#even the side characters had more depth than him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quimichi · 5 months

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↳ ❝FIRST KISS WITH THE GENSHIN BOYS❝

warnings: slight NSFW - MDNI, some angst (Freminet, Mika & Xiao), cringe, not proof-read cause damn its long

summary: your first kiss with the genshin boys, yes even the harbingers and Mika, x Creator!Reader

characters: all genshin guys + harbingers

word count: 11.618

Aether

Aether's breath catches in his throat as your hand lands on his face. He doesn't look away from your eyes, his gaze still on yours as he takes in your touch with visible delight. He lets out a light, happy sigh as the sensation makes him shiver. Aether leans his face into your palm, relishing the touch. He seems to melt, and with a small whine, he nuzzles the palm of your hand. This makes him smile softly — just one touch and he's already gone to heaven. He closes his eyes, leaning happily into your touch.

"You know I love you...right?" Is what you say, carefully but you want to know. Aether's eyes slowly open as his head remains in your palm. His expression is soft, content, and he looks at you with almost desperate reverence. "Y-Yes, my grace," he whispers hoarsely, "I know." Aether continues to lean into your palm, pressing his face against it. His eyes remain closed, and he just leans into you as he sights loudly and contentedly. The sound is adorable, as is the way he so freely gives himself over to the touch of your hand.

"I am yours," he murmurs, the conviction in his voice clear. "Yours..." he whispers, his lips brushing against your palm. Aether seems to melt into you as your second hand touches his other cheek, his mind foggy and his eyes half-lidded in bliss. His breath catches in his throat; it isn't a breath of surprise, or one of fear, but one of anticipation — of sweet and tender surrender.

Your boy, willingly submitting to your touch; giving himself to you. A soft whimper leaves Aether's mouth, just mere inches away from yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Your Grace..." he whispers hoarsely, his words soft and trembling. You lean in, slowly your lips brush against his parted ones. Aether's entire body seems to vibrate with excitement; his lips part slightly at the contact and a soft, happy moan escapes them. He gently wraps his arms around you, leaning in closer for the kiss, as if giving himself to your caresses is a privilege he has waited an eternity for.

The moment is sweet and tender, as if the two of you share something that nobody else will ever be able to know. Like the whole world is reduced, right now, to just the two of you. It is like a dream to Aether. His body quakes slightly as you pull away, his tongue gliding over his lips hungrily, and the breath leaving his mouth as if he just had a sip of divine nectar. He doesn't let go of you, though; as he gazes up at you with a warm blush across his cheeks, his arms remain firmly wrapped around you, as if he wants to make sure you have no intention of letting go.

"You are divine," he says softly, almost as if he's praying. "I'll never forget this, our first kiss ever shared...."

Albedo

For a moment, Albedo seems to struggle to find a way to express the depth of his feelings. He hesitates until he finally forces himself to speak. "I... love you, Your Grace. Immensely. I would do anything for you. I would give you everything, if it were mine to give."

His words are barely above a whisper. He averts his gaze. There's the softest of smiles on his lips as he closes his eyes for a moment. He's not sure what to say after that. Would anything be enough? Albedo is silent for a moment before he nods.

"If you wish."

Without so much as a blink, Albedo has dropped to his knees in front of you. No longer is there a doubt in his mind nor a shred of hesitation in his stance. There's only the smallest of smiles on his lips. He gazes up at you as if you contain every dream he has ever had in his thousands of years of existence. He wants nothing more than to be by your side, whether it be your feet, your knees, or your lap-- all of them will do just fine.

"The only thing you should give me is a kiss." You sneakly said, half jokingly half serious. Albedo nods softly. Without a word, he lifts his head to close the gap between the two of you. Slowly then quickly, his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss. His fingers tangle through your hair, gently massaging you. In that moment, he does not concern himself with his dignity, nor of his prestige, nor the fact that he is nothing compared to you.

The only thing that matters is you and the warm feeling that settles in his chest. It's as though he is breathing you in. His first kiss, your first kiss, together. Albedo blinks as you two part. Then he smiles softly, as though this is something he's dreamed of for so long he forgot it was a possibility.

"Our first kiss," he whispers, the words almost inaudible. There's a flush on his cheek as he looks down, remembering the feel of your lips on his. His eyes dart between you and the floor, trying to collect himself.

In a moment, he finds himself lost in your eyes. He wants nothing more than to kiss you again. And who would you be to deny him.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham wraps his arms around you, sinking into you. His body shakes, the heat of your skin sinking through his veins.

He's breathless. Speechless. All of that changes when you snuggle up to him, pressing your body against his. He's completely still, frozen in shock and delight. He can do nothing but lean into your embrace. The heat from your body sends his heart soaring.

There's nothing else he wants now, except this... right here...And maybe a kiss. The first one to be exact. Al-Haitham pulls you closer, snuggling harder. His body leans into you, clinging like a drowning man to a raft. He pulls your head closer to his shoulder, burying your face in his neck. Your breathing makes his skin tingle. Your arms around him make every inch of him pulse with energy.

Al-Haitham squeezes tighter, burying his face into your hair. His lips press against your head in a silent kiss. His breath hitches as he feels your lips against his neck. He fights the urge to sink into you, to disappear completely within your embrace.

He is utterly gone. Your touch is pure warmth throughout his body, a constant hum that is as soothing as the sea. He wants more. He needs more.

One kiss is not enough.

He turns his head, kissing you on the lips in the same way, gentle.

He can't let go. Not yet. Never.

He kisses you deeply, pouring his heart and soul into the act. All he knows is that you deserve every drop of love he feels for you. He wants you to feel what he does and nothing more. He kisses your lips softly, tenderly, his kisses filled with affection and the pure, unadulterated love he has for you.

He needs you.

His kisses are deep and sensual, and his mind is a blur. All he knows is that this is right.

You are right...

Ayato

Ayato's smirk turns into a sly, almost mischievous grin. Once again, he takes a gentle bite out of your neck, the sharp press of his teeth sending a shudder through your body. It's hard not to lean into his touch, but you try— it isn't always wise to let Ayato's advances get the best of you. You know him more than he thinks, and you know he's just trying to provoke a response. That's always been his forte; his way of flirting.

"Such a mean tease..." you breath. His smirk widens as his teeth nibble at the skin on your neck, Ayato's body curling around yours and one of his hands settling on your thigh. "I could say the same," he whispers against your skin, his voice low and sultry in a way that should be illegal. Ayatos mouth presses to yours, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip. He holds the passionate kiss for a moment, enjoying the way your body presses back.

He pulls away after a few moments, and looks down on you with his signature smirk. "I hope that wasn't too much," he says with a teasing bite to his words. "I wouldn't want our first kiss to be bad for you, dear."

"Overwhelmed" isn't quite the word to describe it either Instead, there's butterflies in your stomach and fire on your skin as Ayato presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone and nibbles on the soft skin. It's difficult not to lean into him or to moan; he's just too good.

"I'm still trying to figure you out," he whispers, as if reading your mind. He takes your hand in his; though his tone is teasing, there's nothing but raw honesty in his eyes.

"My Grace, you are a mystery to me. But this is exactly why i love you...I got plenty of time figuring you out."

Baizhu

Words fail him.

Baizhu lets out a soft sigh as your fingers run along his cheek. His eyes are glued to you as he blinks slowly in your presence.

He doesn't seem to notice the fact that his heart has been beating quicker than usual since you touched him, or that the faint scent of you lingers in his nostrils. He is lost in you, and only you. Your thumb brushes against his lower lip, causing him to take a sharp breath. His entire body tenses. Not even a breath later, he's letting his head fall against your shoulder.

His lips are parted as he draws in ragged sighs. His eyes still hold no trace of doubt or disdain. They seem to be glazed over just in your very presence. "Is there... anything else... Your Grace... wishes for?" he whispers.

Baizhu's voice is hoarse and low, almost as if he's afraid to speak louder than a whisper out of fear of breaking this peaceful spell.

"Yeah..." Baizhu's eyes widen in surprise, but he leans in just as your lips meet his. He seems to freeze in place, neither of you moving at all for what feels like eternity as you continue to kiss.

His lips are soft against yours, his breath hitching as he kisses you slowly. But then, his free hand moves to cup the back of your head. He pulls you in with new energy, as though his lips have grown hungry for you to taste him like this. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer still. Baizhus entire being seems to pulse at the kiss, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your face against his as if afraid to lose you. Afraid that all those years of yearing for you will dissappear like nothing. That his patience and work didn't pay off. With every gentle stroke of your lips against his, his breath grows sharp and ragged.

His lean body shifts as he opens up his mouth against yours once more. Your tongues dance together as he kisses you deeply, his lips parted to let in your breath.

"Bai-..zhu" His body jerks. Even you speaking his name is enough to break his focus. His tongue pulls away from yours, and his breath catches in his throat. His fingers still clutch at your hair, almost as though he's forgotten how to let go.

He tries to speak, but for a moment, his words seem trapped in his throat. It takes him many, many moments before he manages to speak again.

"Yes...?" he whispers. "We...we should've done this sooner" you say out of breath, this completely made your brain stop working for a good minute. Who knew Baizhu could take someones breath away with only one kiss.

"Yes." He chuckles, "We should've...now...shall we continue?"

Bennett - aged up

His eyes go wide as your fingers begin to softly caress his face; but his expression slowly softens as he looks into your eyes. Suddenly, he feels utterly safe. Like, anything done withing your presence will forever keep him unharmed.

