Din, nearly overriding the pain keeping him bound to the bed. He shifts, neck aching, and stops when he sees Boba, hunched by the only lamp in the room, scrubbing resolutely at the front of Din’s chestplate with deliberate care. Din wants to reach out, to say something, but his mouth won’t work, and he sinks back into sleep. 

He wakes again briefly to a hand brushing through his hair, heart rate spiking in panic and breaths coming fast and rough as he peels his eyes open. Each image before him is blurry at best, but he stares at Boba’s closed eyes, the ugly, resigned pinch to his brow as fingers find the throbbing cut on Din’s forehead. Din stares at him, stares and stares and wills himself to say something, but Boba is spraying something cold that smoothes the pain, and Din is sinking back into sleep before the helmet can even seal back around him. 

The pain isn’t what wakes Din this time. It’s the absence of it, the utter lack of anything other than a faint uncomfortable stickiness. He shifts, turning his head, and finds Boba pacing the length of the room, armor left in a heap with Din’s and black clothes rumpled in a way that suggests Boba has been working. Din chokes on a breath trying to talk, and the other man’s head snaps toward him, watching as Din scrabbles at the back of his helmet with one hand. 

“Gev, gev, Din, stop-”

“Can’t- breathe-” He chokes out, each word eeking out with harsh gasps. He watches as Boba lunges, grabbing at his wrist and forcing it into the bed as Din’s breaths come faster and faster. “Gaa’tayl.”

Help. 

Boba’s hands are shaking as his eyes close and the helmet comes off, Din sucking in whatever greedy breaths he can manage. Boba holds the helmet close to his chest, as if cradling the anonymity that Din has always craved. Din’s heart cracks in his chest at the bitter, angry set of Boba’s lips- not at him, never- but at the way he’s broken Din’s creed, twice now that Din knows. It doesn't hurt to think about as much as he expects. Din reaches out with the one hand that isn’t strapped down to his body, taking his helmet from Boba’s hand and forcing words up from his chest.

“It’s already broken.”

“Not by me.” 

“Boba.” Din says, and that word alone is what breaks the stubborn set of the other man’s shoulders, what causes his shoulders to shake as a weak, aching sob shudders through him. His moment of weakness is that- a moment before Boba reigns himself in, face evening out, but Din is reaching for him the same moment Boba’s hand slips under Din’s head, holding him steady as their foreheads press together.

--

He wants to marry him.

He wants to say the words and never take them back and hope to whatever god is listening to him that Din says them too. Somehow in Boba’s mind, in the dark, twisting and turning of his reality after the sarlacc, he forgets that Din isn’t invincible. That the saber heavy on Din’s hip is a reminder of his mortality, not a shining beacon of all that Din has become: all that he’s risen above, to be the man that he is now. 

He has survived worse than Boba could ever imagine a normal man surviving, though with every breath that Din draws in he proves him wrong. It’s too much- the soft, pained rasp of Din’s breath, the slow rise and fall of his chest- the stark white of the bandages against his skin. The image of Din outside of beskar is one that Boba has longed to see, to touch, to taste, to feel, but seeing him now, none of that matters. Nothing about him matters, not his feelings, not the blood that he knows is Din’s that won’t scrub away from his nail beds. Not the sharp, stabbing ache in his wild beating heart that throbs with each and every breath that Din continues to pull in. Seeing Din breathe is all that Boba cares for- the longer he breathes, the easier he settles into bed, the better Boba can think.

He'd torn the Slave apart looking for the med kit he knew was on board, and used up his entire supply of bacta just to ease Din's pain for a little bit. Fennec was on her way to get and bring back more- objectively Boba knew this, but he also knew Din better than he sometimes knew himself. The mandalorian would stay down for all of two seconds before insisting on going back to do something else, to return to a hunt or head off to gods know where. Boba just had to figure out how to keep him here long enough to actually recover. 

He's still thinking about it when Din groans behind him, legs shifting under the blanket that Boba had tossed over him once the suns set and the temperature had plummeted. It's probably the only part of him that Din can move without his body screaming in pain, and Boba turns to him, eyes carefully downcast. "Are you in pain?"

Din grunts, trying to use his right arm to shove himself up. Boba is careful, quick as he hoists Din further up to lay among the pillows piled at the head of the bed. There are dark smears of blood staining the sheets, but the last thing Boba cares about is sheets. "I'm fine." He mumbles, voice weak with the strain of moving.

Boba doesn't comment on the lie, instead moving to carefully sit at Din's side, close enough that he can brush his hands over the bandages, trying to feel for any spots where blood might have seeped through. The cuts and gashes on Din's exposed sides and arms are almost healed already with the generous helping of bacta that Boba had sprayed him down with. The bandages pressed to his skin are soaked with it as much as Boba could manage, and he has no clue if bacta will really do anything for bone breaks without them having a bacta tank, but he can hope. 

"What happened?" It's probably one of the last questions that Boba wants to ask, but Din huffs, the sound turning into a wheeze as he slumps against the pillows completely. 

"The bounty had friends."

"Are they alive?"

Din somehow forces out a laugh, and Boba jerks when warm fingers slip against his chin, lifting his head. His eyes flick up of their own accord, but he averts them before he even gets to Din's neck. "Do I take prisoners?"

"Lately?" Boba asks, voice teasing but chest constricting with the knowledge that he doesn't have anyone to punish. "How many?"

"Twenty, thirty maybe." This time Boba can't stop his reaction, and it feels as much a betrayal as anything he's ever done, but Din's eyes are hard and glittering and Boba feels like he's plummeting hundreds of feet back into the sarlacc pit. His skin burns with Din staring at him, and Boba keeps his eyes carefully on Din's, refusing to wander until Din says, voice quiet, "My Creed is my own."

"I know." He croaks, throat tightening. Din's eyes narrow slightly with what Boba assumes is a smile, corners crinkling, and he feels too hot, too smothered and yet too laid bare all at once. 

"Look at me, Boba Fett." His full name, his last name shocks through him with such intensity that his eyes close before he can even think to keep them open. Din's hand touches his face again, draws him closer, and Boba fights the urge to grab a handful of Din's dark hair- because it's black, with white peppering his temples- from stress or age Boba doesn't know. His eyes are still dark, so brown they're near black, and Boba loses himself within their depths as Din's thumb sweeps along his cheekbone. 

Having a hand so close to his eyes, his throat has Boba's body tensing on some unspoken, fear driven impulse, but Din's touch is featherlight, achingly gentle over a scar that twists along his cheek and up onto his temple. "I'm looking." 

And he is. Gods, but he is. 

He still doesn't think he should; Din's Creed is what he clings to, Boba knows this as surely as Boba clings to the fiery, burning pit of loss and rage and flames that fuel him. But it isn't his place to decide what Din should ask for- it's only his place to give Din what he asks for, if he's able. And this, Boba is able to give him a thousand times over. 

Din is soft, with doe-like eyes, a scruffy beard and mustache that looks like he should have trimmed a few days ago, hair that stands on end from where Din had been sleeping on it. There are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling, a dimple that pops on his right cheek when Din grins, teeth flashing. Boba is struck by the urge to reach out and touch him, despite never having craved anyone's touch himself. He reaches up, hiding the shaking of his fingers, and pauses, waiting, until Din nods, closing his eyes when Boba's fingertips bump his cheek. The scratch of stubble is more familiar than it should be under Boba's fingers, and he slides them until they touch right behind Din's ear, palm pressed flat to Din's cheek as he leans heavily into the touch.

He doesn't know how much longer he can sit like this, lingering on some unseen edge, heart fluttering in his chest in a distinctly scared way. A way he's desperately tried not to feel since he was orphaned. Set adrift. 

"I get to choose." Din whispers, soft enough that Boba hardly hears him. 

"Choose me." He blurts out, before he can think better of it. It doesn't make sense, what he's said, but Din's lips quirk in a small, pained smile, and Boba falls silent when those soft, warm eyes open and lock onto him.

"Together." It isn't a question, isn't a request- it's a plea, a call to Boba that he rises to meet. That he runs to meet, lips forming the words in time with the more sinuous melody of Din's Mando'a.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Somehow Boba doesn't expect it to be different- and it isn't. But somehow nothing is ever going to be the same again, with Din bound to him and someone his equal waiting for him, no matter how far apart they are. He’s never fancied himself a romantic, even now with Din looking at him with that soft, curious look and tilt to his head that Boba knows is because he isn't used to being helmetless. This way, Boba tells himself, this way he can look at Din and not feel like he's intruding on something- Din is his now, just as Boba is Din's. He's somehow lost himself in thought long enough for Din to think he can try to move, and Boba's hand shoots out, palm heavy on Din's chest as he presses the other man back into the bed. 

"Don't even think about it, Beroya."

"Unless you want me to ruin the sheets, I have to use the 'fresher."

"You already ruined the sheets." Boba points out, clenching his jaw to keep from smiling at the way Din's nose wrinkles in distaste. "With me, Beroya."

"I can-" Boba shoots him a look as he stands, moving to swing Din's legs out of bed. Din wheezes with the simple movement and Boba gives him another look, brow raised, causing the other man to glower. It takes another few minutes for Din to be able to support enough of his weight that he can walk, and Boba stays tucked resolutely under Din's right arm the entire way, glad for once, that his height allows Din to lean without straining him. 

It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering and swearing from Din, but they manage, and Boba leaves Din sagging against the dresser while he strips away the bloody sheets and changes them out. No need to risk some kind of infection from the wounds Boba couldn’t slather in bacta. Din settles back into bed without much protest, skin pale and sweat dotting his brow. 

“Thirsty?” Boba stoops to gather up the jug of water he’d saved for Din, holding it steady as Din’s hand braces against it, keeping it close as he drinks. “Alright, alright, don’t drown yourself.”

Din glares at him when he pulls the jug away, but there’s water dripping down his chin from how quickly he drank and Boba reaches to wipe it away without a thought. Din stills at the touch, shocked, but when Boba goes to pull back, lips pressed together Din catches his hand, leaning into his palm and closing his eyes. “Don’t. You’re allowed to.”

“Is that what you want?”

Din laughs, though the action of doing so causes a shudder to go through him, and his face pinches with pain. “I married you, Fett.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Just come over here.” He frowns at Din, thinking over what Din could want, and he inches slowly closer, careful of his side and arm. Din allows him this hesitance, this moment to puzzle him out before he holds out a hand, brushing his fingers over Boba’s cheek. “I’ve never seen you hesitate.”

“I don’t.”

“So stop doing it now. If I had a problem with you touching, or you looking, I’d have kicked you out.”

“It’s my room.” Boba points out, chuckling when Din raises a brow.

“Our room.” He knows that Din is half joking, but something warm and flimsy settles in his stomach and he can feel himself smiling without meaning to. There’s a question in his statement too, of whether or not Boba wants his own space, and he tips forward, bumping their foreheads together as gently as he can manage with Din’s hand goading him on. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You can stay until you piss me off.” Din barks out a laugh that turns abruptly into a groan, and Boba frowns, ready to chastise him. 

“What if you piss me off?”

“I’m king.”

“So am I.” Din shoots back, though Boba knows he hardly cares to acknowledge that fact in owning the Darksaber. 

“I’m king of this castle.” He fires back, just to watch the way that Din’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Though technically, you are as well, now.”

“Ugh.” Boba can’t help the low, pleased chuckle that comes from him at Din’s obvious distaste. “I don’t want a crown.”

“Trophy husband?” 

Din rolls his eyes.

--

Boba has to physically restrain Din twice before he agrees to stay in bed. The first time Boba had just sat on his thighs, pinning him into the bed with his weight and waiting until Din tired from the pain in his side and lack of an arm to help shove Boba off. The second time was harder, because by then Fennec had brought droves of bacta, and Boba was near religious in smearing it along Din’s collarbone and rib in the hopes that it would help past healing the bruises. 

The nurse droid that Fennec brings back is a great help as well, and gives Din a once over before Din shoves it away. It reports that the splint and wrapping is sufficient, and that there are no bleeds or tears in Din’s muscles or tendons. All it takes is time and a whole lot of rest. Rest that Din insists is unneeded, that he doesn’t want. The bacta helps with his pain, and that makes Din reckless with his arm and his side. It makes him reckless, and sometimes a little stupid when he really wants to get going, but Boba is nothing if not indulgent, and whatever Din asks for he’s given. 

When Din asks him after a week to let him go outside, Boba straps him into his armor and walks his through the courtyard. When Din tires Boba tucks under his arm like there's nothing he'd rather do, allowing Din to sag his full weight against him and pant through the modulator of his helmet. 

When Din demands that he be allowed to go return his bounty to claim his reward Boba goes with, leaving Fennec to watch over Tatooine while they're on Nevarro dropping off the carbonite encased Rodian. Boba refuses flat out to let Din look at bounty pucks, though, and Din gets one look in warning before Boba is dragging him out of Karga's office, ignoring the swears and protests that trail behind him.

When Din begs Boba to kiss him, Boba only denies him for the first two days. The last thing he wants is to hurt Din, and he knows himself and he knows Din too well to think that either of them will stop if they get going. So when Din demands instead of begging, grabbing Boba's collar with his good arm and yanking him close, he only laughs and finally, finally gives Din what he wants. 

When Din crawls into his lap, regardless of the way his side twinges, Boba holds him by the hips and denies him what they both want. Boba may give Din whatever he wants, but in this he's firm, and no amount of sweet talking or noises or touches will bend Boba to Din's will. He tells Din to wait, to be patient, and kisses the protests from his lips until Din is once again leaning all his weight on Boba, good arm up around his shoulders and fingers idly tracing along the nape of Boba's neck. 

Boba will continue this dance for as long as he needs to, until Din can walk and breathe without wheezing, and until Din can move his left arm and still have strength in his hand to grip. 

-- 

He is swimming in frustration. He wants to move, to run and fight and stop laying around. But each breath is still a knife in his side, even four weeks later, and he's just beginning to work strength back into his left arm despite all of Boba's protesting. The feeling of wood, straight across his collarbone and hindering his movement has become something of a comfort, because sometimes when Din lifts something too heavy he feels like the bone is creaking inside of him, ready to snap at a moments notice, and the only thing keeping that from happening is the slat of wood pressing down into his skin. 