His breathing grows sharp and heavy, as he finds himself unable to keep still, but he forces himself to control his movements, his body trembling with pent-up anticipation. Is this going where he thinks it is? After a moment, Bennett whispers, "You're so beautiful," his voice hoarse and barely audible. He gazes up at your face, his cheeks flushed and his expression rapturous. He seems almost drunk with bliss; every word you speak feels like a gentle caress to him, and he can hardly believe this moment is real.

Bennett's eyes begin to slowly close, as if he's allowing himself to slip into an almost dreamlike trance; allowing himself to feel you and your hands so thoroughly, and to worship you with his touch at the same time. You can't help but softly kiss him. Bennett's eyes snap open at the sensation of your lips against his, and he instinctively leans forward, embracing you deeply. His hands clutch the fabric of your robes, and tears begin to well in his green irises.

His embrace begins to tighten further, as if he's holding on for dear life, terrified that you'll slip away again if he doesn't keep you close.

"I'm-I'm so sorry i shouldn't have-" you hastly apologize. You dont know what came over you, and although you know the kiss was accepted, it was still wrong. "You have nothing to apologize for... " Bennett whispers, his voice breathless and his expression soft with adoration.

"In fact..." he continues, his voice growing more confident, "I'd like to have another kiss, please." He looks at you, his voice cracking slightly and his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Capitano

Capitano drops to his knees, lowering himself until his forehead is pressed against the ground. His arms go limp at his sides, the only movement coming from his shallow breathing.

His eyes snap shut, and he does not dare to open them. "I am yours," he whispers without prompt. His breath is warm against the marble, his words muffled by the floor. The muscles in his legs ache. His head is pressed against the cold stone, but the cold is a comfort. He knows that he deserves to be beneath you. Like no one else.

"You're deserving of a kiss, come here and lets share our first." His eyes fly open, his lips already parted. He stares up at your face, his emotions raging inside of him. His breath is heavy as he swallows. He doesn't dare to ask for permission, but it's written all over his face that he yearns to experience this moment.

He is not allowed to speak up unless it is to obey. His eyes plead. Please, he silently begs.

Capitano stands up and a breath leaves him as your lips press gently against his. You take his first kiss as a matter of course, never bothering to ask if this is what he wanted, because his expression told you enough.

His heart flutters, his cheeks flushed as he pulls your head closer. He kisses you back, his hands holding you close to him. His lips move against yours in sync, his breath coming back to him. It's not even a question. Of course, he's going to kiss you.

He needs to kiss you.

Your lips are soft against his own slightly chapped ones. Capitanos breath catches in his throat, his mind whirling. For a moment, he forgets where he is and why he is here.

It's just him and you.

He holds you even closer, his lips brushing against your neck. He takes in your scent and swallows it down. His heart is thundering in his ears as his fingers dig into your skin.

His heart is racing against his own will. He wants this more than anything in the world. He wants you.

And he has you.

Childe

"You deserve a reward."

His chin tilts upward in hope, his gaze focused on you. "Your Grace is too kind." He doesn't move, and his eyes are fixed on your face. "May I know what reward I might receive? Is it in my power to accept?"

You find that he is almost trembling, and as he looks up at you, his cheeks flutter. "Would you accept a kiss?" His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. His cheeks become a bright red. Childe seems to be on the verge of tears.

"I, um... your kiss... I... yes, Your Grace. I would be honored, but... I'm not sure my lips would be worthy." His voice is breathy, but it sounds sincere. He truly believes this, and it seems he fears that his lips are too rough or too calloused to be worthy of you.

You can only roll your eyes at him again, he's never going change, wil he? So what is left to do was to pull him in out of the sudden and give him his well deserved reward. Childe flinches when you pull him closer, but not because he is resisting you. Rather, it appears that he is completely enraptured by you and your every move. His cheeks are glowing bright, bright pink, and his eyes are fluttering shut.

He melts into you as your lips press firmly against his. His mouth is supple and his lips soft. He kisses you back, eagerly and hungrily. His hands clutch your jacket for support. It seems that you have completely stolen his heart and soul. He gasps when you let go, his eyes fluttering open to find yours. His expression is agape. "Your Grace," he whispers. His breaths are ragged. He touches his lips, like he's trying to feel something after you let go.

He blinks, as if he's still seeing flashes of stars in his vision. His lips are slightly swollen from the kiss, and his blue eyes are bright, like sapphires.

"That... was glorious." His voice is a whisper, "Do it again."

Chongyun - aged up

Chongyun is curled against you, his head resting gently against your chest— his breathing is slow and regular, like the beating of a heart, and his limbs are wrapped tightly around you in a hug.

He is relaxed, but he is still intensely aware that you are the only with him right now. His heart races in his chest— having your warmth and comfort and nearness— makes him happy. Chongyun trembles at the contact of your lips against his forehead, and a soft whimper leaves his mouth. He leans forward slightly, pressing his face tighter against your chest. This is all he could ever want. You are the only one that matters.

Chongyun speaks softly, his voice quiet and trembling, "All I want is to be in your arms for all eternity, Your Grace." "I don't mind that..." and to seal the deal, you give him a gentle kiss. Chongyun responds eagerly, letting his lips linger against yours. His entire body trembles and blushes at your touch, and he can feel his lips burn with a fierce fire.

Your lips press against his with a desperate, almost painful tenderness; he wants to give you all that his lips can offer, and for once, he doesn't mind the awkwardness that comes with it. There are no insecurities, only heat, only fire, only you.

All that was missing in his life was your lips, and now, he will never let go.

Cyno

At your command, he does as told. Cyno sits down beside you, not needing any further instruction than that. He sits facing you, so you can see him in all his glory. You are everything to him. And so is he to you, and you're about to show him.

If he had his way, he would never leave your side again. He would stay by your side forever and make sure you would never feel unloved again. Cynos and yours connection is one of a kind after all. And he is deeply aware of your loneliness. His breath hitches in his chest as you take his hand in yours. He looks at you, his eyes gazing up at you with reverence and love that would make the moon itself envious.

His every breath stops in his chest at the contact of your lips against his knuckles. His hand trembles in yours. He leans into the touch, wanting nothing more than to be with you.

He turns his hand so that the inside is facing upward, hoping you will kiss it again. But instead you place his hand against your cheek.

"Cyno...kiss me please." His mind seems to shut off. All that matters is you and your question. He leans forward, and as he does, he lets his hair fall forward to curtain his face from view. Then his lips are soft against yours— a gentle pressure, followed by a light brushing of skin before he pulls away again.

His breath is short, quick. He blinks, seeming shocked that he just did that, but the surprise quickly melts away as he leans in again. His kisses only grow in intensity. He lingers there, his mouth against yours, breath mingling as if he wishes to absorb you, to make you his, before he reluctantly pulls away again.

He whispers something as if it has come from his soul; something only you could ever hear.

"I love you from my head tomatoes."

"....."

Dainsleif

Dainsleif lowers himself to the ground before you, the very image of respect and devotion. He sits perfectly poised, his hands clasped together neatly in his lap. All the weight of eternity seems to rest upon his shoulders, as if even in this moment he is a protector, a guardian. Despite this, his heart races at your command. He feels alive for the first time in weeks, as if everything he's ever wanted is finally here.

You.

"I missed you Dain..." you pout, "you were gone for weeks." "I'm here now." Dainsleif smiles warmly. "I'm here with you, my everything." His words are sweet as honey on the tongue, but there is no mistaking the passion behind them. "Were you lonely?" He asks. There's a slight note of concern in his voice. Dainsleif could not bear the thought that you suffered even a little because he wasn't by your side constantly.

"Yes!" Dainsleif's smile widens as you race towards him, one hand lifted slightly, as if ready to receive your impact. As soon as you reach an embrace, he wraps both arms around you, pulling you close as if there's nothing else in the world.

Dainsleif doesn't mind the pressure of your grasp. If anything, he seems to welcome it. Your embrace is the sweetest thing he has ever known.

He holds you tight, face buried against your shoulder. His breathing quickens slightly with joy. Your soft lips press against Dainsleif's and for a moment, time itself seems to slow.

This is where he belongs. This is where he was always meant to me. His lips press against yours, and he kisses you passionately, as if it might be his last kiss ever. The world could be ending and all Dainsleif cares about in this moment is you. He melts into your kiss, his breath ragged as if he has been drowning and has finally found air.

He's home.

Diluc

Diluc sits across from you, gazing at you over a candlelit dinner. "Shall I pour some grape juice, Your Grace?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle beside his place setting. He wants you to be comfortable. After all, you deserve only the best.

"Yes please." Diluc pour you the perfect glass. There is no room for error when he is pouring you your grape juice, and the dark ruby liquid pours without so much as a drop spilled. He was to shy to mention that this was created with you in mind..."For our love." His words are more than a toast.

They're a prayer.

He raises his glass again, drinking a little of the red liquid. His eyes are on you, watching closely as you match his sip, then watching the way your throat swallows as you enjoy the drink. You're everything to him.

But one thing is missing, and you can't help but get it for yourself. His heart skips a beat as you lean across the table, his lips parted and breath quickening in anticipation. It's only the two of you at this table. You're his entire world. And all that matters is your love.

The beverage forgotten, his lips find yours, and Diluc's body melts at your touch. He is nothing but love in this moment. "I love you," he whispers as he pulls back.

His forehead rests against your own. "Please— tell me you love me too, Your Grace." He waits for your answer, his heart on his sleeve, open to you.

He wants more than anything to be loved by you in return. He waited his whole life for this moment, please make his dream come further true.

"Of course I love you too silly."

Dottore

His lips curl into a sly smile. "I was certain you would be pleased." Dottores arm drapes over your shoulder as he shifts in his seat, bringing your body closer to him. His fingers run along your hair as he stares into your eyes. "And now I'm here to please you," he whispers. Your stomach flutters at the words, and he seems to realize it, because his eyes light up. His fingers trail down your arms. "I can show you what I mean, if you'd like."

"Please do..." You're breathless, he took the air out of your lungs by just his words alone.

His lips curl and he closes the gap between you. His breath is hot against your face, and it makes your heart beat faster. The tip of his mask caressing your cheek. "I know you wish to be worshipped," he murmures. His red eyes seem to dance in the light. "What I can offer you cannot be described with words," he whispers. He leans down slowly, letting the sensation of his lips on your skin sink in.

"But that doesn't mean I can't show you exactly what I mean." Dottore's eyes flicker as his lips brush yours, lingering just long enough to let the sensation sink in. He kisses you hungrily, his fingers gripping you tighter, as if terrified to let you go. His lips are soft, but he keeps his hold tight. His breaths are quick and shallow.

He pulls away finally, but his mouth is parted slightly and his eyes are still on yours. He seems breathless, eager, completely devoted. And maybe a tiny bit horny too.

"Shall we continue?" He leans in, whisper in your ear, voice raspy, "or was it to handle for my little grace~?" His hand slips under your clothes, brushing against the skin underneath.

Freminet

A shudder runs through Freminet, and he trembles. It seems like he's trying to resist crying, but the painful emotions are overwhelming him. He wants to bury his face in your chest— but he doesn't dare to move. He just stares straight ahead, his breath hitched and his expression so full of pain.

"Please, Your Grace," Freminet finally whispers, breath hitching, fighting back tears. "Please...make it stop. I...I-can't handle it anymore..."

He wants you to do something— but he doesn't know what he wants. He only knows he needs you now, more than anything. Usually in moments like these he would handle it alone deep down in Fontaines waters, but he found other comfort. Freminet shifts as you offer your arms, his eyes locked on yours. He wants to feel the warmth and safety of your embrace, and the only thing that stops him is the fear of disrespecting you or angering you in some way.

His muscles tense, his heart beating faster and his throat catching on every breath. But the feeling of your open arms and your eyes is just too much. Slowly, almost tentatively, he rises, crosses the distance between you and him, and falls into your embrace. Freminet buries his head in your chest, his sobs muffled into your neck. He leans his entire weight against you, needing your warmth and your arms to soothe him.

He clings to you, his muscles tense and trembling. His whole body shakes as he sobs wildly, clinging to you, needing you— needing to feel safe and loved.

"Don't worry, you will have me with you forever." Freminets eyes fly open like a struck deer. He stares at you in the pale light, tears rolling from his eyes. He trembles against your embrace and your words.

The kiss is all it takes for him to melt. He leans into your touch, trembling in your arms. There's a faint flush on his cheeks and he leans into your touch, his body soft and relaxed.

Then Freminet lifts his eyes to yours, his pupils flared. He leans towards you again. His lips are already parted, his eyes burning with emotion. He wants to kiss you again.

You're the only one he trusts 100%.

Gorou

Gorou leans into your touch as his breathing softens; he seems completely and utterly at ease. He closes his eyes as he takes in the sweet embrace, and his mind drifts to thoughts of other things he would like to do with you. Like kiss you

He nuzzles into your lap, content to be held but also eager to please you. His tail wags slightly, he seems at ease withing your presence.

"You must be tired, hm?" You whisper as you gently scratch his ears. "No, my grace. You... You are my energy," Gorou whispers softly, his eyes still closed, his thoughts wandering with curiosity.

"I haven't felt this alive in ages. I don't want to leave you, not yet at least. It may not seem like it, but I'm wide awake."

Gorou opens his eyes and glances up at you as he tries to maintain that aloof expression, but if you look closely enough, perhaps you'll see the slightest of blushes spread across his cheeks. Gorou's eyes widen in surprise at the contact of your devine lips against his, but he doesn't back down. His heart threatens to leave his chest and he smiles into the kiss, his hands coming up to caress your face as he savors this moment of first-time passion. If you could hear the thoughts in his head, you'd hear a silent scream of delight.

This was what he'd been waiting tons of years for, Gorou thinks, his mind racing with excitement as he eagerly returns the kiss, tail wagging excitedly.

Heizou

He leans back into your embrace, pressing himself into you. It's clear how comforting it is for him to be in such close proximity to you, his eyes closed and his chin on your shoulder. He seems utterly content to melt in your arms, his arms wrapped around your waist. He's so small in comparison to you, but so utterly precious. Heizou breathes heavily against your neck, his arms squeezing slightly as he kisses your skin. His fingers dance down the side of your neck and shoulders, his eyes gazing up at you lovingly from where they are tucked against your shoulder.

He continues to kiss you, gently nibbling at your neck as he does so. He seems determined to express as much affection as possible when he's so close to you. Heizou looks up at you softly as he gives you his first kiss; his fingers lightly brushing your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His heart is pounding against his chest, adrenaline rushing through his limbs, and the rush of blood to his head makes it all the more difficult for him to concentrate.

His kiss is gentle and tender, and he lingers for a moment before pulling away to breathe some air. He looks up at you with eyes filled with love and adoration, the expression on his face clearly showing how much you mean to him. Heizou stays silent for a moment, his cheeks flushed and his heart still skipping a few beats. He bites his lip and looks away from you nervously.

“…that was my first kiss,” he says softly, as if admitting some sort of personal failure.

After a beat, he looks back at you directly again.

“…I hope you didn’t mind.”

"I'm so glad you trust me enough to share this with me." Heizou's cheeks deepen into a shade of red, if that is even possible. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, his eyes staring at you nervously from beneath their lashes.

"Yes... I trust you enough to share it. I'm happy that it was you."

There's another long quiet pause as Heizou gathers his courage and gazes up at you. "…Can we do it again?" he asks.

Itto

He tells you everything.

Your presence makes him chatter endlessly, and he feels more alive when he is in your presence. He speaks about his day, and the antics he has been up to. He talks a lot about his gang members, and how proud he is to be their leader.

He speaks so much that he forgets to breathe and has to take a moment to catch it again. You notice him catching his breath more than once.

In his lap, you can feel his heartbeat. It's faster than usual. "Catch your breath, we don't want you fainting do we?" hes to adorable, acting more like a puppy than a oni sometimes. He tries. He tries to speak more quietly, to pace himself and not speak so fast. But just you sitting in his lap is making him so excited that he can't hold it back.

Your presence is overwhelming him, and he wishes to show you how happy you make him feel. Itto just wants you to know how much pleasure it brings him to be by your side.

Soon enough, he's about to lose his breath again, and you're not going to have it. With one quick motion your lips touch his to make him stop talking completely. There isn't a thought in his head anymore. When you kiss him, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side slightly.

He is at your will, completely. The only feeling that surges within his body is the fire that's burning his cheeks, the heat in the bottom of his stomach, and the quickening of his heart.

No matter how much he wants to do something for you, he is helpless right now. Itto is in a state of utter bliss, and he feels like the weight that has been so heavy inside of him has been lifted.

"Whoa-! That was awesome your Grace! Of course you're gonna kiss the one and oni Arataki Itto hahaha! I have the best lips around, no one can compare to me. And i just kissed you! You just kissed me?! This is grea-"

"Itto shut up-"

Kazuha

Kazuha stares intently at you as you consume your tea, his gaze soft like sunlight in the middle of a dark night. With you, he is content. He seems hesitant to say anything first in fear of disturbing the peace he treasures so deeply. Instead, he sips his tea, glancing at you every now and then while keeping his body pointed away from your gaze.

It seems he's simply too embarrassed to look upon you directly, as if your beauty would blind him the moment your eyes meet.

"You know my taste Kazuha. Thank you for gifting me this tea." "Anything for you, Your Grace." The words are spoken so softly that it almost seems like a whisper.

Kazuha's eyes trail around the room but always seem to come back to you. He still seems to have trouble meeting your gaze, but it's undeniable that he's relaxed in your presence. He takes another sip of tea, nodding. "Anything else you need?"

"A kiss...Kazuha you have been gone for several weeks and I...I missed you." The tea seems to catch in Kazuha's throat as he glances at you. He almost flinches away from you, as if you've caught him red-handed. In reality, there is nothing he could be hiding. He is yours and only yours. His cheeks flare from pink to red, but he doesn't look away. He stares at you, almost hungrily.

"Your Grace..." His voice seems to catch in his throat and his body suddenly tenses up.

"May I...? May I please kiss you?"

You nod. Before you can say anything else, Kazuha leans in, meeting your lips almost desperately as he presses his body against yours. He seems hungry for your touch, as if he hasn't been able to eat in days; starved. At once, all tension and shyness melts away as Kazuha simply holds you close, his mouth moving like a hungry beast's.

His every move seems to be like that of a man famished and his lips against yours are like a man dying of thirst. He seems almost desperate in his need to prove your love to you. As you moan, he seems to become more energized. His lips move faster against yours. The force behind his kisses almost makes you worry he'll suck away your soul.

He whispers softly in between kisses, "Yours..."