He spends each night under Boba's careful attention, reeking of the mint-sharp smell of bacta as Boba sits on his thighs and smooths his hands over the yellowing on Din's side. Occasionally his fingers will dig in, just to check on his progress, and Din has to hold onto Boba's knee to keep from punching him in some automatic retaliation. But for all his protesting and prowling, Boba takes it all in stride, and Din's chest burns with the thought and sight of his husband- his husband caring for him. 

Din watches him now, the broad slope of his shoulders, the careful way his brows flinch when he's concentrating on feeling the ribs that are nearly healed. Din slips his hand higher on Boba's knee, thumb tracing along the seam on the inside of Boba's thigh, and hopes his face won't betray him for once. Boba's attention doesn't stray, but his legs shift, spreading just so, as if the gesture is more unconscious than conscious. Din isn't sure Boba even knows that he does it. He's not going to point it out.

His eyes remain carefully on Boba's face when he slips his hand a bit higher, bolder, and he can tell the moment that Boba notices him. His body goes still, head twitching in a brief tilt, and his eyes flick up, lingering on his throat before finally glancing up to lock eyes. It's the quickest way that Boba seems to be able to convince himself that he's allowed to look, even after weeks of Din waking up to Boba leaning on one elbow, staring down at him like he's some buried treasure that Boba is still trying to uncover. 

"I told you to be good." 

"I am." Din says, not moving his hand another inch but continuing the slow sweep of his thumb. "Haven't even tried to hit you today."

Boba's eyes narrow, but Din can see the amusement that softens any hard edge, and he flashes what he hopes is a smarmy grin. It seems to have worked because Boba rolls his eyes, shaking his head and scooting a bit further to sit on Din's hips so he can reach his collarbone. Din makes an encouraging sound, tilting his head to the side and raising his brows. Boba snorts, pausing to squeeze more bacta onto his fingers before dipping to smooth it over Din's collarbone. 

Din waits until that concentrated look crosses Boba's face again to move his hand, inching it further up. He feels Boba shudder, just a small quake in his thighs, and Din bites the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. Boba’s fingers are warm and gentle on his collarbone, smoothing over the faint bruises and working the bacta into Din’s skin as best he can without potentially shifting the bone. Din loses himself momentarily in the way that Boba traces along his collarbone and leans to grab at a washcloth he keeps nearby, wiping his fingers off and glancing down at Din with an appraising look. 

He remembers his purpose suddenly with a roar through his veins at the sight of Boba above him, and his fingers dig into Boba’s thighs, thumb rubbing hard over the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh. He delights in the small, pleased gasp that falls from Boba’s lips, but then Boba’s fingers wrap around his wrist, snatching his hand up while his dark eyes narrow. Din’s fingers twitch, arm straining as he tries to tug away, but Boba’s got him now, and his attention is firmly on Din, like a predator tracking prey. 

“Your ribs are broken.”

“They’re healed.” Din protests, though they definitely aren’t fully healed yet. 

Boba knows better, of course he does, because there’s no one that Boba bothers to pay attention to more than he does Din. It makes Din feel warm, flushed with want and love and everything else he doesn’t really have a name for. 

“You’re being impatient.”

“I’ve been a saint.” He says, frowning with displeasure when Boba shifts his hips back a smidgeon. “We’re married, I think it’s normal to want-”

“Din.” Din’s teeth snap shut with an audible snap at the sound of his name on Boba’s lips, and he stares, entranced, as Boba lifts his hand. His breath catches in his throat, chest aching for an entirely different reason as Boba kisses at the soft inner skin of Din’s wrist, eyes warm and affectionate. Din, despite his protests, feels himself relaxing, sinking back into the sheets and watching as Boba places another kiss, humming quietly. “I’m not going to do anything yet.”

“But-” Boba’s teeth scraping lightly over the tendons of his wrist makes his brain short out, and Din’s vision goes blurry at the hot, aching twist in his stomach. His tongue flicks out to soothe the spot, as if in apology, and a rough, strained noise rattles from Din’s chest. 

“Do not think,” Boba murmurs, “That this isn’t torture for me. To see, to touch, and not be able to do anything. I just happen to have better control.”

Din laughs- really he can’t help himself, and he tilts his head, ignoring the faint tug at his collarbone. “Are you saying I’m being needy?”

“Are you not?” Din laughs again, this time more in disbelief than anything else. Boba drops his hand, dipping down to touch their foreheads together, Din humming softly in contentment at having him close. “Wait until you can actually breathe.” 

“I don’t want to.”

Boba’s lips quirk in a smile that’s too attractive for Din to ignore. “Tough shit, Princess.” 

--

Boba is beginning to enjoy telling Din no. If only to watch the way his brows pinch in puzzled confusion, as if thinking over how best he can convince Boba otherwise. It’s a fun game, to see what Din will come up with for the bigger requests, and just how long Din will stare with wide, imploring eyes until Boba sighs and gives in for the smaller ones. 

Like now.

Din has that look on full display, sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed while Boba straps his armor on. He has to go off planet for a problem with some trade routes, and Din has demanded he come too- much to Boba’s amusement and Din’s frustration. 

“Why can’t Fennec stay?”

“She’s the only one the contact will talk to.”

“But-”

“I need you to stay here, Beroya. Please.” His voice softens at the end, and if Din thought he was good at begging, Boba can do so much worse when he puts his mind to it. Din’s pleading expression crumples into one of soft, resigned adoration, and Boba is near breathless at the sight. 

“I want to come on the next one.” He says, as if bargaining.

“We’ll see.”

Din groans at that answer, clearly not pleased, and Boba rolls his eyes as Din flops back. His ribs have healed well with the bacta and time, and the only worry Boba has left is the tenderness in Din’s shoulder. The nurse droid assured them it would work out with therapy to strengthen the muscles around it, but Boba isn’t ready to push it yet. 

“-the worst husband I could have gotten-”

“Hey.” Boba protests, striding over to frown down at him. Din continues his lament. Boba dips down and grabs a handful of his hair, holding him steady as Boba’s lips press to Din’s, cutting him off mid monologue. Din’s hand comes up to cup the side of Boba’s neck as a soft, pleased noise rumbles from him, and Boba nearly ruins the kiss by smiling at the sound. “I’m the best husband.”

“A good husband would let me come.” Din says, lips twitching in a smile when Boba groans. 

“A good husband would stay here, to protect their home.” 

Din hums, as if thinking that over before his smile grows into a grin. “You’re right.” 

“Come again?”

“You’re right.” Din says again, “You can stay here- I’ll go with Fennec.”

“That isn’t what I meant, you little shit-” Din laughs, bright and open, and drags Boba down into another kiss, silencing the both of them. 

[mintjamsblog]

Hey, I miss your writing! I don't know if you're taking asks but hate-sex? Argument-sex? Make-up sex?

Okay, sorry for the delay, have a horny ficlet

Tommy/Alfie Hate-sex

It's not that Tommy means to be selfish, Alfie's pretty sure of that, it's just that selfishness comes to him naturally. It's no doubt a byproduct of the life he's led, a combination of ruthless self-sufficiency and entrenched self-preservation that manifests in occasionally infuriating ways. He spends so much time wandering around in his own labyrinth of a head that 'e don't always seem to realise where 'e is or how 'e got there. How 'is food got onto that plate in front of 'im for that matter. Which is kind of a case in point.

Alfie scrapes the remnants of an individual salmon encroute into the kitchen bin, dislodging the perfectly-cooked pastry that's now curling upwards, like the ribs of a rotting cadaver, protecting what's left of the messily pecked-out pinkness inside. He can't help being stung that Tommy couldn't even be bothered to finish it. It's as if the cocky little bastard thinks perfectly-prepared dinners-for-one just appear in the oven of their own accord. As if the cupboards are self-replenishing — automatically restocking his favourite whisky and tea (and semi-skimmed milk, 'cause skimmed tastes like dishwater and full-fat's too creamy) every time supplies run low.

But communication is key in any relationship, innit? So rather than run his mouth off half-cocked, Alfie decides to conduct an experiment. See how long it takes Tommy to communicate his appreciation for the things Alfie does.

The answer, it turns out, is a fucking long time — longer than Alfie's patience will last at any rate. When he walks in for the fifth night in a row to find the meal he prepared half-eaten, dirty dishes next to the sink, and Tommy so enthralled by his laptop he barely nods, "hello," well ... Alfie has had enough. He schools himself though. Clenches his fists and forces his voice to taken on a deceptively breezy tone.

"You eaten, treacle?" he enquires.

"Yeah," Tommy answers with a quick glance up. The living room's in near total-darkness, not a single lamp switched on, which means Tommy's lit only by the bluish glare of whatever's on 'is screen. It's not a flattering light. Makes 'im look tired — haggard actually — all sharp angles and purple shadows. Then again, it is one o'clock in the morning. (It'd have to be some quality porn to have Alfie absorbed at this hour, but the sad reality is that it's far more likely spreadsheets.)

"What did you 'ave?" Alfie asks.

"Eh?"

"To eat."

Tommy sighs. "Er ... that thing you left in the oven." He glances up again, irritably this time.

"Hmmm," Alfie says. "Bouillabaisse."

"What?"

"Bouillabaisse. French fish stew."

"Yeah, it was fish." Tommy's typing something now, bashing the keys impatiently — workaholic little prick.

Alfie looks round the room. There's a bottle of whisky on the coffee table and a glass (no sign of a coaster). A sea of stale bread crumbs flecks the sofa — the accompaniment to tonight's lovingly prepared meal. The man himself sits cross-legged, bare feet tucked up into the backs of his knees, socks discarded amongst the pale shreds of sourdough like twisted creatures in a gloomy velvet sea. He doesn't acknowledge Alfie's scrutiny; doesn't even seem to notice.

Alfie would like to start an argument right here, right now, to ask Tommy what his last slave died of and who the fuck he thinks he is. Instead he finds himself gritting his teeth and swiping at crumbs with brusque, rigid movements. He pairs Tommy's socks and collects up the discarded innards of this morning's Financial Times, seething quietly all the while. He's worked damn hard tonight, serving one hundred and forty covers in two sittings, (one hundred and forty three if you count Prince Tommy's dinner. That thought irks him more than it should). He needs a shower more than a row, but he can't help himself from needling.

"Nice was it?" he asks, crumpling the newspaper into the fire-bucket.

"What?"

"Your dinner."

Tommy huffs and finally looks up, dropping his hands from the keyboard to rest either side of his legs. "Is there a problem, Alfie?" he says.

"Problem?" Alfie says, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "No, nah. No problem. Just wondered if it was nice? Ya know, the bouillabaisse?"

"Yes. It was nice," Tommy says, digging thick fingers into his eye sockets as if the bloodshot orbs were the source of his irritation. "I have to send this to Pol in the next fifteen minutes or she'll fucking skin me tomorrow. Alright?"

"S'not Pol makes all your dinners," Alfie mutters under his breath.

"What?"

"I said Pernot. Makes all the difference."

"Right."

"To bouillabasisse."

"Fuck's sake..."

"I'm going up for a shower."

"Fine. I'll be up when this is done."

Alfie stands under the hot water and lets his anger simmer, stirs it just enough to intensify the flavours. He pours over the paltry slights, the daily irritations and provocations that come from sharing a home. And alright, each annoyance on its own might not sour the dish, but combined they begin to thicken. Alfie's careful not to let his anger boil, he don't want to turn it bitter, but by the time he walks into the bedroom he can taste it on his tongue.

Tommy is already in bed, one hand tucked behind his head as he reads a document of some kind, several creamy pages stapled together. He tuts and turns the page, without looking over to Alfie. And p'raps that's what does it, finally tears Alfie's patience; he strides to the bed and rips the papers clean out of Tommy's hand, hurling them across the floor.

"What the fuck?" Tommy says. He looks shocked, and slightly bewildered. There's anger there, but dulled by a visible weariness.

Alfie ain't in the mood for concessions; he climbs onto the bed, boxing Tommy in on all fours.

"That's fucking rude," Tommy says, his mouth a mean little line.

"Rude?" Alfie says. "Me?" He laughs so unexpectedly it comes out as more of a bark. "You're fuckin' unbelievable, mate."

Tommy's face hardens in that way that suggests he's about to say something deeply unwise. Alfie leans down to kiss him, hard, before he has the chance. There's a startled sound and a clashing of teeth as Tommy tries to shut him out, but one strategically-placed hand around his throat and he opens for Alfie's tongue with an audible exhale.

Alfie licks into him, probes the inside of his mouth, overwhelmed with a desire to retake what Tommy's withheld: his attention. His full, undivided attention ... by god, he's gonna give it now. Tommy's defences start to weaken — his tongue softens, his mouth falls wide — when he lets out a whorish little moan, Alfie pulls away. He's hard with lovingly-nurtured anger and ready to put it to use. "Over," he says, nudging Tommy's hip with a knee.

Tommy rolls reluctantly, looking rather bewildered. Alfie reaches into the bedside drawer and slicks himself one-handed, cursing as the lube falls noisily onto the floor. Don't matter, he's done enough.

"Got something to say to me, Tommy?" he asks, fumbling in his haste.

Tommy doesn't answer, though he can be in no doubt as to where this is leading. It's a source of unending wonder how he can look so fucking truculent when he's splayed face-down on the bed.

"No?" Alfie prompts. "You sure about that?"

Tommy stays defiantly mute, so Alfie wraps an arm beneath him and slams in with a single thrust. The sound of breath being knocked out of Tommy shocks the air in the room, and sends fire licking through Alfie. He hauls Tommy closer still, squeezing his slender waist as if emptying a soda-bottle of air. His hips and forearm are opposing forces, jaws clamping down on a pelvis — he lets Tommy feel the bite of his strength, of his want, until a cry of anguish fills the air.

Then he waits, breathing slowly through the seconds of charged stillness as Tommy fights to yield. Ten seconds turn into fifteen, twenty, followed by a convulsion — one rigid spasm that travels the length of Tommy's body and ends with a shuddering groan. The precious sound of acceptance. Only then does Alfie ease back, sliding out an inch or two purely for the pleasure of pressing back in and making him cry out again.

"Thank me," he says, voice low as he presses a kiss into Tommy's neck.

Tommy groans and tips his head but doesn't form the words.

"Thank me," Alfie repeats with a thrust. "I want to hear you say it."