Kaeya

The wound isn't major, but it bleeds enough to warrant attention. Kaeya watches in fascination as you patch the mark, his breath shallow. It's easy to tell how much he craves this attention from you.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he murmurs. He's not quite looking at you, but his eyes can't help but trace your lips as you tend to the wound. God how needy he is. Kaeya glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours. He can't help the feeling that he's trying to memorize your features: the lines in your face, the subtle pinkish hue on the skin of your lips, the dark lashes that grace your eyes. You're so close, close enough to kiss. He's not sure he can keep his eyes on you, but it's too much of an effort to look away.

"You should be more careful next time. You can't always run into danger like this...You worry me..." Kaeya only smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He knows he needs to be more cautious. He'll be more cautious.

"Next time," he mutters. "I will be more careful...Your Grace." He leans forward, making sure his promise reaches every fiber in your body. You have to believe him now.

Kaeya's kisses aren't quick. He lingers, making sure you're aware of his affection. You can feel his care in each touch, the way his fingers grip you as he kisses back. His desire for you is apparent, and the ferocity of his kisses only proves it. Time stops when you pull back. Kaeya's breathing is shaky, a smile lingering on his lips. He almost wishes you'd never stopped.

"I..." Kaeya trails off. He almost wonders if it's appropriate to say what he means to say, as it feels out of place somehow.

"Your Grace," he says softly, trying to hide the catch in his throat, "I love you."

The words feel like a foreign language coming from his mouth, but at the same time, it's something Kaeya has wanted to say since you first met.

"Oh, i know."

"Oh...."

Kaveh

"It's outstanding! The new room for studying in the library is...amazing. my words fail me!" "Really?" Kaveh brightens upon hearing this, and his heart skips a beat.

"Thank you, your Grace," he replies softly. He had worked very hard on that piece and he's delighted that you have noticed the effort he has put into it. "I just wanted to do a little different, i wasn't sure if everybody would like it but you and Nahida really helped my confidence..."

He smiles and looks up at you. "You deserve a reward!" Kaveh's breath catches in his throat at your words. All of his worries vanish the second that you mention a reward; he looks up at you eagerly, his gaze focused on you as if he were expecting magic.

"A reward?" he asks softly. "I—"

His breath grows deeper and his heart pounds faster at your promise of reward. A gift from you would be far more than he ever deserves, yet he would cherish it for all time.

"Come closer and get it~" kaveh complies instantly, scooting closer to you as he looks at you expectantly. His eyes are wide and fixed on you as his breathing grows louder. Whatever you're about to give him, he's excited for it. Kaveh's breath catches in his throat as you move your hand over to stroke his cheek, and he freezes. His lips part slightly as his breath deepens, but still he manages to hold back.

You give him a gentle, romantic kiss on the lips, and Kaveh feels the heavens shift. His whole life, all of his experience, every moment, and every emotion has built up to this moment. His heart hammers against his chest, his entire being is set aflame. The taste of your lips on his is a drug, one that he is now addicted to.

"Was the reward to your enjoyment?" What a stupid question, of course it was for him. You just like to tease. Kaveh's head spins for a moment, as he's left breathless by your kiss. He manages to blink several times, blinking away the tears in his eyes, and nods frantically.

"Y-Yes, your Grace. It was wonderful."

He licks his lips and gazes at you intently, his expression one of longing and adoration.

"I would like more rewards, please."

Lyney

"Aha! I see you're impressed, your Grace~" Lyney says cheerily. "You may be powerful, but I still have my tricks...tricks that might put a smile on your face. Would you like to see another?"

Lyney smiles cheerfully at you, "I hope the public will enjoy those tricks as much as you."

"Well... I'm nothing if not a showman. But before that, I should inform you; this magic trick of mine is a little... flashy," Lyney says with a bashful blush. "Would you still like to see it?"

He looks up at you eagerly, his tone a mix of anticipation and worry. He can tell you have no idea what's coming.

"Yes!" Before you can register what happened he dissappeared, you look around, he's nowhere to be seen. And then out of the sudden, poof! There he is beside you, giving you a gentle kiss. You're startled at first, but you quickly lean into the kiss, your cheeks growing hotter and your heart begin racing as you feel the soft weight of his lips against yours. The feeling sends your mind spinning, and even the tiniest sensation of Lyney's breath upon your cheek is enough to set your head spinning.

You lean back slightly from the kiss, a soft smile teasing the edges of your lips. "Lyney— you little scamp," you say in the tiniest, most adorable tone. "Was that really necessary?" He laughs lightly. "Absolutely."

You smile sweetly at him. "It was a lovely kiss, I must admit," you say with a small blush, still smiling at Lyney as he looks down at you with twinkling eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," Lyney replies with a small smile, still glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he fluffs up his feathers.

"Would you like to see another one of my tricks?" He asks, his tone playful.

Mika - aged up

"No need to be nervous, Mika" you giggle

Mika can't suppress a tiny, nervous laugh as he tries to relax in your presence. He's never been more self-conscious in his life, but he's willing to endure that if it means satisfying you.

Oh dear...they way they giggle...if they keep doing this i--might even blush.

His gaze flickers to your hand on his cheek. He considers nuzzling against you, before thinking better of it. He'd risk humiliating himself by doing something so bold— but if you were to touch him again, or even just look at him, he knows his composure would break and he'd become a trembling, needy mess.

"You're my favorite..." Your words strike him with a sharp impact. He freezes, his heart racing. In a breathless, raspy voice, Mika whispers, "Really, Your Grace?"

Your approval causes the tension to melt away from his face; it's now clear how much your words have affected him. "I don't deserve to be your favorite," he says, his voice shaking.

"I'm...nobody's favorite."

"But you're my favorite..." you lean in slowly, you don't want to startle him after all. He stares, frozen in place, as the realization of your intentions hits him. He's never kissed someone before— but he wants to kiss you. He has always wanted to kiss you.

His heart thunders in his chest as you bring your face closer, and his face glows bright. The world spins and time slows down, and suddenly the only thing that exists is the two of you, alone in a bubble of intimacy and trust.

As your faces meet, he hesitates. It's terrifying, but he wants it just as much as you do. He closes his eyes, and leans in. He touches his mouth to yours in a tender, careful kiss. His lips are soft and yielding, and he leans closer, wanting to be as close to you as possible. He kisses you again, the sensation of your lips making his head spin and his body tremble.

He can feel you smiling, almost laughing, in the way you kiss back. It feels like an intimate secret between the two of you— and in that moment, all he knows and wants is you.

He draws away, breathless and trembling.

He's your favorite...

Neuvillette

"You look tired..." "O-Oh, it's nothing serious, Your Gr-" Neuvilette's sentence is cut off. He glances up at your face. "Your Grace... I haven't slept in six days."

"SIX DAYS?" You can't help to be concerned for his health, his organs. Simply everything. Neuvillette flushes deeper, almost red enough to be mistaken for a tomato. "Y-Yes, Your Grace... I've hardly slept lately. You see, there has been much work to be done and-- I just, a-anyways, it's nothing to worry about. I'm not tired. Truly."

Yet, his eyelids seem heavy. There's almost a flicker of worry in his eyes. "Come here and take a nap, now!" "Y-Your Grace. I'm-" Before he can continue on, Neuvillette leans forward and presses his forehead against your chest. There's a moment of silence; only the rise and fall of your breaths breaking the stillness. His eyes are closed.

He seems so tired now. "Your Grace..." he whispers, already beginning to drift off. Neuvilette's eyelashes flutter over his shut eyes as he's kissed. For a second, he is confused at first, not quite knowing what happened to him. He would never admit it, not to himself, but something about your touch stirs his heart. His lips purse as if to let out some sort of soft noise, but it doesn't leave him; a single sigh escaping instead.

It seems he too enjoys your touch. He is not a stone. Neuvilette's lashes flicker over his eyes once more before he finally slips into a deep slumber.

(I am not proud of this one---)

Pantalone

"Oh....this coat...so beautiful! Thank you so much!" "I was worried… you might not like it. I did so much research, looking for the perfect fabric, to make sure the fit was perfect," he rushes to explain. He has been worrying all day; your smile, hearing your satisfaction with his gift is the greatest thing in the world. Its so unlike him but he's proud

"I'm glad you like it. It costed me a million Mora but it was worth it." A smile breaks out across his face, as if the sun itself has risen before him. Pantalone holds back a smile. This is a moment he has been waiting for. You put the coat on. You look absolutely stunning. The coat compliments your figure, your frame, and makes your complexion look radiant.

You don't even notice the heat that comes to Pantalone's face. All he can do is take it in; you're perfect. Absolutely perfect. "I have to say," Pantalone's voice is soft, almost reverent.

"You look absolutely stunning." He reaches out and caresses the fabric of the coat, as if he is unable to keep from touching you in some way at all times. "It was a perfect choice." He leans in closer, unable to contain himself. "I'm really proud of myself."

Pantalone's lips meet yours. His heartbeat comes to life, quickening with desire. He wants to be closer, to never let himself leave your side. He wants to touch you again and never let go. And spoil you, how you deserve it. His hands caress your cheek. Your hair. Your neck. Your shoulder blades. He tries to be tender, to be gentle, to savor every moment; but he wants so much more than a simple kiss.

His hands trail down, running over your back, your curves; finally, his palms grip your hips. He pulls you closer, wanting nothing more than to be pressed against you. The whole world disappears. All that exist are the two of you, the way you fit together. The way you want, so desperately, to be one.

"I'll bring you new jewelry next time if i get kisses like this again." He chuckles.

Pierro

He kisses your hands, the feeling of your skin against his own almost breaking Pierro's composure. Only the fact that you are here, alive and well and in his presence stops him from melting into a puddle at your feet.

He's been waiting for this. You're everything to him. "Your Grace." He whispers again, not caring if anyone should come into the room. He kisses up your arm, his lips warm against your skin. The act feels sacred, divine. You don't know if you'll ever be touched like this again for as long as you live.

"Your Grace," Pierro whispers again, voice breaking. He tries to compose himself, but he can't. The emotion of the moment feels too real, too raw.

He's waited for this moment for so long, never quite daring to believe that it might happen, and yet...here you are. You're here.

"May I please...kiss your lips." "Yes..." Pierro needs no further encouragement.

His face is close to yours; the heat of his breath is enough to send shivers down your spine. His arms wrap around your body, pulling you close as his lips meet yours. The feeling is heady, almost overpowering, and it's as if he's holding his breath as he waits to see if you will pull away or push him away.

But you don't.

Pierro pulls back, only to kiss you again. He's kissing every inch of you— your eyes, your cheeks, your neck, your collarbone.

Eventually, you find yourself pressed against a wall. His body is so close, he's pressing against you. Not hard or with any aggression. He's just close enough to feel your body against his, and to feel your skin breathe with each passing moment.

Pierro's hands are on your neck, touching you just enough that every part of him craves to be closer.

"Y/n...."

Razor - aged up

Razor's cheeks tinge pink at the realization that's he's still never actually... kissed anyone before. Damn Bennett for asking if he had ever kissed someone. The fact that his first kiss will be with the person he's been in love with all this time is simultaneously daunting and sweet, he thinks to himself.

Razor nervously leans forward slightly, his lips parted. He hesitates. Razor can do it. Just like lupical Bennett explained.

Slowly, he starts to lower his head towards yours, his eyes still trained on yours. His heart is pounding in his chest, his cheeks still bright pink as he prepares to finally touch your lips for the first time. After countless hours of practicing in head, it's finally actually happening.

Your breath hits Razor's face, warming it as if he had been cold for centuries. *Now... or never.* In a flash, Razor closes the distance between you and him. His lips softly touch yours, the gentle brush against yours making him feel weak at the knees. The sensation of touch... your taste... your very being… are completely new to Razor, he never had the chance to experience such things. It's completely, and utterly, intoxicating.

He keeps the kiss going ever so slightly longer than he’d thought he would, his eyes eventually fluttering shut and his hands slowly raising to hold your face, his touch becoming softer than ever. Razor doesn't let you answer, instead immediately leaning down towards your neck for a series of rapid, soft kisses. This time, he doesn't stop until he has to take a breath for himself. He looks at you, breathless, then looks down at his hands, as he caresses your cheek.

"Do you think....we can do it again?" he asks hesitantly, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. "Razor really....really liked it, your Grace."

Scaramouche

He leans in, inching closer toward you. You can see the muscles in his arm tensing as if pushing him forward. You can see the way he bites his lip and averts his gaze, the way he hesitates but is unable to break away.

Then, all at once, he is close. Too close.

He can't feel anything but your breath on him— only your warmth against his throat.

He can't feel his own breath, but he's sure yours has left him utterly breathless. Scaramouche's lips brush against yours. They linger there for a second, for two, but that's all you need before his lips have sealed with yours. He tries to resist but is unable. His tongue meets yours, and you know you are his first kiss. He's clumsy, but so are you.

You're both a mess. His fingers grasp the fabric of your robes, squeezing hard as if to keep himself there. He can't stop himself; he can't stop his eyes from fluttering shut or his lips from parting slightly in a soft sigh. His lips against yours feel as though they belong there. His tongue against yours feels like the greatest thing. The way his body presses up against yours; the way his hands wrap around the small of your back; the way his eyes open and gaze into yours with such intensity— how could this ever be wrong?

His lips finally part and he pulls away. He gasps for breath, his cheeks flushed and his hair in disarray.

And now *you* don't know what to do. Scaramouche looks as if he's a few steps off fainting.

"Fuck....You're mine now, got it? Mine."

Thoma

He was unaware— or maybe, he just didn't care— how exhausted he actually was. Maybe he'd been like that for quite some time without realizing it. In his exhaustion, he didn't even try to sit up, and instead, he only leans back even more. It's comfortable...in an odd way. He doesn't know why you'd worry about him, but he can't find a reason to argue back against your judgement.

"Okay," he whispers. Your touch is welcome, and so he does nothing to stop you. He closes his eyes as your fingers move through his hair, and as you sit next to him, he even leans slightly against you. He isn't a particularly heavy man, for his muscles are mostly show and not all that practical.

Even in this position, he looks so weak to the point that you could snap him in half like a toothpick. But he doesn't care; right now, he has no care for his pride — just you. And for once, he even doesn't care about any work.

"Now, sleep ok?" You give him a good nights kiss so he can finally take his well deserved rest. He relaxes entirely, his mouth hanging open as his eyelids grow heavy and he slumps against you. And, if he had had any energy left, he would have blushed furiously at how forward you were in the kiss.

As you say, he rests. He does not fight sleep, despite how unusual it was to just... lay down like this. But if it meant to be closer to you, he would do anything like this again and again.

He remains like this, his body limp, head on your shoulder but his fingers grasping at your lap. And dreaming of more kisses.

Tighnari

Tighnari's eyes flutter shut. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, tail swishing back and forth as you stroke his ears. His face is a mask of utter relaxation and peace. His words sound like they're being spoken through honeyed syrup when he says "Do that again, please."

Tighnari's eyes stay shut as you pet his ears again. He sighs loudly and leans into you, his ears pressing into your hand. "Good boy." You giggle as you give him a soft kiss in return.

A deep blush covers Tighnari's face. His tail waves faster as your lips touch him. He's clearly loving every moment, and he can't bring himself to break the contact.After a moment, Tighnari's lips part and his voice leaves his throat. "Your Grace… I think I love you."

His eyes are still closed, but he's blushing madly. He doesn't know what that means, but if all these intense feelings and emotions are what love is then he wants you to know, and quickly. After all, this confession means eternal love.

"I love you too." "I love you… more than I could ever describe," he whispers, leaning closer, lips brushing gently across yours. "I love you with every breath I take. I love you with every thought in my mind. I would love you with my last, dying breath. I love you, with all that I am." His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, nor does he ever let his hands leave your body. His every word is a vow of loyalty, a love poem, the purest expression of devotion and adoration.

He is the most beautiful sight you have ever seen, and he is yours alone.

Venti

"You wrote a song for me?" The smile is almost too much for Venti to contain. "Yes... yes I did, your Grace," he whispers, his tone so quiet that any other voice would have called it inaudible. "I-if you don't like it, y-you can say so," Venti says, his voice quieter than ever. He can't quite bring himself to meet your eyes as he extends a folded sheet of paper to you.

"I could never not like anything you give me." Venti's expression grows even more precious as you tell him the sweet, sweet words he's always been dying to hear, so much that he can barely keep himself upright as he offers the paper to you. His hand is shaking; the song, he worries, might be too basic, too ordinary..."Here, your Grace," he offers to you, with all of his adoration and respect in a single gentle gesture. "Please... please read it, for me?"

You will, you take the paper carefully and read it with pure excitement. "Oh Venti..." You're struck, struck by his words. You know Venti has his way with words but this...The wind god's eyes grow wide at your words. You make him feel more seen, more known, even than the world he has known for millennia! He smiles softly, a gesture that you can almost swear brings the whole world light with its beauty.

"Your Grace? You like it?" he whispers, almost afraid to hear your answer. "Like? I LOVE IT!" Venti lets out a soft gasp as you grab him in your embrace. You let the sheet slide out of your hands and clatter to the ground as he throws his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder as he kisses you back.

He clutches you tightly, holding onto you like you're the only person in the entire world— the only person whose approval— whose affection— means anything. It's hard to keep himself quiet; he wants to let out all those centuries of held back emotion in some sort of yell or scream, but he keeps quiet for you.

Venti kisses you back again and again, and the moment your lips finally break apart, he clings on more tightly, burying his face into your shoulder.

"You truly like it?" he whispers. "It took me so long to write it— I did it just for you— I made it so that you could feel what I feel for you. I wanted you to know me as I know you. I don't want to be a mystery to you. I want you to know me. I want you to be a part of me.... I want you to be the world to me and the air I breathe."

Wriothesley

"Were you ever kissed before?" Surely he has been, look at him. You were so sure of it. But no. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink. "No, Your Grace," he says, but he looks away instead of meeting your eyes. The faint scent of cherry blossoms wafts about him as he looks at you for a moment, and then looks away.

"I've never... I've never had a reason." He mumbles, as if trying to justify it to himself and not you. "No one could compare to you." Wriothesley's voice is quiet, but his words are a declaration of his obsession. Before you can answer, he says, "Oh, Your Grace..." His voice is breathless, almost a murmur. Then he looks at you— and suddenly, he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. His lips are soft and warm, pressed against you with no reservations, no hesitation. His entire body is leaning against yours, as if he wants you to know that he is devoted to you, and you alone.

His lips are still pressed against your own, and his eyes are closed. Wriothesley's fingers curl in your hair as he kisses you hungrily, greedily, as though it is something that he has always wanted. His lips move quickly, passionately, and his breathing grows more frantic as his body is pressed against yours. His passion seems to burn, as though the temperature in the room has suddenly increased. He is completely lost in you, forgetting the world of Teyvat.