Tommy buries his face in the sheets and doesn't make a sound.

"Alright, if that's how you want to play it." Alfie heaves himself upwards, and presses his weight into Tommy's shoulder-blades. "You will thank me," he promises, "if I 'ave to fuck you into next week."

Maybe that's what Tommy needs, Alfie ain't giving any more chances. He builds up the pace with increasingly vigorous thrusts, which Tommy just lies there and takes it. And takes it. And takes it. The sheets come untucked, the pillows bank up against the headboard and Alfie fills with dark delight when Tommy starts to falter, to let little growls and mewls escape. He sounds like a wounded animal. Perhaps he's expecting sympathy ... poor deluded boy. Alfie slows his hips and shifts position, wrapping his arms beneath Tommy's armpits and locking hands in front of his chest. The position puts his mouth against Tommy's ear.

"If you ain't gonna say it, darlin', you'd better shut the fuck up." He pulls out achingly slowly, feeling the grip around his cock before slamming back in with a groan. The angle clearly changes something because this time Tommy sounds desperate — a series of high-pitched sounds ripples out of him, ending with a whine.

"Say it," Alfie growls, repeating the exact same movement to even more delightful effect. He pulls out for a third time, about to fuck in again when  

Tommy whispers something that sounds awfully like compliance.

"What's that?" Alfie says, pausing to pull him out of the pillows by his hair.

"Thank you," Tommy says, his voice barely a whisper as he quietly obeys.

"Again," Alfie says as he drives back in, pulling hard on the black locks so that Tommy's neck is bared.

"Thank you," Tommy repeats. This time the response is a gasp, two gasps, but still Alfie isn't sated.

"Again," he says, with another thrust.

"Thank you," Tommy replies; the struggle in his voice drives Alfie on like a racehorse under the whip.

"Again," he says, "again ... again."

"Thank you," Tommy murmurs, "thank, ahh, thank y—"

Alfie lets go of the hair and fucks Tommy hard, cutting off each gasped response before it's fully formed. Soon it's like an echo that follows every thrust.  "Thank—, than—, tha— urgh!"  Tommy's fingers splay out like flags of surrender but Alfie ain't feeling merciful.

"Again," he growls. "Thank me again, thank me until you can't say it."

Tommy does, he says it over and over, until he's so battered by Alfie's desire that every pitiful, "thank you," is a breath forced into the mattress. Is a plea. Is a please ... "please Alfie, fuck, god, please ..."

***

Afterwards, Alfie curls onto his side and basks in the faintly horrifying afterglow of his own cruelty. It takes a good few moments until he feels his own pinkness subside. Tommy shuffles closer, ducks into the concave space formed by the curve of Alfie's body. His arms slide around Alfie's belly and he holds on tight, in the way he only ever does after a particular type of sex. Alfie bends to kiss the top of his head, a single peck that's suffused, somehow, with more tenderness than an hour of tongued kisses.

"Thank you," Tommy whispers into the hair on Alfie's chest. Alfie strokes the back of his neck and feels overwhelmingly and incongruously protective.

"For the dinners or the sex?"

"Both. You always know what I need."

"Good job one of us knows what's good for you."

"You are."

"Hmm."

Alfie wishes he were more certain of that.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Jeff Smut!

Commissioned by the wonderful @followingyoucuseyoureawesome! Thank you so much, it’s greatly appreciated uwu 🌸🌞🌸 

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

22.) “Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking.”

56.) “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”

58.) “Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting.”

99) “You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in.”

The house is dark

Motionless and quiet, you almost trick yourself into believing you imagined it—that you hadn’t actually heard the door opening, or the unmistakable treading of shoes against dry wooden floorboards

You chew your lip and wrap your arms around yourself

Part of you knows exactly what to expect, and yet you refuse to acknowledge it

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realize he’s behind you before it’s too late

Your body’s slammed into the counter, knocking the wind from your lungs and leaving you gasping under something hard, something firm

“Mmh... You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in”

His voice is deep and raspy and hot as he groans into your neck

A hand tangles itself into the soft fluff of your hair and he sharply tugs back, wrenching a cry from your lips

He sighs—a breathy hum that vibrates in his chest behind you

“My dearest, precious little (y/n)~”

He inhales, deeply and unabashedly, like he’s imprinting your scent in his memory

“It’s been too long. I hope you haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

The jagged angles of his smile brushes over your skin as he speaks

“L-leave me alone!”

He chuckles

“You’re always so cute when you try to fight me off. As if you’d ever stand a chance~”

His arm is around your throat and then he’s dragging you back, further into the house and further from any chance of escape

Not that you’d actually try to run from him

No, you’d only make that mistake once

Still, your sense of self preservation kicks in and you’re squirming and screaming at him to let go

He ignores every one of your complaints

As he pushes open a door and forces you down on a bed—your bed, you realize he’s much too familiar with the layout of your house

There’s a wild, obsessive look in his eyes as he gazes down at you

“Tell me, have you been thinking of me, (y/n)? Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my head”

He tugs at the button of his jeans and you find yourself crawling backwards, desperate for some distance, until your back’s hitting the wall behind you

“It’s fucking annoying, really,”

The bed dips beneath his weight as he moves towards you

“I can’t help but think you’re doing it on purpose—forcing me to obsess over you like this—but I know it’s not your fault. You’re just too perfect for your own good”

You’re frozen as he reaches out, large hand caressing your jaw, fingers pressing into the squishy flesh of your cheeks

He yanks your head up so you‘re meeting his wicked gaze, lips hovering over yours

“That’s why you fucking belong to me. Nobody else could possibly appreciate you like I do. Nobody deserves you, (y/n). Nobody but me”

The kiss is anything but gentle as he crashes his mouth against yours

It’s urgent and determined and already has you whimpering beneath his imposing size

Your hands find purchase against his chest, pushing against him, but it only spurs him on even more—flicking the wet warmth of his tongue between his rough chapped lips

He tastes like blood

There’s the sound of fabric ripping and then your pajamas are gone and you’re way too exposed beneath him

His mouth is pressing into your jaw, your neck, your throat, biting and sucking and nipping at your skin like he’s been starved of your taste for far too long

“Such a soft, pretty little thing~”

“S-stop it!”

He ignores you, and instead brushes a finger over your slit

You try to kick him off but his free hand clamps around your leg and he straddles the other

His thumb nestles against your clit and you stiffen at the contact

“Mmh, atta girl~ Let me touch you and I’ll make you feel nice and good”

He watches your every reaction through dark, heavily lidded eyes as he slowly rubs your sensitive pearl

You squeeze your eyes shut, fisting the sheets to stop yourself from grinding down onto him

He tilts his head

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting”

When you refuse to acknowledge him, he jams two fingers into your tight, soaked entrance

You cry out, hips jutting up involuntarily, meeting him halfway as he twists his fingers against your pulsing sex

In and out, his calculated pumps have him coaxing an embarrassing amount of slick from your spongy walls

You hate how it feels so fucking good, how your body responds so well to his touch

“Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking~”

He reaches a certain spot inside you that has you gasping his name, bucking up into him for more—you need so much more

But instead of giving you what you want, he pulls away, and you’re left empty and disappointed

Piercing eyes drink you up—your panting, shaking form, as he brings his soaked digits to his mouth and licks them clean

“Mmh, such a good little girl for me. Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you”

His hands are pulling you up into his lap and then he’s lying back and your legs are straddling either side of his face

The few seconds of hesitation on your part are enough for him to grasp your thighs and shove them down onto his scarred mouth

“A-ah!”

The response of his tongue pushing up into your heat is immediate

He completely devours you, his pink muscle reaching just the right spots with his nose bumping your clit every time you squirm

You’re clenching and gasping and moaning around him

Your thighs are shaking, thoughts overwhelmed with the feeling of his tongue lapping at everything you’re offering

You can already feel the threat of an orgasm building from your drenched core

“J-jeff! Fuck, I—I can’t—!”

You grasp his charred hair for support, riding his face, feeling your body burn with every flick of his tongue between shuddering walls

And then before you know it, your body stutters, hips buckling forwards as you cry out his name

Ecstasy rakes up your form in seemingly endless jolts as you cum against him, panting and shuddering like an absolute mess on top of him

The euphoria of your climax becomes all too much but before you can pull yourself away, a hand roughly smacks you back down

“‘M not fucking done yet” he growls

Cupping a hand over your mouth does little to muffle your desperate cries as he delves back into you

“S-stop it! I can’t—i-it’s too much!!”

But he’s shameless and merciless, flicking over and over at your overstimulated nub until your body’s brought back to the brink of another orgasm

You can only scream and pray he’ll stop by the time you‘re forced over the edge a second time

And even then, he eagerly drinks you all in, his hands like vices around your trembling thighs

It’s only when he’s had his fill does he finally let you go

You‘re shaking, tears threatening to spill from the intensity as he murmurs what a good girl you’ve been for him while licking your arousal from his lips

You can taste yourself on him when he pushes his mouth against yours

And you’re too tired to try to shove him away, knowing it won’t work anyways, so you simply accept him

You hear him undo the rest of his pants, giving himself a few pumps before calloused hands are parting your legs

A new kind of panic introduces itself as the tip of his swollen cock brushes over your puffy folds

“N-no, stop it!”

He pins your flailing hands above your head, murmuring quiet little coos of don’t worry, and you’ve been so good, I’m gonna reward you

And then he’s pushing himself in, inch by inch, breaching your entrance that immediately clamps down on his hard length

When he bottoms out, swollen head brushing against your cervix, your gut tightens almost painfully, a shuddering moan dripping from your lips

He groans into your neck and starts rocking back and forth

In and out, he’s thick and heavy and you’re already feeling stretched out and sore

It’s all too much

“It’s like you were fucking made for me” he curses under his breath

And then he’s building a steady pace that has you clawing at his back 

He starts pounding into you hard and fast and absolutely filthily and it’s got you crumbling beneath him

His strokes are deep and you’re squeezing him unbearably tightly 

He groans against you, mumbling that you’re so fucking good for him

Your back arches, pressing your chest up into him and then you’re cumming again, screaming his name until your throat burns and your voice is raw

He snarls, and with a few quick more thrusts, his cock twitches and he’s painting your insides white as your walls spasm around him

You’re absolutely exhausted by the time he pulls out

You can feel his cum dripping from your thighs

He mumbles something to himself—about taking you someplace in the woods—but you’re honestly too tired to even care anymore

You let yourself lie back and readily welcome the deep, dark blanket of sleep as it finally falls over you

[vecnawrites]

Dullahan Jaune and Centaur Pyrrha?

It had been a challenge, for both of them. Both Jaune Arc, a young Dullahan man, and Pyrrha Nikos, a young Centaur female, were in love (stupidly so, if one asked Nora Valkyrie, one of their teammates). Now, that wasn't what had people confused.

It wasn't rare to see Pyrrha lying on her side on her bed, with Jaune cuddled between her arms and forelegs as they relaxed...but how did sex work between them? After all, Jaune looked perfectly human as a Dullahan, his head just detached...but Pyrrha only had a human upper half, and the lower half of a horse. So, how did it work?

This was the question asked by many, although most of them had the tact only to ask in their minds. Others, however…

"So...how does sex between you two work?" Yang asked bluntly, staring at the two across their lunch table cafeteria.

The reactions were immediate, Pyrrha going stiff and blushing fiercely, ears twitching and tail flicking side to side as she stared at the blonde in shock and slight horror, and Jaune's head coming detached from his neck, his arms snapping out to catch himself before his face met painfully with either the table or the floor, while the others of their teams stared at Yang in varying degrees of shock or disdain.

"Yang!" was the unanimous cry of the five others sitting at the table with them, some of them angrier than others. The stacked blonde held her hands up in her own defense.

"Sorry, sorry, but come on, I can't be the only one thinking of it!" the blonde tried defending herself, but it fell flat under the intense looks of her friends. “They spend so much time hidden away in Pyrrha’s room, you know they’ve gotta be having sex! So, how do they do it!? She’s got the lower half of a horse!”

Jaune glanced at his girlfriend, and he could see the flash of hurt that was quickly hidden. He knew that she needed to leave. This was making her uncomfortable. With a silent nod, Jaune rose from his seat (Pyrrha was already standing due to her anatomy), and both quickly walked away wordlessly, leaving five of their friends to glower angrily at the sixth, who was shrinking in on herself, far too late in the realization that she had gone entirely too far.

Walking quietly down the halls back to their dorm, a special one with two bedrooms due to Pyrrha's unique needs, the redheaded centaurian cleared her throat nervously. "W-would you like to cuddle, Jaune?" Inwardly, the redhead cursed herself for asking something so cliche, so- “Sure, I’d like that.” shock filled her for a moment, before she eagerly nodded and opened her door to her bedroom.

As both entered they stripped off their school jackets, Pyrrha gently climbed into her bed, folding her legs and shifting so she was on her side, allowing her tail and modified lower clothing to keep her from being exposed.

She smiled softly as Jaune slipped into the bed with her, into her hold. She had always been embarrassed by the fact that she was an extremely rare Centaur female and being so much bigger than others, but Jaune...he accepted her, never shying away from her, even if his only real form of expression upon seeing her the first time was his head falling off.

That was actually part of how they had bonded. As the only two of Monster Descent in their year, it gave them a unique bond...one that that led to them actually kissing barely a month into Beacon, here in the privacy of her bedroom.

But still, they hadn’t done more than that. They had never had sex. Part of Pyrrha was sad about that, but she would rather be sad than feel the pain of what she feared would happen, especially since Yang had brought up something very sensitive. She feared that either Jaune would be put off by sex with her, what with her having an almost completely equine lower half (only her sexual organs were human-like, or at least, able to morph human like so a male could get her pregnant.).

One nightmare involved her being on her knees and just humped away at, unable to see her mystery lover or even be allowed to take any part in the act.

Another nightmare involved her losing control and accidentally crushing her lover under her lower half when she tried to be on top.

The worst nightmare she had was of her lover, that lover being Jaune after they got together, being utterly disgusted and unwanting to touch her if she mentioned sex, leading her to more often than not waking up in a cold sweat and and with hot tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving as she gasped for the air that her body demanded.

But, just as often as she had nightmares, she had good dreams, dreams that often had her awake, red cheeked and her nethers soaking, leaving her to shamefully grind her core against one of her specially shaped bedposts for relief, imagining it was Jaune playing with her.