"That came...unexpected." His lips move away from yours, and he opens his eyes, slowly. He's close enough to your eyes that they're practically touching, and yours are open too. He blinks, and it seems to finally dawn on him that he's probably just kissed you. His face flashes bright pink once more.

"Oh." He says, and then quickly leans back. His cheeks are flushed. "Apologies. Your Grace."

"....nah you're good, keep going."

Xiao

"You are deserving." Xiao's heart swells with appreciation and awe. His chest is a tight-knotted ball, writhing with emotion at your praise. He nods, feeling unworthy. In his heart, he knows that he isn't, but his humility runs so deep that he simply can't believe that he's deserving of the love you offer him.

"A-am I, Your Grace?" he whispers, tears pooling in his eyes. This isn't the response he expected, and the weight of it fills him with gratitude. "Yes." The single, one syllable response is enough to move Xiao to tears. He nods, blinking back his tears. He raises his gaze, and his heart thumps in his ears as his eyes focus on you. He struggles to swallow his pride and speaks, his voice hoarse.

"Thank you," he whispers, "thank you so much for choosing me." "I will always choose you, no matter what." "You will...?" The words leave Xiao breathless. His heart fluttering in sync with the sound of the wind fluttering in the trees outside. "Y-you're..."

He blinks away the tears filling his eyes, staring at you like a deer at headlights. A million words are caught on the tip of his tongue, but he hasn't the courage to speak them. Instead, he nods. "I will always choose you too, Your Grace. I will always be yours." His eyes flicker to meet yours, for only a moment, then avert. Xiao's eyes go wide with disbelief, his breath catching in his throat as he registers the kiss. His face turns red, and his heart beats against his chest with such force that he feels his head throbbing with each strike.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but his mind is filled with an electric thrill. He can still feel the heat and tingle of your lips, and even as you pull away, his brain is filled with your taste on his tongue.

"Was I deserving of that, Your Grace...?" he whispers, breathless.

"...we need to work on it, yes, yes you were."

Xingqiu - aged up

"I see you brought me a new book!" "Ah..." Xinqiu nods as he turns his head back towards you. In his arms is a book bound in ivory leather. "I thought you might enjoy it, Your Grace...It's name is 'A song for the dead'."

"I... thought its stories would suit your interests." Xingqiu's voice is soft, though clearly nervous. Nervous he might picked the wrong one. "I thought its stories of betrayal, and vengeance would captivate you. That is all, Your Grace."

Xinqiu is careful with his language; speaking slowly and deliberately. Despite his efforts, it's clear that he is anxious and eager to see how you receive the gift. "Thank you." And you thank him with a gentle kiss. The sound of Xinqiu's breath catching in his throat. He is stunned by the gentle kiss, completely unprepared to offer any sort of response. After a moment, he leans into the kiss.

He does not press himself onto you, but allows you to dictate the movements. In his mind, he thinks, You deserve someone greater than him; it's only natural that hed seek to please you. He offers no resistance to your will. Xingqius eyes close as he seems to sink deeper into the feeling. He has had these fantasies, but always dismissed them as impossible.

He does not dare say as much, instead his breathing becoming deep and steady. His eyes remain closed. After a moment of silence, he speaks again, his voice soft and hushed. "Your Grace..." "Yes?"

"I..." Xingqiu difficulty finding the right words. His eyes open, though they don't meet yours. He seems to be searching for the right thing to say but only ends up stuttering. "... Your Grace... I... I would ask you to accept my vows as your loyal devotee. I would ask that you'd allow me to be by your side, until the day you tire of my company and wish to be rid of it. I would ask that you would allow me to serve you, and fight for you. To honor you and your word..."

Zhongli

Zhongli stops short once he hears your words. For a moment, he seems not to understand their significance towards him. Once he does manage to decipher the meaning, however, his heart flutters in his chest.

"You... You love me?" There. The words hang between you both, as though they could be blown away with the slightest gust of wind.

Zhongli is frozen for a moment, almost afraid to breathe for risk of shattering the quiet. But yet... even though he's petrified, he doesn't seem to wish for it to end.

"With every fiber of my body." A light breeze passes through the courtyards, almost like the flutter of an angel's wing. Zhongli takes it a sign for him to follow his impulses, to throw caution to the wind.

In a singular instant, he leans forward, his hands clasping your face. His thumb caresses your soft lips as though tracing a holy scripture. Zhongli has waited six-thousand years to feel this moment. The moment that would change everything. He leans in and presses a light kiss to your warm, pink lips. "I love you...I..." Zhongli's words are cut off as he leans in, his lips pressing against yours.

His heart threatens to burst out of his chest. His mind is swirling with a thousand thoughts. The moment lasts only a second but feels like time itself has come to halt. Even as he breathes, it feels like every air his lungs take is sacred... as if this could be his last moment before his final curtain.

Zhongli clings to the kiss as if it's the only thing keeping him in this world. As if he could disappear without your words, your touch. Zhongli kisses you once more with just as much passion as before. He doesn't want to let go, yet you both need to breathe. Once you pull apart, his hands remain on your neck, gripping your skin as if he will never let go.

Zhongli is unable to speak. His vision is swimming with tears of joy, yet his breath is shallow and his heart fluttering.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice so soft that you must lean in simply to hear it.

"I love you too."

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@junejunejun

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busket · 2 months

Text

I understand personal preference and that some people just don't like ships with men, and that's ok! but I'm annoyed at the implication from some fans that labru has less depth as a relationship than farcille or any other wlw ship in dungeon meshi, and the idea that people are only shipping it as a joke, or because they're horny, or because they're misogynistic and don't want to look at female characters, etc etc. I've seen people call it like, "bloodlust obsession that turns to horniness" and it made me realize that the people who don't ship labru don't understand their dynamic at all. labru shippers didn't just pull this out of our asses lol

a lot of the story around kabru involves how he and laios are perfect opposites of eachother. NARRATIVE FOILS, if you will. everywhere kabru thrives (social interaction, charisma, the surface) laios completely fails. and everywhere that laios is most successful (in the dungeon against monsters) kabru keeps getting killed. not only that but their desires are mirrors of each other too: laios grew up bullied by humans and wanted to become a monster, kabru grew up dehumanized by his villagers and then the elves, so he wants to affirm his identity as a human being.

despite how kabru should be repulsed by laios due to his hatred of monsters, he's drawn to him instead. kabru spends the entire story trying to get to laios to talk to him and to get to know him. firstly he knows laios is closest to defeating the dungeon lord and needs to sus out if he's a good person, but he admits that he really wants to be friends with laios too, not just to determine his virtue but to see what value laios sees in monsters. he wants laios to share his interest in people, he wants laios to be interested in him back. kabru never had any true bloodlust or desire to kill laios, he was prepared to go that far if laios wasn't a good person, but once finding out that he has good intentions kabru spends all his energy trying to help laios instead. and when you consider that kabru spent his childhood believing he was half monster because of how he was ostracized in utaya, his curiosity about how laios could possibly love monsters feels so much more personal.

and for laios, he's not used to anyone taking an interest in him. people are constantly telling him he's weird, and the person he believed to be his best friend told him he couldn't stand him. he misses falin so dearly because she thinks he's the coolest man on earth, so meeting someone and being told "I hate monsters but I still want to know YOU" would have an impact on him, I think. in postcanon they become good friends, kabru becomes laios' right hand man to help him with more of the dicey social aspects of being a leader. laios asks him to stay by his side and help him, and kabru says "yeah, that's what I've been doing this whole time"

I wouldn't claim that a romantic relationship between them is CANON, but I wouldn't even say that about farcille either tbh (and I love farcille just as much so don't come for me lol) this isn't a comedy crackship that yaoi fans just made up. laios and kabru are really multi dimensional characters and they're made to reflect eachother in every way, even down to their physical design. so it's not out of nowhere that people ship them

#dungeon meshi #labru #MY INSANE YAOI RAMBLINGS

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rockpaperimpala · 3 months

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So about Netflix's the Last Airbender....

I am literally so confused you guys. You made me think I would HATE this show. And I LOVED it. Me. Known perfectionist and hater.

Katara was lovely. Yes, she started as a more soft spoken character than her cartoon version, but she was still passionate and hopeful throughout, just visibly unsure of herself. I think people were thrown off by this actress' natural way of expressing herself, which is Different from animated katara for sure, but not bad. Then she spends the whole season growing in Confidence and Fire. I Adored her fight with Paku, it really did feel like a payout of the whole season's development, and the bending kicked ass!

The Bending Kicked ass!!! The martial arts was fun and fast and creative and exciting! It looked SO good. That alone would be enough reason for me to watch and enjoy any show.

Zuko's actor was fantastic. He really captured the rage and confusion of this 16 year old banished prince. And there were so many Added moments between him and Iroh wich to me enriched their relationship. Like YES! This is why I'm watching, to see more of them, to see things done a little differently.

Iroh facing the consequences of his actions at Ba Sing Se!! That's what I'm here for!

Zuko's relationship with the men on his ship! That's what I'm here for!

The Extra layers we get to Ozai manipulating his children!

Also no one is talking about Admiral Zhao, who I had SO much fun with. I feel like they slightly fleshed out his character in a really dramatic way, really developing the hubris and frankly insane grasping ambition of someone who would kill the moon. I completely enjoyed this wilder, less controlled version of him, who comes up through the season from basically nothing and no one!

I am OBSESSED with King BUMI and his anger and disillusionment with the world! Like this was SO real. Living a hundred years of futile war would do that!!!! It is one of my favorite changes to the whole series. This new layer of emotion and character depth is what I'm here for!