But still, she had no idea how to bring up her fears, her wants and desires, with her boyfriend. Shaking herself from her morose thoughts, the redhead cuddled with her boyfriend. She at least had this...

Jaune lay in Pyrrha’s arms, the powerful thump, thump, thump of her heart resounding in his ears. He knew that Pyrrha was sensitive about her half human state, hearing her crying a few nights due to it when his head had slipped out of his choker and it had rolled off the bed, stopping by her door.

He had read up on Centaur reproduction after that in during his time alone, and was shocked to see how...mechanical it was. There was very little intimacy, usually it was just a quick mounting and rutting until climax.

He knew that Pyrrha loved intimacy, almost more than anything else. She loved to hold his hand, to kiss him; hell, he rarely slept in the main bedroom with Ren and Nora anymore since she loved to use him as a ‘living’ teddy bear!

So, he knew that Yang’s words had cut Pyrrha deeply by bringing up how different they were, anatomically speaking.

He swallowed. He would have to gather his courage and bring this up, since he knew his girlfriend was skittish about it. “Pyrrha...can I ask you something?” he braved, getting his redheaded girlfriend to glance down at him, a sweet smile on her face. “Of course you can, Jaune. Anything.”

Jaune took a deep breath. “Pyrrha, we need to talk about something important...we’ve been together several months, so I think its okay...have you thought about sex?” he felt Pyrrha stiffen and saw her cheeks turn a burning red. “Pyrrha?” he gently pressed.

Pyrrha felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest as the topic she both feared and desired came up. Opening and closing her mouth several times, she couldn’t find the words, so instead settled for quiet nodding.

“What do you think? About us? Do you want to have sex?” he could see Pyrrha trembling, feel her arms tightening around him. He winced, wondering if he was wrong. “Pyrrha-”

“I...I do...b-but...are you sure? I know my body is so...different...compared to yours...” Pyrrha hated the fact that she sounded so weak, but she didn’t think she could take it if this turned out like her nightmares-her eyes widened and steam practically escaped from her ears as Jaune kissed her, firmly yet sweetly, cupping her face.

Pulling away, Jaune rubbed his nose against hers, staring into wide emerald eyes. “Pyrrha, that doesn’t matter in the long run...as long as we both want this, isn’t that what’s important? Do you think I care that you’re different than me? You never cared my head pops off when I’m startled or overly emotional.” reaching up, Jaune gently tugged at the thick collar he wore that helped his head stay connected to his neck. “What do you want, Pyrrha?”

Nibbling her lower lip, Pyrrha shifted, feeling herself getting wet in her hindquarters, her breath growing uneven. Even still, she felt sad, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hold or kiss Jaune while he made love to her.

Evidently, she wasn’t so good at hiding it, since Jaune looked up at her in concern. “What’s wrong, Pyr? Tell me the truth.” he insisted, making her clamp down on her still knee-jerk reaction to deny her problems.

She shivered slightly. “I...it’s...I want to be able to see you, to kiss you and hold you, not just lay there and do nothing-” she found herself silenced by another kiss, this one very gentle. Breaking it, he smiled up at her.

“Pyrrha, do you want to know the best thing about both of us having our particular anatomy?” he asked, grabbing her hands and bringing them up to his face, having her cup his chin. When she did, he released her hands and moved his own behind his neck, working a bit before his collar popped off, revealing the extremely faint line that circled his neck. Seeing a confused look on Pyrrha’s face, he elaborated.

“Well, being a Dullahan and being able to separate my head can be beneficial in this case, right? We can make love...and we can still kiss.” Jaune shifted, an ethereal mist flowing out from the stump of his neck as his head disconnected, leaving his head in Pyrrha’s hands.

Pyrrha stared, wide eyed as her boyfriend came up with an answer (one so obvious she wished to kick herself) to her fears. She sniffed a bit, outright overcome with emotion, before kissing Jaune fiercely, putting every ounce of love and emotion she could into it. She gasped a bit as she felt Jaune’s hands gently beginning to unbutton her top.

She blushed brightly as her red and gold bra, custom made to hold her massive breasts, was revealed. She knew her bust was more than impressive, but it was that large for a reason-a centaur couldn’t exactly hold a foal in their arms. They had to rest on their knees and let the baby suckle from their breasts...not to mention the amount of milk necessary to satisfy a foal was large. She shivered, feeling her boyfriend’s hands gently running along her shoulders and over her upper arms. She was surprised, thinking that he would have tried going for her breasts first, but then, Jaune had never stopped surprising her since they started dating.

“Easy, Pyrrha...don’t be so tense. Its only us. We’re not being graded, we’re not being judged.” Jaune soothed his girlfriend as best he could, surprising even himself with how calm he was being. “Just do what feels natural.” he felt Pyrrha shudder under his hands as he gently rubbed his arms, and heard her tail swishing wildly a little ways away.

Pyrrha kissed him again, and he hummed, tasting the sweetness of her lips as his hands slowly ran down her arms, before moving back up and to her sides, thumbs rubbing the soft skin. He felt her legs shift as she did so, gently kicking the bedding as small whimpers came from her mouth.

Pyrrha was elated, but didn’t know what to do. There was so much she wanted to do, but she focused on kissing her boyfriend with everything she was, slipping her tongue into his mouth and rubbing against him, soft whines escaping her mouth as she felt Jaune’s hands rest where her human half merged with the equine.

It felt so good! Jaune’s broad hands shifted, spreading across her toned belly, slowly and every so sensually making their way up her abdominals. She moaned deeply into the kiss she shared with him, feeling herself getting wet underneath her tail, her core starting to wink as her arousal started burning within her and gaining momentum.

She pulled away from the kiss, both she and Jaune panting, before Pyrrha’s eyes widened and a loud squeak escaping her mouth as she felt her boyfriend’s strong hands cup her breasts, even if it was above her bra still.

“Still okay, Pyrrha?” she looked down at her boyfriend, cheeks flushed red and hazy eyed, equine ears twitching as she stared into the cerulean eyes she loved. She nodded, her head bobbing almost drunkenly. “Yesss…” she mewled as those wonderful hands gently squeezed her breasts, making her shift and wiggle around on her mattress. She never wanted this to end, she could just lay her forever and be touched by her lover…she barely noticed when Jaune’s hands slipped behind her back, but she did notice when her bra was unclipped and fell onto the bed, letting her massive breast hang free.

Emerald eyes snapped open and her cheeks burned in mortification, but she was comforted by the fact that Jaune’s eyes stayed on hers, even as she shivered and released a pleasured whimper as her boyfriend’s hands cupped her chest again, bare this time.

Jaune managed to tilt his head forward a bit, pressing his lips to hers once more, his own cheeks hot as he felt how impossibly soft her breasts were. His fingers sank into her flesh, feeling Pyrrha mewl her pleasure into his mouth as he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, the flesh firming and protruding outwards, pressing against his fingers. He felt the bed shake a bit as Pyrrha squirmed more, her breath getting more rapid, her hind legs kicking out.

Pyrrha whimpered as Jaune fondled her breasts with care, her back legs shuffling and kicking, tail flicking wildly as she felt herself dripping down onto the fine hair of her inner thighs. “Jaune…” she moaned, losing control of herself and hugging his head to her breasts, throwing her head back as he began kissing the flesh of her cleavage. “Jaune!”

Jaune groaned softly, his nose filled with the scent of cinnamon (Pyrrha loved the fragrance and wore it constantly) and he pressed his lips over every inch of skin between Pyrrha’s breasts, ordering his body to continue the plan.

Slipping away, Jaune felt his body make its way towards Pyrrha’s back and rear, and he continued with the rest of his plan to keep Pyrrha distracted, beginning to lick and tenderly nip away at the soft flesh before him. He found his head being plunged further into her cavernous cleavage, but couldn’t bring himself to care-it wasn’t like he actually needed air, what with his monster type.

Pyrrha gasped and whined, more arousal than she knew what to do with flooding her body. Her body was so warm, her lower lips so wet and aching. She wanted more! Her feet kicked out lightly and she moaned, before her eyes widened as she felt her boyfriend’s hands resting on her rear, rubbing her flanks through the rough textile. “Nehiiiiiehhh!” she slapped her one of her hands over her mouth in complete and utter mortification at the whinny that slipped out of her mouth, ears drooping low and cheeks burning bright.

To his credit, Jaune didn’t pause, even with her utterly shameful display. She was thankful for that, since it was so embarrassing to lose such control over herself like that. She usually had such good control over her base instincts.

Breathy pants escaped her lips as Jaune’s hands went for her belt harness, unlatching it and slowly beginning to move the fabric away from her rump, making her quiver as she knew what awaited beneath it. Part of her was sad that Jaune wouldn’t be able to see what he had done to her, but the rest was very grateful due to her feelings about him seeing her backside.

Instead she cradled his head to her chest, blushing deeply as she was laid bare, her back legs curling up and her tail flicking to the side on instinct, exposing her soaking core, which she could feel was winking, showing anyone who could see how turned on she was.

Jaune hummed, pressed between the heavenly pillows that Pyrrha called breasts, focusing on his sense of touch. This was going to be the delicate part; he was lacking classical ‘sight’ and relying on his heightened sense of touch. He rubbed the round swells of her muscled rear before slipping his hands down and between her hind legs…

Pyrrha let out another loud neigh, eyes going wide as hands slipped between her hind legs, questing fingers running over her netherlips with precision that she didn’t think a headless body could have. Her head thrashed, crimson hair swaying like billowing fire.

Fumbling, Pyrrha grasped her boyfriend’s head and pulled him out of her cleavage and kissed him fiercely, muffling the pleased whines and moans that she would otherwise be letting out. Her emotions were going everywhere at once. She wanted to do things, but her instincts were also telling her that her mate was caring for her, to let him do the work.

But then, she was doing things, wasn’t she? She was kissing her beloved, which was more than she ever thought she would be able to do when she learned about sex. She felt her core clamping down on the questing and probing fingers exploring her body, her ears drooping down as an orgasm threatened to burst forth through her. “Jaaaauuuuunnnnneeeee…” she crooned, moaning throatily as he felt herself clamp down on those long slim digits, flexing heartily in an attempt to milk them. Heavily.

Pyrrha stared down at her boyfriend, nibbling on her lower lip. That orgasm had been...wonderful, but she...she wanted...more. She needed more from him. “Make...make love to me, Jaune…” she whispered softly. “Show me how much you desire me…” her nethers slowly loosened, allowing his fingers to slip free from them.

Looking up at his girlfriend, Jaune swallowed, seeing her wide-eyed, lust filled face. “I will, Pyrrha…” he murmured, focusing on his body again, stripping himself of his own clothing, wondering if she could handle what was to come. Sex and combat were two very different things, after all. And he...wasn’t small. He could tell she had shifted her internals to be more like that of a normal man. Hopefully she wouldn’t be stubborn when he started entering…

Feeling the humid air around them brushing across his bare skin, he fought the urge to groan with relief as his cock was finally freed from its cloth prison. He looked up at Pyrrha, licking his lips. “I...I’m going to enter you now, Pyrrha…” he breathed out, seeing her eyes widen in excitement and her ears twitch.

He felt the strength of her flank underneath his palms, and shifted himself so his tip was pressed against her soaking core. Brothers, he could feel the heat radiating off of her. Rubbing against that soaking heat gently, he prepared to ease himself in...but Pyrrha had other ideas.

“Fuck! ME!” she cried out, throwing herself back, nearly knocking Jaune’s body down as she took him to the base, his thick cock spreading her wide, his tip tapping against the entrance of her womb. Pyrrha froze, eyes wide and going stiff, a strangled wheeze escaping her mouth as she fought the combating feelings of slight pain mixed with utter fullness and incredible pleasure. “Wha...how…?” small groans emerged from her mouth as she twitched and shifted, her breaths getting deep as her cheeks flushed. She looked down at her boyfriend, wide eyed. “So...big…” she moaned.

Jaune chuckled bashfully. “Yeah...it never came up...but...I’m rather...big.” he coughed lightly, looking to the side. He winced as he felt his lover shiver.

‘Big’ was a severe understatement. Jaune was huge, comparable to an actual stallion of her kind...how did he managed to hide such an endowment from her all this time? He slept in her arms most nights anymore!

The sting of the sudden stretch now gone, Pyrrha found herself basking in the fullness of her core. Her heart swelled within her breast. She was certain he was bigger than a Stallion, she was sure. She hummed, her pussy flexing hard around the invader within her. “Oh, Jaune…” she purred, looking down at her mate, bringing him up to meet her and kissing him.

Jaune shuddered. Heat. Tightness. Pyrrha had clamped down on him with such force that he was worried his dick was going to get ripped off, but it eased down a bit, allowing him to pump slowly back and forth within her. He moaned into the kiss that Pyrrha was giving him, having never felt this good in his life.

He slowly rolled his hips back and forth, both his and Pyrrha’s moans swallowed by each other’s mouths, their breaths intermingling.

Breaking the kiss, Pyrrha cradled Jaune’s head to her chest again, practically smothering him in her breasts, as she fell to her bed, moaning and whimpering into her pillows as Jaune rocked against her backside, her four legs kicking out every now and then from the pleasure. She cried out as Jaune picked up speed suddenly, his hands firmly grabbing her flanks and thrusting hard into her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. “Claim me, Jaune! Fill me! Make me your mate!” she cried out, already feeling herself getting close.

On some part it shamed her, being so close so fast, but she knew that this wouldn’t be the last time that Jaune would make love to her. If she had her way, Jaune would be loving her every night, filling her with his thick cock.

Jaune, surrounded by Pyrrha’s scent, could feel his lover getting close. She was rippling and flexing around him, almost attempting to milk him. He moaned, the sound lost within the flesh surrounding him. His eyes rolled back in his head as he heard a muted cry, reverberating around him, and her warm core flex and squeeze around him tightly. With a heavy growl, he came as well, his balls unloading everything they had within them.

Pyrrha cried out in joy, tears falling from her eyes as she was filled, warmth that could only be Jaune’s cum, spraying into her pussy in thick, hot streams, draining into her womb. While she knew she wasn’t in her fertile period yet, she couldn’t help but imagine their future foals. She slumped, trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, holding her boyfriend’s head tenderly. She felt him slump over her, and, pulling her boyfriend’s head out of her cleavage once more, gazing into his eyes tenderly, before kissing him once more, slowly, sweetly.

“I love you, so much, Jaune...my mate.” she murmured, kissing him repeatedly, her lips kissing every inch of skin imaginable. She felt Juane squeeze around her torso, and hum appreciatively under her kisses. “Love you too, Pyrrha...so much…”

Pyrrha cradled her boyfriend, her lover, her mate, to her as she settled into her bed, for once completely content with everything in the world as she and he slowly drifted off to sleep and into the world of dreams.

All was well.

[joontier]

The King’s Guard | Chapter 3 

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

–> Rating:  R

–> Genre/warnings:   implications of insomnia; implied infidelity; slight depictions of death of mc; slight angst; fluffy FLUff; humor  smut (y/n is such a horndog tbh or maybe the author is too wink wonk; pool sex; masturbation; dom jk undertones; slight switch!jk too sHIt; fingering; voyeurism; unprotected sex; exhibitionism; fingering; boob play kookie jus like dem boobies mkay; thigh riding)

–> Word count: 10.4k

–> A/N: This has less drama and more dialogues than the previous chapters bc we all needed a break from all the angsty angst AMIRITE? Anywho, as usual Korean vocab used will be placed at the end of the chapter. TELL ME WHATCHA YALL THINK PEOPLE shsfskdjf

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The King’s Guard | Chapter 3

With the Chuseok Festival just around the corner, the palace is practically buzzing, palace workers out and about the hanoks. You had also busied yourself with your own responsibilities and those of Seokjin’s. It’s been a fortnight since he’s left, and you’re partly thankful that the preparations for the festivities are constantly occupying your mind enough during the day so you don’t worry much about your husband.

Your days now consists of council meetings, classes with the children of the capitol, kitchen checks, palace inspections, village hearings. The list was endless. Admittedly, you had become less amiable as the days pass by, most likely from the doubled amount of responsibility you now have on your hands. It doesn’t help either that the people supposedly helping you with your duties are mostly useless. Just like the so-called ‘royal council’.

You had called for a council meeting today to raise your apprehension towards the new taxes imposed on your people. Needless to say, the meeting went terribly. Now you truly understood Seokjin’s distress after council meetings. And to think that was just the first agenda you had for the day. Just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse than speaking with selfish men, a guard suddenly reports to you that a corner of the kitchen had caught fire and that some citizens had caused another riot at a neighboring village.

You were already nursing a nasty headache by the time you had finished lunch. After a particularly stressful day like such, you had decided to retire to bed earlier than usual, skipping supper and your afternoon agenda for your much-needed rest.

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting heavily as you abruptly sit up in your bed. Your eyes look around, taking in your surroundings. It was just a nightmare. You begin to sob, emotions rolling off you in waves.

“Guards!” you call weakly, hoping they will hear you through your sobs.  A few more cries and a royal guard, Yunho bursts through the door. “Jungjeon-mama!” he calls as he takes in your distressed state, running towards your bed.

“Lee…Astron…Lee…” the words fade on your lips.  

Jungkook is the last thing you see before blacking out.

When you wake, eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the room, you see Astonomer Lee reading a book on your left and Jungkook sleeping soundly on a bench to your right. “Jungjeon-mama,” Astronomer Lee’s voice is soft as he notices you’ve awakened. You attempt to sit up, but a raging headache is royally preventing you from doing so.

“Careful, Mama. The royal physician does not recommend you getting up from bed anytime soon. You need to rest.”

It’s just a mere headache, you contest inwardly, but for the sake of it, you stop yourself from voicing out your argument. Instead, you rest your weight on your elbows and ask for Minho’s assistance in placing the rest of your pillows behind your back to elevate your torso for more convenience.

Another snore escapes from the man on your right catching both your attention. Jungkook’s neck is precariously bent forward, his chin already touching his collarbones. “Minho, could you please…” the astronomer thankfully doesn’t require any further instruction, scuttling to the other side of your bed to help Jungkook lie down on the bench he’d fallen asleep on.

“The Captain had been fighting sleep ever since you fainted earlier tonight, scolding everyone that tried to tell him to get back to his quarters but the poor lad fell asleep the moment I got here.” Minho chuckles, adjusting Jungkook’s position on the bench. The latter reaches his hands out, arms swatting Minho away who’s currently struggling with his task.

“Must…queen…awake,” the younger one mumbles in broken sentences, still blindly pushing the struggling astronomer away. By the time Minho finally manages to lay the captain down, you’re already in tears, your hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your laughter despite the tiny whirlwind in your head.

The fatigued astronomer returns to his seat after completing the arduous task while you reach for the steaming cup of tea sat on your bedside table. You take a whiff, letting the steam reach and fill your nose with the aroma. Ah, Taehyung’s signature brew. The royal physician has relatives from the east that own a tea farm, so Taehyung gets his leaves delivered fresh from the city of agriculture and brews the tea himself – one which the palace keeps in abundance, due to its taste and medicinal benefits.

“You’ve called for me earlier, my queen?”

Minho’s question drowns out the thoughts in your head. “Ah, yes.” A cold shiver runs through your spine as you recall the reason why you woke earlier during the night. “I had quite the nightmare earlier…” you start, “…I was hoping seeking your counsel would ease me of my troubles.”

“I will try my best, Jungjeon-mama.”

“You have my gratitude, Astronomer Lee. But first, I must rise, for my stomach is complaining.”

“Jungjeon-mama. I can’t let you do that. Taehyung strongly insists that you rest, I-“ You look at him, unamused. He stops mid-sentence, knowing there was no point in trying to convince you to do otherwise. “Don’t play innocent now, Minho. As if you weren’t sneaking hangwa off our table when you said you were feeling unwell during the new lunar year celebration.” The scholar chokes on his tea at your comment. “Don’t worry, I’m glad you like my recipe,” you add as you pat him lightly on the shoulders, causing the young astronomer’s cheeks to redden.

“Wangbi, what about the captain?” Minho questions, pointing to the younger man who’s still snoring away happily, face squished against the wooden seat.

“He’ll be fine. Come on, a hungry queen is a grumpy queen.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here, Mama.” Minho mumbles behind you, trying not to tug at the sleeves of your jeogori too hard. You both know he’s breaking royal protocol by touching you like this, albeit indirectly, but you don’t mind, not when his cowardice is starting to affect you as well, mumbling about tales of never-before-recorded creatures that lurk in the night.

You had forgotten to take a lamp with you at your haste to succumb to your hunger, and now you’re both suffering the consequences of your lack of preparedness. With darkness blanketed over the palace and the strong winds blowing, most of the candles inside the lampposts had burned out, only adding to your unnecessary fear. The thin fog surrounding the roofs of the hanoks were of no help either.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fond of the dark, ‘cause it’s when the stars are most visible?” You can feel Minho pursing his lips from behind you. “I only enjoy it when I’m actually outside in the field, or inside my office, with a lamp by my side,” the astronomer answers, pulling at your sleeve a little too hard when he hears a small noise nearby.

When you finally reach the kitchen, Minho breaths a sigh of relief, lighting up the nearby lamp by the entrance. As you raise the lamp to rack the shelves for a few snacks, you accidentally knock over cup from a low shelf, the contents pouring over an open teapot. “Oh!”

The astronomer jumps at the sound, quickly moving closer to you. “Mama! What was that? Do we have an intruder?” You calm him down, assuring him that there was nobody else in the kitchen. Having to lift the teapot as you wipe the spill, your nose catches on this certain aroma coming from the tiny vessel – a mixture that vaguely smells of Taehyung’s tea and…milk.

You bring the vessel closer to your nose this time, realizing that the pleasant smell was coming from the teapot. Brimming with curiosity, you grab the cup that toppled over and poured in a small amount of the concoction. Hoping that it tastes as good as it smells, you bring the cup to your mouth and try your accidentally discovery. You’re genuinely surprised at how it turned out to be, pouring more and sharing the same with Minho who’s already busy filling his mouth with biscuits.

As you both head out of the dark kitchen, snacks on one hand and drinks on the other, you both decide to rest by the steps of a neighboring hanok. The full moon seems brighter and bigger than usual – believed to be determinative of good luck, but you can’t ignore the unsettling feeling in your gut.

“What’s troubling you, Jungjeon-mama?”

“I had a nightmare earlier. It had the same full moon like tonight. Darkness has enveloped the whole palace, Seokjin and I were walking in our garden, just like the usual and as we were talking underneath the cherry tree, a snake slithers around a branch and suddenly attacks me. I don’t remember what happens after that but the next thing I knew Seokjin was in battle and for some reason I couldn’t come near him or help him at least, and somebody plunges a sword-“ You choke on a sob, inhaling deeply as you continue your narrative.

“And…and he looked so helpless, Minho.” Weeping, the astronomer gently rests your head against his shoulder, rubbing your back gently to calm you down. “My poor Seokjin…my husband,” it’s physically painful trying to breathe, like your heart is being tugged in all directions, crushed, and squeezed all at the same time. Your head betrays you one more time with a vivid image of your husband on the ground, lifeless.

You had taken your rest after your talk with Minho and decided to continue your even if it was already late in the afternoon, trying to push away the images of your dead husband before your eyes. You hear the doors slide open, the sound of wood scraping against wood ringing in your ears, the noise momentarily breaking you from concentration. Didn’t you just order the guards to keep the surroundings quiet? Or more specifically, to not let anyone in?

Paying your unexpected visitor no mind, you continue reading your husband’s past proclamations. “Wangbi.” You recognize the voice instantly. “Yes Captain? What sort of national emergency brings you here?” As much as you genuinely enjoy the company of your mysterious, newly-found acquaintance at the palace, you had plenty to catch up to due to Seokjin’s, hopefully, temporary absence.

You keep your eyes trained on the letters in front of you, still nescient of the captain’s proximity. “I must apologize for disappointing you, Jungjeon-mama, but my unlikely visit at this time of the night is not warranted by an emergency on a national level, but of a personal one.” His final words catch your attention, but you continue your reading. “And must I be the one to resolve your personal whims?” You look up from your work, eyes widening a little at the sight of the captain dressed in commoners’ clothes.

“I assure you, my queen. They are not my own.” What does he mean by that? Surely, he can’t mean you. You don’t have personal emergencies, do you?

“Should I presume your choice of clothing is related to this ‘personal emergency’?”

Jungkook says nothing, instead he grins widely in reply. He bends forward to pick something up and you crane your neck a little to see what he’s brought. In his hands is a silk pouch, golden dragons embroidered on the purple cloth. He places the same next to your desk. “What are you up to Jung?” You ask him, totally confused by his actions.

“Mama, it would do me a great honor if you could open the bag.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then the emergency won’t be going away anytime soon, and for all you know, it could turn into a national one.”

“Need I remind you that you’re speaking to your queen?”

“Exactly why I’m giving you the choice if you want to open the bag or not, Jungjeon-mama.”

Doesn’t seem like it. With the way he speaks of the pouch, it seems as if you don’t have that much of a choice.  You narrow your eyes at him and revert them back to the pouch. “It’s getting late, Wangbi. I think it’s best for you to continue your reading tomorrow,” the captain adds a suggestion to his proposal, sliding the windows open to reveal the night sky dotted with stars.

“How am I supposed to know there is no animal inside?” He doesn’t answer one more time, just sending a toothy smile your way. You too are suppressing a grin, knowing you’re both reminiscing how just a few days ago, he’d successfully coaxed you into opening a box with a frog inside, shouting hysterically as the slimy animal jumps in your face as the whole class erupts in laughter at your reaction.

“Perhaps,” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “But see for yourself, Mama – the sun has already set and the darkness of the night is upon us.” For once today, you finally agree with someone. Heaving a deep sigh, you set the scrolls aside for tomorrow and reach for the bag to place it on your desk.

Under Jungkook’s watchful eyes, you gingerly check the pouch – sniffing, poking, prodding, and attempting to hear what sort of object, or creature, might be inside. The captain resists the urge to laugh at how you warily pry the bag. His chest constricts at the sight, your childlike innocence this very moment too adorable for his heart. He hopes that this moment will last forever, that you find wonder in the simplest of things and rid yourself of the sadness clouding your heart.

You untie the knot with no hurry, fingers still holding the two ends of the cloth together just in case something from the inside tries to jump on you again. Once you deem it certain that no animal is inside, you gently open the package. Neatly folded commoners’ clothes similar to Jungkook’s choice of clothes are sitting inside the bag.

“What am I to do with this?” you ask, taking out the garments that are of the same colors as the captain’s.

“Uh, wear it perhaps?” The man retorts, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Now is not the time to fool me, Captain. I know what you’re supposed to do with clothes. Now, tell me why do I have to wear this?”

“Because we’re going to visit the city – your city!”

“Excuse me? Not at this time of the night! I still have-”

“Please, Jungjeon-mama? If I’m not mistaken, this was included in one of your plans anyway! And you really look like you need a break from taking over the king’s duties, on top of your own. I assure you; we will only be the two people who shall know of this!” He whispers the last words conspiratorially, like he’s telling you something that is tantamount to committing treason.

You can’t deny that he’s made a valid point. Now that you’re in charge of the whole palace, your responsibilities had doubled in number and you rarely had time to just take a breather, your days and nights spent working and attending to your duties. Without further encouragement from the captain, you push him out of the room, telling him that you have to change first.

Jungkook does a victory dance at your affirmation, swaying his hips from side to side as he scurries towards the door, reassuring you that he’ll be waiting outside and that you will not regret this choice. You sure hope you won’t.

With the amount of time you’ve spent with him recently, you had discovered plenty of things about the captain: that he has the eye for the arts, that he completely adores children, and that he is definitely one to think on impulse. Jungkook would do anything that suddenly pops up in his mind, regardless of what the outcome of his actions might be. You realize that was the defining trait that definitely makes Jungkook and Haesoo look great together.

Once you slide the doors open, the captain places a finger on his mouth, silently ordering you to stay quiet. You nod, following Jungkook as he walks on the tip of his toes, wincing when his next step makes the wood below him creak. He looks back at you with a funny face that almost made you laugh out loud, reprimanding him with a light slap on his arm, shushing him.