Sokka was SO funny. He literally had me laughing out loud so often. That actor GETs Sokka, and GETS the way his humor is delivered. And is also able to tap into the more vulnerable side of him. People said he was "obsessed" with leadership. WHAT? That is a young person trying desperately to do his best and to try and find his place in the world, to figure what he has to offer. I loved his pride at hearing the Mechanist say that he would make a good engineer, and the sweetness of the moment that Yue's father says that he can be a hero without being a warrior. Sokka does so much growth in this series, in understanding himself and life.

And his chemistry with Suki was adorable!! I even like him and Yue (who was a totally unexpected sweetheart, despite her terrible wig)!! Like he has that same ability that Sokka has in the original to Connect with people.

Aang was great! He WAS fun loving and sweet and funny. I don't know what you guys wanted. Cartoons are always bigger and more exaggerated than live action. People's eyes swell up an, birds fly around their heads, and there are funny sound effects. That larger than life quality is the strength of animation! You have to look for different strength in live action. Like the SUBTLETIES of the acting choices. This little actor brought so much kindness, innocence, and strength to Aang.

And I FELT his frustration at being asked to do this at 12, his fresh hope anytime it looked like someone more experienced would be able to help him and no one did, and that's why he didn't learn waterbending this season, because he kept waiting for an freaking ADULT to show him the way, to help him carry this immense burden, but every adult he meets asks him for help instead, asks him to carry it himself, and then the finale hits and he realizes that there won't be any adults helping, he does have figure this out himself, and he makes the hard choice, takes on responsibility more than his years and offers himself to the ocean spirit, and he might have been lost entirely if not for Katara!

And that counter running theme to the show pays off: that he doesn't have to do it alone. He may not have more experienced guidance, because the adults have let him down again and again, but his friends will be with him, and they will figure it out together!

This is there throughout the series! Katara tells him this about learning waterbending, when he says he still wants to wait. Bumi tells him this in the palace at Omashu, and Aang sees the faith he has in his friends repaid!

I like these changes! And the show still found time for silly fun adventures and character building moments.

The show was never going to be the animated original. That is already a Masterpiece, and it frankly did NOT need to be adapted at all. I did not WANT a live action adaptation. I was adamantly convinced I would hate it. But the changes that they netflix show gave are what I Iike most about it. If I want to see Zuko say "you rise with the moon, I rise with the sun," I will go watch the animated original, because that version is perfect. And now, if i want to see Zuko say "Lu ten would have been proud to have you as a father," and see iroh pull him into a tight hug, I can watch this live action version, which is very good too. I'm going to disagree with most of the people on here and say that the Netflix's Avatar: The Last Airbender, DOES capture the heart of what we liked about the original show. It's spirit, fun, excitement, and characters. And the changes made are the reason we should be watching.

#avatar the last airbender #natla

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triflesandparsnips · 6 months

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So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

#good omens #good omens book #versus #good omens tv

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junggunz · 11 months

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do not disturb | 🔞

──★ ˙ ̟ VINNY

Chest pressed against your back while his thighs straddled your waist, keeping you firmly in place, the leisurely paced thrusts Vinny gives you lets you feel every inch of his cock. Dating and intimacy never occupied much space in his mind prior to meeting you; it was only after the two of you got closer, he realized how touch starved he was. Feeling your skin on his felt like it was enough to send him over the edge sometimes. So inconscient in the realm of pleasure, all of his surroundings cease to exist to him. Not even the loud clattering of his cellphone as it vibrated against the hard surface of your nightstand.

Vinny’s hand tightly grips your neck as he ruts into you from behind, pulling you back onto his length while he remains draped over your body. Your toes curl from the depths he reaches inside of you, your head falling forward as you bury your face into the pillow to muffle your noises. With the ways your slick walls squeezed around him so tightly, it was obvious to the both of you that your orgasm was just on the horizon.

“Fuck, I wanna cum in you so bad.” Vinny whispers in your ear, gradually rolling his hips against yours faster while his fingertips press into the side of your throat. The mere sound of his voice has you clenching around him once again, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you. “You want it too, don’t you?” He questions mockingly before his posture straightens, the angle of his thrusts shifting ever so slightly and pressing into your sweet spot.

“Nng, yes— please—cum inside.” You sibilate, writhing beneath him; torn between wanting him to keep fucking you like that but also knowing that the ball of heat blossoming in the pit of your stomach was ridiculously close to bursting.

It doesn’t take long for Vinny’s pace to dramatically pick up as he feels your walls closing in on him, his hips smacking into the plush flesh of your ass and the sound of skin colliding with skin fills your bedroom. A bunch of garbled nonsense tumbles from your lips as you get closer and closer to your peak until you find yourself falling headfirst into your orgasm. With a few more toe curling and deep thrusts, your sensitive walls feel the warmth of Vinny’s seed spill inside of you.

──★ ˙ ̟JAY

Phone on silent, you had been giving Jay the cold shoulder all day after getting into a petty argument with him. You may have started it but it didn’t change the fact you were upset and wanted to be alone. However, when he shows up at your doorstep with your favorite snacks as a peace offering, you can’t help but let him in. To combat the awkward silence between the two of you, you had opted to put on a movie but of course…the atmosphere would change when an unexpected intimate scene dragged on for way longer than needed in the film.

Jay has always been someone of little words, so it doesn’t shock you in the least bit when he wastes no time, pulling you in for a heated lip lock that eventually escalates to him hauling you off to your bedroom. The intensity behind each kiss manages to convey the emotions that Jay couldn’t bring himself to put into words for you. That fervent energy seamlessly bleeds into your system, your nerves in a frenzy as his hands glide along your body.

“I don’t wanna kiss all night.” Jay murmurs softly against your lips when he reluctantly parts from you. Glancing up at him through your lashes, the demure expression on your face is so sweet, he’s almost convinced that you’re too shy to give in to desire but your body says otherwise; pulling him closer.

Clothes practically fly off, any semblance of restraint being stripped away with each garment that’s carelessly discarded on your bedroom floor. Jay’s cock twitches in his palm as he mounts you, taking in your current disheveled appearance that matches the current state of your sheets. The tip of his length nudges your entrance, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he finally descends into the warmth of your body; his hands placed on either side of your head. He wants to close his eyes at the pleasurable sensation of your pussy greedily sucking him in, giving him no other option but to push into you. But his eyes are trained on the way your face contorts in the perfect mix of pleasure accented with just the faintest hint of pain.

The moment your face reads as nothing other than bliss, he knows to start moving. Jay’s pace starts off as steady and even, each thrust becoming deeper with the encouragement of your soft moans. If Jay hadn’t been so intently drinking in the sounds of your satisfaction, he would have missed the way you meekly whispered for him to go harder and faster. Thankful for his own attentiveness, he was more than happy to oblige to your request; his own greed to feel more of you was making it impossible to keep the mild pace.

“Too much?” Jay asks you between groans, his hips now relentlessly pounding away at you. Quite honestly, he doesn’t want to ease up on you, but with the way your moans had dissolved into just little whimpers and whines, he needed to make sure you were still feeling good.

“No, please keep going. I’m gonna cum—” You plead breathily, glossy eyes meeting his as your legs wrapped around his waist.

The way your walls pulse around his length as your climax approaches almost make him blow his load. And hearing the most vulgar words fall from your lips in a honeyed tone has his full balls tightening as they slap against your ass with every harsh thrusts he delivers into you but the notion of being able to feel you cumming around him is just enough to get him to hold back until you finish.

──★ ˙ ̟JOKER

“Ugh, fuck!” Joker growls into your skin, his teeth latching onto the flesh as he spills his seed inside of your gummy walls; the familiar sound of his phone ringing cutting his post-climax bliss short. This was the second load he had given you since the two of you had woken up late in the afternoon. More than satisfied with the session, you lift your hips off of him, but the moment you do so, his grip on your hips tightens and keeps you in place.

“Who said I was done?” He questions in a low voice, his breathing slightly uneven as it fans against your clavicle.

“We’ve been in bed so long— and Wooin is calling.” You mumble, confusion settling in your already muddled mind while you try to recover from the back to back orgasms Joker had coaxed out of you.

“So? I’m still so fucking hard. We’re not finished.” He tells you, tuning out the sound of his phone ringing and making you very aware of his cock throbbing against the walls of your sensitive pussy.

A small yelp of surprise falls from you when Joker tosses you on to your back, looming over you hungrily as he kneels between your spread thighs. With the ironclad grip he has on your hips, he easily lifts them off the bed, your weight shifting to rest on your shoulders as he aligns his length with your messy hole right before slipping back inside of you. Your walls rejoice at the feeling of having him inside you again, unable to contain your elation to have Joker continue to make you feel good.

From the start, he thrusts into you deep and hard; having no need for build up when the two of you were already so wound up. Erratic thrusts send your sensitivity into overdrive, shaky moans pouring from your throat and mix in with the sound of your bed frame knocking into the wall. Your eyes roll back into your skull as Joker pulls your hips toward him so you could meet each harsh snap of his hips. He presses into your sweet spot just right. As you keep squirming from the constant stimulation, Joker growls in annoyance; his already tight grip on you becoming even more firm.

“Stop moving around so much or you’re not cumming again.”

──★ ˙ ̟WOOIN

Perhaps you should have known this was coming when you made the conscious decision to ignore Wooin’s calls. But in your defense, your hands were a little busy at the moment and your mind was elsewhere.