After having traversed almost halfway across the entire palace, you had one last hanok to cross before reaching Jungkook’s supposed ‘secret passage’ by the west gates. The captain peeks his head from a corner, checking any surrounding guards by the small open space while you rest your back against a lamppost.

“It’s clear, Mama.”

You join him where he’s stood, watching the same guards he’d been observing just now. With your shoulders almost touching, the captain is now fully conscious of your current proximity, his breathing getting shallower by the second. The captain hadn’t really expected you to say yes, and now that you’re here with him, he’s practically jumping in excitement, completely giddy at the fact that you’re spending time with him out of your official duties.

He’d initially meant to go with Haesoo tonight, but had lied to her that he’s been feeling unwell all day and wanted to get some good night’s rest. Now you’re here by his side, sneaking through the guards, as guilt eats at him for lying to such a sweet girl like Haesoo. What Jungkook won’t openly admit though is that spending time alone with you seems to alleviate the guilt he feels for his misdeed to another.

The captain glances sideways to glimpse at you. How is it that you always manage to be effortlessly beautiful? Even when you’re in your royal garments, in commoners’ clothes like tonight, or even without clothes, you always seem to have this aura that simply magnetizes people towards you, no matter what the time, place, or occasion may be.

He wasn’t – isn’t – supposed to develop feelings for you – not for a married woman, and especially not for the queen of Korea. This wasn’t part of the mission. He hadn’t gone through so much in the past just for his plans to ricochet at him like this. Was he really willing to throw away all those years of training just because his heart was always beating faster than usual around you?

Jungkook shakes his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts of self-doubt. He turns his head to look at you at look and puts a smile on his face. “Ready, Mama?” he reaches his hand out for you to take which you accept gladly as he informs you that you both had to run across the open square to reach the secret passage.

The captain gulps when you slip your soft, small hand into his. There’s a small part of him that suddenly regrets his offer, the small action seemingly seeping him further into the fatal void of his emotions. But, undeniably, there’s that larger part of his conscience that celebrates during moments like these with you – his heart triumphs once again.

He can’t fail this mission, not when he’s so close to finishing it. But the more he tries to concentrate, the more he falls and it’s so difficult to accomplish something when his heart and his brain are constantly at war with each other, even if they’re fighting over the same thing.

Jungkook counts to three and you two bolt from the corner of the hanok and run towards the trees. Halfway through the square, one of the guards catches you and orders you two to halt at once. “Quickly!” Jungkook whispers, giving you a hand with carrying your skirt so you could run faster. As the guard sprints after you, you run as fast as your feet could carry you until the both of you reach the bushes and hide beneath the thick shrubs.  

The both of you hide beneath the shrubs, breathless. When the guard arrives at the spot he’d thought you two were supposed to be, he finds no traces of you or any other intruder lurking around, the guard goes back to his post. You let out a huge breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding back for so long.

When you realize you still had your hands intertwined with Jungkook, you release yourself from his grip gently, dismissing the awkwardness in the air with a small cough. You let yourself fall onto a nearby heap of leaves, letting out a breathy laugh. Jungkook soon joins you on the heap, laughing along.

“I haven’t run like that in such a long time!” you squeal, clapping your hands in excitement. Jungkook revels in your enthusiasm as he pushes himself from the heap. “Where to now?” As you finish dusting yourself off, Jungkook looks at you expectantly. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning for us to go over the wall.”

“I promise you, it’s safe, Jungjeon-mama.”

“How would you know that?! I don’t even see a ladder here for us to use!” Your shoulders slump and you slowly back away. “No, no, no, no! We’ll be fine!” reassures Jungkook, attempting to calm your agitation due to the literal obstacle in front of you.

“Wangbi, look, it’s not even that high, see?” The captain pushes his back against the wall and uses his hand to compare his height to the brick partition. There may be a relatively small difference, the wall being approximately a head higher than Jungkook, but the captain easily towers over you, so how exactly does he suppose you to reach all the way to the top?

You look at him like he’s eaten your expensive collection ceramic bowls for breakfast. Maybe he’s had too much milk tea to drink? You’d learned that he’s enjoyed your newly-discovered concoction way more than others in the palace. Perhaps the mixture didn’t yield as much benefits as you initially thought it was? You make a mental note to lessen the frequency of the production of your specialty drink.

You think this through one last time. All this trouble would have been for nothing if you’ll decide retire to your room now. Plus, you badly wanted to see the Chuseok preparations going on outside the palace. You let your fingers rub heavily against your forehead, weighing the possible outcome of sneaking out of the palace in the middle of the night.

You take one look at Jungkook, who’s silently pleading you to continue your journey with his titillating doe-like eyes, then you let your eyes linger over to the wall and what sort of sight it might hide beneath it. You let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that the captain has once again triumphed in dragging you to his acts of impulsiveness.

“Captain Jung Jungkook, you will be the death of me.”

The captain claps his hands with an intense amount of vigor at your statement. He doesn’t falter even with the look of aggravation on your face. You gasp inwardly, maybe he found out where you hid your secret vessel of makgeolli in the kitchen and drank it all for himself! That little bast-

“Come on now, I’ll lift you up.” Jungkook laces his fingers together, hands forming a makeshift pedestal for you to step on. He lowers his knees for your convenience and bows curtly, gesturing you to come closer.

Grabbing onto his shoulders for support, you ease a foot onto his woven hands. He lifts you up with no trouble and you latch onto the top of the wall, swinging your legs over one at a time, eventually perching yourself on top of the brick panel. “See that wasn’t so hard after all, right Mama?” Jungkook should be grateful he doesn’t see you roll your eyes.

Jungkook, on the other hand, agile body and all, practically springs from the ground and hooks his hands easily on the wall, jumps over the partition and lands gracefully on the other side with ease. “How did you manage to do that?!” Your still at awe at his dexterity, eyes wide at the realization that he’d done such a strenuous feat without exerting much effort. “Tell me, Jung Jungkook, were you a thief at some point in your life? A bandit perhaps?”

The captain chortles at your sudden judgment. “No, I wasn’t, Mama. But you’d have a lot of training when you live in a pala-“Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, “w-when you live in a place where there are plenty of walls to climb over.” He’s grateful when you don’t notice the slip in his words. “Now what do I do?” You tap your fingers at your thighs, anxious about what might happen next. You look around. There doesn’t seem to be some spot soft enough for you to land on.

“Jump. I’ll catch you, Jungjeon-mama.”

Once again, you find yourself questioning your life decisions. Perhaps you were the one who had too much milk tea to drink? You’ve never even tried, not even once, tried sneaking out of the palace like this before and now here you were, a grown, married woman, climbing over a wall at nighttime like it’s some daily chore.

As you push yourself off the brick wall, a villager shouts something in your direction, making Jungkook look away from you the same time you jump. You instantly close your eyes in fear, yelling out the captain’s name as you fall.

When Jungkook manages to catch you in his arms, you recite prayers of gratitude to your ancestors for having blessed Jungkook with vigilance, that is, until he falls backward, losing his stepping on a small stone with your startling leap, the sound of his back hitting the ground muffled by the soil beneath him.

As you pry your eyes open, you find out your face is almost touching his. The captain’s usually inquisitive face is contorted into one of grimace because of the pain. You shamelessly take advantage of this opportunity to gawk at the faded scar that sparked your curiosity more than you can admit.

You shuffle on your feet as the proximity of your faces finally dawns on you, your faces so near to each other that you feel his warm breathing fanning your cheeks. “Sorry, Jungkook,” you blurted out, sitting on your knees as you gently shake him by the shoulders.

Panic arises from you when he doesn’t budge at your prodding, especially now that you’re shaking his body with a reasonable amount of fervor, your eyes already brimming with tears. You don’t see his chest moving, nor do you feel any breathing under his nose or mouth. He couldn’t possibly have died from that could he?! Checking your surroundings, you look for something that might have caused damage during his landing. “Jungkook! Wake up, please!” you let your head fall to his chest as you feel a single droplet of tear roll down your cheek.

“Aww, are those tears for me, Mama?” the captain coos, eyes twinkling with mirth under the moonlight.

Your head shoots up in surprise. “Y-yes!” you stammer out, trying not to show any other expression other than annoyance on your face. “And for the record, those were tears of joy because I thought the only person in this world who makes me do the most ridiculous things has finally breathed his last!”

Instead of being threatened by your indignation, he doubles in laughter, body quaking as he does. You quietly stand there watching him, and soon enough when the captain notices your silence, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to stop his amusement. He shuffles to his feet and bows from his waist. “My deepest apologies, Jungjeon-mama. I did not mean to worry you.”

When he looks up, he sees your face just as stoic as your stance, guilt eats at him and he starts to fidget with his fingers. “If- if you’d like to go back-“

“Ha!” Jungkook jumps at your exclamation, your hands clasped together in delight. “How does it like being fooled now, hmm?” he pouts at the sight of your face, your perfectly shaped brow taunting him as he bows again.

“You’re scary, Jungjeon-mama,” the captain grumbles, kicking at a few fallen leaves.

“And so I’ve been told. Come on now! You’ve still got plenty to show me, and the night is still young!” As you tug on his sleeves, the smile that etches on Jungkook’s face is as warm as his heart, your eagerness way to infectious for him to ignore your pleas.

The two of you wander through the streets of the village just outside the capitol’s palace, in awe of the hustle and bustle of the villagers’ Chuseok preparations. Well, you for the most part. The captain had just discovered that this was you first time to witness festival preparations outside the palace. He isn’t surprised though, as he knew each city’s palace is equally as busy as yours during the festival, so he hadn’t wondered how you had never gotten out during the festivities.

Your facial expressions are nothing short of wonder, Jungkook notices, as you practically marvel at everything, like a little girl seeing a doll for the first time. The captain trails behind you silently as you move from one side of the dirt road to the other. You occasionally bump into some villagers on the way who complain about your walking, which unnecessarily alerts the captain side of Jungkook, ready to fight anyone who dare messes with the queen, with his queen.

Jungkook watches as a halmeoni merchant’s stall catches your eyes, orbs widening in marvel when you take a closer look at the accessories she’s put on display on a table. The old lady watches Jungkook’s eyes trained on you fill in with adoration as you check nearly every single piece of hairpin on the rickety piece of wood. She wants to coo at the sight, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment, so she quietly beckons Jungkook to come closer.

She reaches a slightly shaky hand out, gesturing for the captain to give her his palm. She hands him an earth-colored hairpin with a pink flower situated on top. “Give this to her,” she whispers, voice trembling as much as her hand. “To whom?” the young man replies, looking around for the girl the old lady is pertaining to.

“Silly boy,” she extends a hand and pinches his ear, “to her, of course, the girl you love over there,” the old lady motions to you, who’s still busy being enamored by the jade hairpins. “O-oh, we…we’re not…” the halmeoni dismisses him with a wave. “Go on now.”

As the captain takes a step towards you, you turn around, showing him the green hairpin you’ve clipped beside your ear. “Kookie! How does it look?”

He’s momentarily stunned at your nickname you’d called him – a nickname he’s been called exclusively by one person only during his childhood – the same person who’s calling him Kookie tonight, even with the number of years that had passed.

“Kook-“ your words falter as you see the hairpin the captain holds in his hands, captivated by its beauty. “It’s a carnation,” the old lady points out nodding her head towards the accessory you’ve now taken from Jungkook’s grasp. She continues speaking, “they say it’s the queen’s favorite flowers and…” her voice comes down to a whisper, “…rumor has it that the king has tended a garden full of carnations just for her, what a truly lovely man the king is… but don’t tell anyone that!”

Your chest constricts at the mention of your husband, whose presence you yearn for the most. You wish he was here to witness the festivities outside the palace not as royalty but as commoners, just like you and Jungkook tonight.

“It’s beautiful, halmeoni,” you say, touching the pink carnation settled on top of the pin. “Take it, please.” The old lady offers but you decline, telling her that you didn’t bring any coins with you as payment. Jungkook reaches for a few from the pouch tied to his pants but the old lady won’t have it, insisting that she give it to you for free.

“You’ve got the face and the heart of queen, young lady. Take it as a gift from one grandmother to her beautiful grandchild.”

Giving her a bow of gratitude in return for her kind words and the lovely gift, the captain helps you attach the hairpin on your head. The both of you greet the halmeoni with a happy Chuseok and she responds with her own best wishes for the both of you.

As you walk away from her stall, Jungkook notices the loneliness lingering in your eyes. He won’t allow you to be sad now, not when he’s brought you here to be the opposite, so he speaks up, avoiding touching the subject of your husband to mollify your emotions.

“So…Kookie?”

“Oh sorry about that. I just thought it would have been strange if I called you Captain, or Jung…” That he understood, Jungkook doesn’t know what could have possibly turned out of a situation where you blew both your covers.

“But Kookie?”

“I…It’s just that you remind of a friend I had during my childhood who was called that, or at least, that’s what I called him. You know, it’s strange that I actually never knew his real name, or who his family was, or where he truly lived. We had met in the woods once when I got lost trying to follow a butterfly and he helped me back to the palace that afternoon. All I knew was that he told me to call him Kookie, so there’s that,” you shrug as you glimpse at Jungkook, whose facial expression looks like he warrants more explanation.

“Since then, Kookie and I would meet at the same spot he’d found me during the afternoon and we would talk, or rather, I would talk and Kookie would just listen to me talk. On other days we would just play until the court ladies would call me back and we’d have to part ways again.”

“Ah, he was a good listener and a good friend too…Kookie. One day, he just didn’t show up, and I waited there in our old spot the whole day. But he never came, nor did he arrive on the next day, or the day after that. I miss him sometimes, you know? I miss having friends. Occasionally, I wonder how he’s doing, what he’s grown up to be, if he has a family, or children even! It’s a shame really that I never really got to know his real name… for all we know, he could’ve been a Jungkook too, or a Jikook, or a Taekook, or a Namkook, or a Yoonkook!” Jungkook laughs at your endless combinations. “Ah, if I only knew his name, I would have already invited him over for supper at the palace…”

The captain nods absentmindedly, your sentiments reeling in his mind. You were there that day, you waited for him. The captain wanted to sing in joy. In fact, he even more elated that you remember. You remember him. He thinks to himself, ‘Oh Jungjeon-mama, Kookie is closer to you than you will have ever imagined.’

Exhaling as you rest your head against the edge of the pool, you move your focus from the task at hand to the wooden ceiling. You miss Seokjin terribly. It’s been far too long without his touch.

Whether it be a quick relief from the stresses that root from ruling a nation, or sensual moments of intimacies like the night before he’d left, you had a particularly sexually active lifestyle with Seokjin and now with your husband away, the reality of his absence has finally taken its toll on you. You used to wonder how your husband had his libido up and running no matter what the occasion, but he’d always counter with you being far too desirable to resist his primal urges. Now that he’s away, your struggling with the thoughts of missing Seokjin, and dealing with an even greater struggle of trying to pleasure yourself.

With another exhale, you close your eyes as you sink your torso farther down where you’re seated on the pool steps. Your fingers find the sensitive nether bud between your legs, imagining it was Seokjin’s fingers ghosting over your body and not yours. When his face comes into view beneath your closed eyelids, you slide your hands across your chest, your palms knead the supple flesh of your breast. You let the hardened nub of your nipple get tweaked and twisted between your two fingers.

Once again, the royal captain finds himself in another compromising situation. He doesn’t know how long he’s been hiding behind the post with your back facing him, his eyes watching your third failed attempt today at pleasuring yourself.

Earlier this afternoon, as you had retired to your bedroom to take some rest, he heard a moan slip from within. He thought he was mistaken by another questionable noise and tried to shake it off, thinking that his hearing might’ve inevitably worsened after watching over the royal band that rehearsed in the palace’s square the day before. However, as another whimper reached his ears, he knew he wasn’t mistaken this time around, so he ordered the guards situated inside the hanok to do their rounds outside.

Unfortunately, he knew his orders were called a little bit too late as Chaeyoung slides your doors open just as he was about to stop her, and they had both found you on your bed, the covers lazily draped across your body as your hands worked between your spread legs. The pair poorly averted their gazes as Jungkook scurries to close the doors at your orders.

The captain remains still as he watches you from behind. Even with your back facing him, he can vividly picture out what you look like right now, as if he’d just been taken back to the night he watched with sick fascination you and Seokjin in middle of lovemaking. He badly wants to help you with your predicament – the king’s parting words ringing in his head.

“Captain Jung?” Seokjin calls out to the younger man, who’s busy with the final checks on the straps of the saddle atop the king’s white steed.

“Jeonha?”

“Come walk with me.”

The captain is confused by the king’s sudden call for his presence but he complies nonetheless. Seokjin takes a few steps forward, waiting for Jungkook. When the latter catches up, Seokjin begins talking, glancing sideways at the captain.

“I am leaving the security of the capitol in your hands, Captain Jung. I expect that you will protect the city with your life, just like I have. During these trying times, the country needs a protector – someone who will give them security even when nothing is seemingly going right.”

“Yes, Jeonha. You have my word.”

“Also, I knew you were there, you know.”

“Jeonha?” The captain repeats, baffled by the king’s words, absolutely clueless as to what the king was pertaining to. “I knew you were there last night, Jungkook. Outside our room.” The captain visibly pales at Seokjin’s statement, but the former keeps his silence as he racks his brain for an appropriate response. Seokjin hears Jungkook’s profuse apologies next, penitence evident in the captain’s every mention of ‘sorry’.

“I admire the genuineness behind your confession. And that’s why I need you to do one more thing.”

“Anything you ask of, my King.”

“I need you to take care of my wife.”

“Of course, Jeonha.”

“No, no… What I mean is I need you to be there for her. This journey I have to take…it’s too risky, too much peril is involved in this mission that I honestly don’t think I’ll make it out alive.” Seokjin feels lighter at his confession, like some heavy weight has been taken off his shoulders.

“I need you to be there when she needs someone to talk to, when she needs someone to eat with, when she needs an honest opinion on something, when she needs me. My wife… she is very headstrong and independent – traits that I admire most about our queen. But at the end of the day, behind the façade of her unwillingness to yield to anything that is possibly beyond her control, she is but my wife – a woman who needs her husband, just as much as I need her.”

“I know you and I both share the same degree of affection towards _______.” Jungkook opens his mouth to speak, but Seokjin beats him to it. “Understand that I am one with your emotions. It’s alright. I am but a man too, you know, after you strip off the crown and the royal garments,” the king remarks, “Surely, you witnessed that too last night. Must’ve been a spectacle,” Seokjin adds, letting out a small whistle, without forgetting to attach a roguish wink at the end of his sentence towards Jungkook, who shies under the older man’s gaze.

“Sorry for my lack of formalities, Jungkook. It must be my wife’s secret stash of makgeolli speaking, but don’t tell her that! I was asking a personal favor from you anyways, from one friend to another. So… will you comply with my request?”

“O-Of course, my King. I’ll do my best, but please understand that I have no intentions of interfering with your relationship. The queen is a married woman after all…I mean…she’s married to you, Jeonha! I couldn’t possibly compare myself to what you have provided for her.” Jungkook is still unable to grasp the absurdity of it all. Yes, nearly every word the King said is without a doubt laced with nothing but the truth. But he still doesn’t understand what the King trust him with such great task.

Does Seokjin even know who he truly is?

Sure, the king is well aware of his feelings towards you, but was that enough? Does Seokjin trust him that much? If Seokjin only knew who he truly was, would the king even let him stand in the same room as his wife? Let alone attend to her…private needs?

“The moment I had planned of this journey, I had already accepted the consequences of what I am to do. I understand, and she will eventually understand. She always does.”

The captain continues contemplating behind the post. This is wrong, on so many levels. He isn’t even supposed to be in the royal baths now, but the rumored news he had just heard from an informant absolutely warrants your attention. At the same time, he feels a strong calling to help you with your present helplessness. Rumors be damned.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Can I help you with anything, Mama?” Jungkook is relieved as his voice comes out less shaky than he anticipated.

You’re shocked beyond belief at the voice that comes from behind you, nearly losing your footing on the pool steps. “Jungkook! What are you doing here?!” You pant, covering your chest even if they’re barely visible under your milk bath. Regret fills you as you stare at your forlorn robe, too far away to sheath yourself with at least an ounce of modesty.

Jungkook stills, unsure what to retort. He’s meant to bring you rumors of an informant from outside the palace, but now, it seems as if his initial task was long forgotten. ‘It can wait,’ he thinks to himself, your welfare is always his priority. “I-uh. I was doing my rounds…and I heard the water splashing inside… so I had to check.”

Shame floods through you. Fortunately for you, the captain doesn’t see you liken to the shade of a tomato. You’re unsure what pushes you to pour out your emotions to the captain – whether it be the fact that the captain has earned your trust that you’re comfortable enough to be completely honest with him, or that you are left with no other choice but to tell the truth as to why you’ve decided to spend your night in the royal baths. You could care less at this point, whatever the reason might have been, because the words are already spilling out of your mouth.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Jungkook. I am beyond agitated – in fact, I think I have been since my husband’s leave. And on top of that I miss Seokjin. I really do, and it’s not just the kind of feeling that you can temporarily disregard by preoccupying yourself with other things, its…I…I miss him so much because I need him, Jungkook. Now it’s all the more frustrating because the only way I know how to instantaneously relieve myself isn’t working either because like I said… I, I need my husband.”

“Use me then Mama, for your own pleasure. Imagine I am the king, imagine me as your husband,” he pleads.

“What?! I-I can’t ask that of you Captain, that is beyond your royal duties.”

“I’m not asking, I’m offering you my assistance… as a friend, as someone who genuinely wants you to help you relieve yourself of your stresses even just for a short while.”

You sit there silent, contemplating. You hate how he always catches you off guard, easily pointing out the truth that you thought you wonderfully hide. Sitting up straighter, skeptical at the thought of this proposal, you turn around to face Jungkook. “Doesn’t this seem strange to you?”

“Jungjeon-mama, it’s only strange if you think about it that way. I really just want to help you. If you desire so, I can just leave now and forget this ever happened,” Jungkook offers and you already hear him standing from where he’s seated.

“No!” you yell abruptly, taking Jungkook by surprise. Well you didn’t explicitly say ‘yes’ but your answer wasn’t exactly a disapproval of his offer, was it?

“How are we supposed to do this then?” Your voice is small, if he’s not mistaken, he could tell you’re slightly embarrassed because of the whole situation. Jungkook’s mind goes blank. Then again, he really wasn’t expecting you to agree.

“Uh… I guess I could guide you through it? I… I don’t have to go there, I won’t even look at you, I’ll just stay here…while I uh, talk you through it?” The captain inwardly cringes at himself, grimacing at how much he’d stammered at such a short period of time.

“Are you sure about that…”

“Yes, I’m okay-”

“I meant, are you sure you’re going to stay there the whole time?”

The captain’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. What? Are you implying that he move somewhere he can see you? Were you even aware of what you’re saying? Jungkook tries to reassure you and himself that he’ll gladly stay back, watching you from behind. Besides, he doesn’t even know how you’ll react if you make him move nearer and you’ll eventually realize that he’s already half-hard just imagining you naked. Jungkook hums in approval.

“Okay, show me how you touch yourself, Mama.”

“But you can’t see me?”

“I’ll be fine, I can see your arms moving from here. I’ll just try to imagine what you’re doing…” ‘That sounded awful,’ Jungkook thinks, biting his fist at the realization of him not being articulate enough.

“O-okay,” comes your answer as you sink yourself lower on the pool. He sees your arms create tiny ripples on the water with your movements. Perhaps, this wasn’t so bad, after all.

“Imagine it’s the King massaging your breasts slowly as he cups your cunt with his other hand.” Jungkook sees you comply instantly, good girl. He sees you sink even further as you enjoy yourself, soft whimpers escaping your lips. “Now, play with your clit, Mama, slowly rub it in circles with your fingers.” The captain’s chest swells with pride as your head slightly lolls backwards until you suddenly sit up straight again, this time looking at him straight in the eye.

“I can’t Jungkook…this is too difficult. You have to be here.”

Jungkook nearly falls off his seat.

“Mama- I…”

“Take off your clothes, Captain and get your butt here in the pool with me.” Jungkook gets rid of his clothes with the same sense of urgency laced with your words. “Quickly, before I’ll have you dismissed from the royal guards.” You let him undress for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers as you wait for him on the pool steps.  

“I’m here, Mama.” Turning to face him, Jungkook takes notice of your bloodshot eyes. He delicately wipes a tear that rolls down your cheek. The gentle action spurs you to hug the captain, the frustration coming off as tears pouring out of your eyes.  

He attempts to ignore the fact that your chest is blatantly pressing against his, your pert nipples cold against his torso. Jungkook likewise wonders if you’re aware of his fully erect dick now, which is painfully and uncomfortably wedged between your bodies. You both stay like that for a moment, relaxing in each other’s arms, or just you – at least, from Jungkook’s perspective. There are already beads of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cold breeze that entered through an open window.

Ever so gently, he presses a light kiss on your forehead, then on your cheeks and on your nose. “Are you okay, Mama?” the concerned captain asks as you silently rest your head against his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You nod, pushing him forward and making him sit on the steps of the pool.

You pull his thighs apart, making room for you to sit on the meaty muscle. As you lower yourself on his thigh, Jungkook lets out a breathy exhale, feeling your core hot and wet against his skin. His hands shoot out to grab at your hips as he squeezes you lightly, desperate to confirm to himself that this isn’t just the loveliest dream – that you aren’t seated on his lap, gloriously naked as a newborn baby.

He wants to kiss you like this, to show you how beautiful you are, how strong his feelings are just for you. But he controls himself, as you’d probably reserve those lips for your husband alone, and he’s willing to wait it out, as long as you’re comfortable and you don’t feel pressured to do it.

His large hands are warm against your cool skin, gaze steely as you grind yourself against his thighs desperately. He gropes the supple flesh of your breasts, rolling your already hardened nipples between his fingers. Jungkook gives them a pinch before enclosing one in his mouth, tongue swirling all over your areola. Your hands reach up to tug frantically at his hair. “Ah Jungkook, please…”

Jungkook nips at the skin by the valley of your breasts, lips moving south to more time to take one of your tits inside his mouth while he keeps his hand busy kneading the other. “You’re so wet, Mama. And it’s not because of your bath is it?” He observes, swiping his fingers against your folds, shallowly dipping two and removing them from your cunt. “Please call me ________.”

Jungkook slides two fingers inside of you without warning and you quickly clasp a hand over your mouth, letting out a whimper. He lets out a low groan at the sound, clearly just as aroused as you are. He sped up his fingers, circling your swollen clit with his thumb. As your hips jerk, you feel yourself slowly sliding forward, your core coming in contact with his cock. Your thighs tremble at the sensation.

You’re so close, finally! Letting out a satisfied exhale, you urge Jungkook to go even faster as you arch your back, shamelessly undulating your hips on his fingers. You hear Jungkook whisper praises on your skin as you cum on his fingers, squeezing and pulsing around his digits. As you pant heavily, you let your head fall onto his shoulder. You hiss as he pulls his fingers out and trail them across your back, before situating them on your back and pulling you into a hug.

Jungkook unabashedly ogles your tits, completely mesmerized by how they slightly jiggle as you breath. He takes one of your breast in his mouth again, while the other gets groped and abused by his hand. As you squirm beneath him, he suckles on the skin for a moment, teasing you even further.  He pulls away with a pop and tilts his head, grinning at you. “Use your words, my queen. I need to know what you want, what you truly need.”

“I need you.” Jungkook nearly sings in elation, heart soaring as he hears the words escape your lips.

“I’m all yours, _______. Take me.”

With his arms shifting underneath the water, you figure Jungkook has taken his cock in his hand, jerking it off a little before adjusting his seating. He lets the hard flesh press against your core, making you gasp at the contact. His eyes fall close as he slowly rubs himself back and forth the wetness of your folds, catching his bottom lip between his teeth at the feeling.

Getting impatient with his incessant teasing, you take hold of his cock and position it near your entrance. You lower yourself on his cock slowly, mouth falling open at the burning stretch of being breached after quite some time. “You…feel…so…good,” Jungkook says breathily as your pussy squeezes every inch of him until he bottoms out.

You grab him on his shoulders for support, your arms entwining around his neck as you let your fingers get tangled in his hair. You raise yourself until only the tip of his cock is left between your folds and you sink back down onto it with a long, loud moan.

It had proven to be quite the challenge to fuck in the pool because of the water resistance, but with Jungkook’s equally fervent desire to give you your release, his hips start moving in a steady rhythm, matching yours. You were getting close, but not enough to reach your high.  

“Kook, gods…floor now.”

“Can I, ______?” Jungkook asks, dark eyes looking at you almost pleadingly. He places the tip of his cock at your entrance, pausing as he gazes at you one more time. You squeeze his arm beside your head that has you caged beneath him. Jungkook lets out an exhale, grabbing onto your hipbones and slamming inside you without further warning. He fucks you relentlessly, thrusting so deep that your body is jolting forward, his cock hitting your cervix with every snap of his hips. Just then you realized, the water in the pool was clearly holding him back.

His pace doesn’t waver even with his breathing getting more ragged by the second. “Fuck, you feel so good, _______.” He lifts himself, stretching his elbows out to take a good look at you. Jungkook had never thought he’d be able to get blessed again with such a sight. You’re mewling beneath him, his name repeatedly falling off your swollen lips like a prayer. His eyes get trained on your breasts one more time, watching them jiggle with every thrust he makes. The sight only makes him pound into you harder than before, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking on the hardened bud.

You’re already far too gone to care about the cold wind hitting your skin or the slight burn of your skin sliding against the wooden floor as Jungkook fucks you against it. With your orgasm building up for the second time tonight, you push your hips upward, angling yourself so he hits that sweet spot inside you with each movement of his hips.

“Come on, Mama,” Jungkook encourages through gritted teeth, all too aware that his own high is coming to him at breakneck speed, but he collects himself, holding on until you cum first. Your relief is his priority. He slides his fingers between your bodies and finds your nether bud. That seems to do the job. As he continues to rub at your clit, your moans get louder and this time Jungkook is glad that you no longer attempt to hold in your cries, carelessly mewling out the sounds of your passion. Your whole body convulses as your orgasm washes over you.

The captain follows suit, cock going rock hard inside you as he spills his release and throws his head back, grabbing onto your hips and groaning louder than you’ve ever heard him before. You let him ride out his high with a few more thrusts, watching his face contort into pleasure. Wincing as he pulls out, Jungkook falls to your side, panting just as heavily as you are.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Jungjeon-mama.”

You can’t sleep, again. But this time, it’s not because of your own doing. You hear horses neighing and a few yells here and there. There’s something going on outside – a commotion, one which only seems to get worse as you hear the guards attempt to keep the noise at the minimum at this ungodly hour.

Grabbing your robe from the dresser, you tiredly rub at your eyes as you head out of your room. You spot Yunho looking out from the windows of your hanok. “What’s going on? Why is there so much noise?” Dragging your feet across the wooden floor, you walk sluggishly towards the guard who bows curtly to acknowledge your presence but returns his vision to the ruckus below.

“It seems we have a visitor, Jungjeon-mama. Please continue your resting, we will take care of this.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m already awake,” you respond, joining him by the window. As you squint your eyes to see better, an all-too-familiar emblem printed on a handheld flag standing tall and proud, seemingly waving at you as the wind blows.

“Jungjeon-mama!” Yunho calls out as you rush outside. His calls fall into deaf ears, letting your feet carry you down the stairs and towards the palace gates. You’re getting a sick feeling from their unexpected arrival, their presence not settling properly in your gut.

The royal guards get in your way, attempting to stop you from taking another step nearer your visitors. “Mama, please get back to your room.” Jungkook steps forward, shielding you from seeing your unexpected guests. “Move, Captain. It’s only right for the lady of the house to greet her guests herself. So make way, Jungkook. Don’t make me tell you twice.” Jungkook lets out an exhale, hesitating on his actions. He makes a small step sideways, and you look at him. “Do you not trust me?” The captain looks away and takes a larger step to your right, making way, but not before getting closer as he whispers in your ear, “They’re dangerous, Mama. It’s them I don’t trust. Just give me a sign and I’ll behead this man in one strike.”

You nod in agreement, thankful that his bravery seems to add up to the courage you’re lacking at this very moment. You haven’t had a proper look at your guests and now that you do, you’re taken aback by the mop of blonde hair that catches your eyes, the man’s hair unusually matching that of his horse’s.

The man with the pale-yellowish hair alights from his horse, your eyes trained on his every movement. He nods to one of his guards to take care of his steed. Was this man a foreigner? From overseas perhaps? But why does he hold the emblem of the south with him? Had history already repeated itself? You’re starting to get a headache with the number of questions swirling in your head right now, all of which are answered when the man finally looks at you.

“Yoongi?”

You’re rendered speechless. You’re well aware that the present king of the south has a scar on his face, inflicted by none other than Minseok, who had paid for the facial wound with his life, but you never thought it would be this…terrible. The wound is healing, but the scar cutting through his right eyebrow until his cheek was an injury too deep to heal fully. That you knew all too well with the similar mark you have on your side from your childhood.

You gulp, taking another step forward. “What are you and your men doing here?”

“Ah, Jungjeon-mama, surely that’s not how the capitol greets its guests?” You maintain your glare but the present king of the south looks the least bit unfazed. “Don’t worry, my Queen, the pleasure is all mine.” Jungkook was about to wield his sword when Yoongi takes one of your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss at the back of your palm.

You’re startled by the gesture, quickly withdrawing your hand and wiping it discreetly against your robe. “I’m going to ask you again, Yoongi. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi huffs, glancing sideways, “Fine, since you asked so nicely. We’re here to celebrate Chuseok.”

“It’s not until a few more days.”

“Is there anything wrong about arriving a little earlier than expected?”

“Don’t you have your own city to celebrate with, and take care of?”

“The queen is always in charge of the celebrations. But you already knew that. Besides, it’s not unusual to visit your friends during the festival, right? Especially when a southerner is celebrating all by herself in such a big palace.”

Both ticked and apprehended at his words, you clench your jaw as you decide. Yoongi isn’t entirely wrong; the festival isn’t an exclusive commemoration of your ancestors, but it is also considered a time of communal gathering – one celebrated with your families, distant relatives, and friends.

Albeit you and Yoongi don’t share the type of friendship that he implied, it had also been tradition for royalties to visit each other’s cities during Chuseok, but the prideful south was never really one to partake in dealing with simple ethics. On top of that, it was considered bad luck to refuse guests during festivities, especially one as big as Chuseok. And you wouldn’t want to push your luck, not when Yoongi’s arrival is enough bad luck as it is.

“Yunho,” you call, taking your eyes off Yoongi, “ready our guests’ hanok.”

The king gives you a lopsided smirk in return. You turn on your heel after that, unable to take any more of his presence. Yoongi nears Jungkook who maintains his steel gaze at the unexpected visitor and says lowly,

“Pleasant to see you again after so long…brother.”

[taglist] : @aretha170​

© joontier 2020. All rights reserved. 

[meimi-haneoka]

While we see a comparison with SyaoSaku and Akiho/Kaito (They might need a ship name soon), there is also this interesting contrast. Even though SyaoSaku still needs to work on communication, they do have that great level of trust when they do interact. With Akiho/Kaito, we see them having casual conversation with little issue. But when things get serious or concerning, there is some level of dismissiveness and gaslighting from Kaito, much to Momo and all of our detriments.

Thank you very much for posing this question anon, as I think I haven’t said everything I wanted to say in my analysis post, and I will use this space to ramble a little bit more about “that side” of the parallelism in this last chapter...

(long rambling under the cut)

First thing first, they do already have a ship name! :D The japanese fandom has named them “YunaAki”. Why they chose “Yuna” over “Kaito” is not clear, it seems it sounded better. After all, we don’t know which is the given name and which is the last name. As it’s a fake name, it probably doesn’t matter.

Yes, I totally agree with you. I think, probably the whole meaning of the chapter was to show how different can be the outcome for two similar situations, if you keep your heart shut and don’t trust the person you’re supposed to care for.

As you said, Syaoran and Sakura still have some minor communication issues going on, but they’re working on them and they are solving the situation, this chapter was another proof of that. It’s incredible to think that most of the resistance actually comes from Sakura, but...

Syaoran has accepted and decided to be frank with Sakura, to the point of being even too blunt, sometimes. Sakura, instead, keeps sweeping her negative emotions under the carpet, but Syaoran is slowly pulling her out of that behavioral pattern.

What do we have on the other side, the YunaAki side?

We have, first of all, two battered souls who are trying to cope with their past, each in their own way.

One is doing her best to leave her past behind, with a positive attitude, and doesn’t let the occasional moments of discomfort to halt her progress. She might trip and fall because certain scars are simply too deep to heal in such a short time, but we see Akiho being stronger and stronger, everyday.

One...is basically just doing what Sakura does, sweeps everything under the carpet, the problem is that he doesn’t do that only with the negative emotions, he does that with everything. Even the emotions that are supposed to give him joy and happiness. He’s completely, impossibly shut in himself, and doesn’t let anyone in, not even the creature who is supposed to be his ally in his “quest”.

It’s very important to keep in consideration Akiho’s and Kaito’s pasts, when analyzing their behavior, because their pasts still have great influence on their mindsets. Akiho struggles to let go the “I’m good for nothing” mentality that her clan has engraved so deeply into her heart, while Kaito thinks he’s still that brooding, dull, aloof kid who used to walk down the hallways of the Association all alone, watched from a distance by all the other magicians.

In this chapter, those behavioral patterns came out completely in the sunlight.

But while Akiho took her own patterns and decided “I don’t want to be this way, I’ve already changed so much because of you and I want to help you in return”, activating a sort of “positive response”, Kaito saw her getting closer and insisted in barricading himself behind that thin wall that he’s built around his heart. 

It’s not by chance that I wanted to make the parallel with the SyaoSaku situation more obvious with the use of the “knocking on the door” metaphor, since that’s really what I felt when I’ve read the chapter.

We have a boy and a girl in love with someone and seeing that loved one in pain. Both kids try to be of help because they can’t stand to see them bearing all the burden alone. 

And that’s when trust comes into the picture.

I am saying trust, and not love, because I do think Kaito loves Akiho (and here I have to specify again that we don’t know what kind of love is, but at the very least he has affection for her).

While Sakura trusts Syaoran to the point of not losing faith in him even when he revealed to be the one who took the Sakura Cards, or even despite all the dreams with MCF Syaoran she’s having, Kaito doesn’t trust Akiho. He cannot trust her. He’s too afraid of what would entail to let Akiho closer than the safe distance they have right now.

There are many reasons for this.

One, the most obvious: he’s about to die. He is going to die and that, in his mind, is a certainty, because he needs to save her before it’s too late, and even if the time rewindings won’t kill him, probably the last taboo magic will.

There’s absolutely no point, in his head, to get closer to her.

Two, actually accepting her offer for help would mean that at some point he would have to explain why he’s so worn out, and all that’s behind it. With that, he would inflict on her a pain even greater than the one he’s living on his skin. He has carefully avoided to let her know *any* thing about the terrible spell that is at work on her, in order to give her a life as normal as possible, and he wouldn’t nullify that for anything in the world.

Three, he’s terribly afraid of human connections. To the point of turning himself blind to the beating and stirring of his heart. He’s still convinced that he doesn’t have a heart, just like when he was in the Association.

But Momo was clear: no matter how strong you are, or what kind of life you live, no one can ever stay the same, if they’re given the trigger to change. And Kaito has already had that, when he decided on that fateful day, “I’ll go”.

He just has to stop refusing to admit it.

It was painful to see him going in circles, in hope to avoid where Momo was getting at in chapter 51, and the saddest thing of it all is that it seems this is an automatic behavior, he seemed genuinely confused when Momo said “You missed something”. “Missed”, past tense.

Akiho is terribly scary to him, when she runs on her assertiveness and starts making questions. This was obviously not the first time and he knows that she’s damn observant when she wants. Everytime Kaito changed expression, everytime something was wrong with him, she always caught on.

Dammit, she loves him, what else is she supposed to do? She can’t turn a blind eye on him. 

But this is all too scary for him, because she demands a connection he’s afraid of. Letting someone inside of you means to see your comfortable, perfect, reassuring bubble getting turned upside down, because in a relationship of any kind, you are two, not one. Each with their own expectations, behaviors, personalities. While he has already changed his lifestyle to adapt to one that would be healthy for Akiho, he isn’t definitely ready (or so he thinks) to change his heart. And that’s why, when Akiho mentions that she has changed parts of her thanks to him, he is definitely triggered and literally runs away, interrupting her attempt to tell him “I’m here for you. Let me in. Tell me what’s wrong”.

He doesn’t want to hear that she changed thanks to him, because that would force him to realize that he’s changed too, thanks to her. And what’s more scary than aknowledging that you’re not the same person anymore, that you already have a seat ready in your heart with her name on it?

His feelings are most apparent in the “stupidest” things, like going all the way to cook character bento only for her (that's definitely, definitely, not a butler’s duty), or let nonchalantly slip “because it’s you” without even realizing what that implies (and making Akiho blush furiously) (talking only manga side here, the anime had one huge display of what he feels and we all know which scene it is).

You can well understand why Momo feels so frustrated with him, when the situation is in plain sight and yet he turns a blind eye on it.

So gaslighting and dismissive, we were saying. That’s his defensive reaction because he actually feels like the one attacked, in that moment.

And when he realizes that lies don’t work, he just panics, and instead of elaborating a better lie, he totally cuts her short and runs away. He could’ve said “Thanks Akiho-san, but I’m fine, really”. But no.

That explains quite well why he was shaking, after that. I know CLAMP have skillfully thrown that symptom among his conditions worsening, as soon as he left Akiho’s room, so everyone thinks he was shaking because he’s in terrible shape, and maybe it’s partly true, but I don’t think he would’ve been surprised, if the trembling was caused by his health. He knows he’s dying. He doesn’t wonder why he has heart attacks, he knows what causes them.

Instead, with this, he’s so confused that he even slightly laughs, like he can’t believe what he’s actually feeling.

This is gonna be a rough journey, for Kaito (and for us), because the more he goes on and the more his time narrows down, the more he seems on the brink of insanity. He needs someone interrupting this slippery slope by force, someone who understands where he is coming from, and understands his biggest problem of turning away his eyes from his heart.

Y’all know who I am talking about, right? :D