When he shows up to your place to check on you, he’s less than pleased to find you wearing one of his shirts as you lay in bed selfishly pleasuring yourself. The only reason he called you was to see if you were down to fuck; but you had the nerve to blow him off for your fingers? He’s pissed and he makes it known when he stalks toward you, taking advantage of the fact your eyes were closed before moving quickly to yank your fingers out of you then flip you over so you were laying on your stomach.

“I’ve been trying to call you all day and this is what you’ve been doing?” He scoffs, giving your ass a harsh slap that makes you yelp. “And when did you steal my shirt?”

“I took it as collateral when I found out you’ve been hooking up with whatsherface. You could have just called her.” You groan in annoyance as you look over your shoulder at him with a small scowl.

“Aw, are you jealous, baby?” He coos mockingly as he’s already undressing; his cock already hard from watching the little show you put on. “I thought I told you it doesn’t mean anything getting head from other girls. Your pussy is way too good for me to wanna fuck anyone else.”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, questioning why you even bother putting up with Wooin but the moment he props you up on all fours and slides inside you, you remember why. The mean, relentless strokes he delivers have your cunt ardently squeezing around him, your mind going blank and your back folding into a deep arch so you could feel as much of his cock as you could. Ass high in the air while your cheek is pressed up against your mattress, you’re practically drooling from all the pleasure you feel. The bruising grip he keeps on your hips doesn’t even register in your mind as painful when he’s fucking you so thoroughly.

“Aren’t you going to thank me? You know your fingers are nowhere near as good as my dick.” Wooin says from behind you, the smirk on his face so evident in his tone; you didn’t even have to look at him to know he was wearing the most smug expression.

“Shut up.” You respond in a snappy tone, which provokes a small chuckle from Wooin. Sneaking one of his hands between your legs, his fingers spider their way to your clit and rubbing the sensitive bud in circles at the pace he knows you love. You bite back the shrill moan that tickles the back of your throat, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing how good you were feeling. The way your sopping pussy desperately slurped up his length was enough of an admission to how much pleasure he brought you.

“I’ll shut up after you make me cum.” He tells you in a dallying tone, eyes fixated on the way your ass rippled every time his hips snapped into you. A hum of contentment vibrates in the back of his throat when he notices you pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Being no stranger to your body and tendencies in the bedroom, Wooin knows he’s got you right where he wants you—dumb, fucked out, and desperate to cum. You could suppress your moans all you wanted, act like you couldn’t stand him, and swear that you were gonna block his number but your pussy creaming all over his dick would always give you away.

And besides, if you truly didn’t want him to stop by, you would have changed the pin code for your door long ago.

#windbreaker x reader #windbreaker smut #vinny hong scenarios #vinny hong x reader #vinny hong smut #jay jo x reader #jay jo smut #jay jo scenarios #windbreaker joker #joker smut #joker scenarios #joker x reader #wooin x reader #wooin smut #wooin yu scenarios #junggunz.txt

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hold-me-lovely · 3 months

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how they coax you back to bed

featuring: gojo satoru and geto suguru

warnings: none?, sfw, fluff, they’re so in loveeeee with you </3

jjk x g/n reader

a/n: this was super fun. I’m still getting the hang of my characterization of jjk characters but I think I like how this turned out. let me know if you want any other characters with this prompt

Gojo Satoru

the feeling of harsh sunlight hitting your face greeted you as you slowly opened your eyes. the tv remote was still loosely in your hand. somehow, you had managed to keep a grip on it throughout satoru’s nightly ventures. you vaguely remembered the night starting with the two of you in bed, bickering about the movie you’d be watching. eventually, you had clicked play on the first recommended comedy you had found and kept the remote glued to your side to ensure toru didn’t try anything.

the last you recalled, you had been leaning on his chest, head tucked against his neck with his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. the last you recalled. that was before you had both fallen asleep and the true depths of his clinginess came to the surface. gojo satoru in an unconscious state of being was like a magnet, finding you easily and determined to remain next to you. throughout the night, every movement you made was met with two of his, every shift away leading to grumbling and a long leg thrown over your hip. there was no escape for you.

although this was a nightly occurrence, the position you woke up in changed every morning, telling a new, harrowing tale of how he managed to find you once again.

this morning was a new one. as your eyes adjusted to the bright lighting, you spotted toru’s white hair peeking from the blanket and finally made the connection between that and the weight on your leg. his head rested on your upper thigh as his arms wrapped around your knees, a content look on his face. you chuckled at the fetal position he had managed to contort his long limbs into. it was always constant entertainment with this man.

you debated staying in bed with him but the ache in your bladder won that battle. you attempted to quietly shift out from under him but you moved no more than a millimeter before you heard sleepy grumbling followed by the grip on your legs tightening. you looked down and saw one of his eyes peeking up at you and quickly closing. “how long have you been awake, satoru?”

you rolled your eyes at his attempts at snoring and gently peeled his arm off of your leg. you stifled a giggle as he pretended to unconsciously roll over, his body weighing down on your legs. you whined, “satoru, I need to pee.”

he only continued to ignore you, his snoring getting louder. after feeling you struggle for a moment, he peeked at you once again, “I don’t even know a satoru so who are you talking to??”

you rolled your eyes with a huff, carding your fingers through his hair, “baby, please let me go.”

he pretended to think it over, tapping his chin with his free hand and looking up at you through his lashes, “promise you’ll come right back?”

you nodded eagerly, “I’ll use the bathroom and come right back, I promise.”

he hesitantly rolled off your leg and you hurried to the bathroom before he changed his mind.

as soon as you finished and swung the door open, you were immediately being lifted in the air. you grabbed at his arm and yelped, “toru, what the hell?!”

you could hear the grin in his voice as he princess-carried you back to the bed, “just making sure you came back.”

Geto Suguru

for some reason, thursdays were the hardest for suguru. they were so close to the end of the week and yet not close enough.

you had grown used to the routine of your alarm going off 30 minutes before suguru’s as a warning. you had learned quickly that one alarm was never enough. he reminded you again this morning.

the shrill of your phone going off woke you up from your position on suguru’s chest immediately. you haphazardly reached towards the nightstand before managing to turn the alarm off. as soon as you silenced your phone, you felt him shift onto his side, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back into his chest. he muttered sleepily, “yours or mine?”

you grinned as you turned to bury your face in his chest, “mine.”

he sighed happily and his grip on you loosened, knowing he would get to stay with you like this for a bit longer. his hand remained on your waist while the other shifted upward to rub circles on the nape of your neck. he smiled as you went limp against him, knowing you’d drift back to sleep soon. he couldn’t help eyeballing his phone on the nightstand, tempted to disable his alarm to keep you here. sadly, he knew you had work and opted to leave it be. as he held you, his eyes fluttered and he fell back asleep to the sound of your breathing.

his alarm went off too soon for his liking. as soon as he felt you begin to shift as you woke up, he squeezed his arms around you and rolled you on top of him. “suguru, wha-” you were interrupted by him pressing you against him tighter, kissing the top of your head before feigning unconsciousness. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.” he mumbled with his eyes closed.

you whined, “I have work this morning.”

he hummed, his eyes still remaining closed. he tried to fight the smile that threatened to take over his face at the sound of your morning voice trying to ward him off. when you continued struggling to roll off him, he rubbed your back slowly, “shush, pretty. some of us are trying to sleep.”

he chuckled at the sight of your pout and your prompt smack to his arm. still, your efforts weren’t enough to loosen his grip. finally, you gave up, slumping and allowing your head to dangle off the side of his body. you grumbled, “whatever, I give up. it’s too early to try to fight you right now.”

he smiled at his victory, gently lifting your head back onto his chest to make you comfortable, “I think you wanted me to keep you here.”

your response was muffled, but he heard no sounds of denial, continuing his gentle ministrations on your back. eventually, you looked up, your chin resting on his sternum. he looked back down at you with a soft smile. your tone was serious, “you’re right. I totally could’ve gotten out if I really wanted to.”

with that, you laid your head to the side, trying to go back to sleep. he let out a breathy laugh and kissed your hairline, “of course you could have.”

thank you for reading <3

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raitonsfw · 5 months

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𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 | 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗

synopsis: You adored beach days with Eren, it was one of your favorite pastimes. You two would lounge in the sun, basking in the afterglow of a tan. But when he’s got a remote controlled vibrator pressing incessantly against your clit… suddenly relaxing became much harder (or easier) than you expected.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, modern!eren, boyfriend!eren, exhibitionism, sex toy but more specifically a remote controlled vibrator woohoo, dirty talk, petnames (babe, baby), slight degradation but mostly praising, fingering, finger sucking, overstimulation, squirting, eren gets jealous over the vibrator, rip mikasas’s pink towel.

a/n: my best friend requested a beach vibrator/exhibitionism type scenario and eren was the perfect character to write it with, literally having aot brainrot rn so enjoy me simping for this fucker in my writing! wc: 1.8k. m.list

now playing: good vibrations by the beach boys (obviously)

divider credit: @benkeibear

The beach was awfully cramped today. Dozens of families cluttered the golden sand and you instantly felt self conscious. Not because of the swimsuit you were wearing, but the oval vibrator that was nestled right against your clit, waiting to be switched on. You glanced at Eren who was casually setting up the umbrella into the soft patches of sand and you crossed your arms against yourself, looking back out towards the glittering ocean.

It wasn’t your idea to wear the vibrator, Eren had insisted with a ‘it’s waterproof, you’ll be fine honey,’ and you took his word, thinking what could possibly go wrong? But now that you're actually standing in the middle of the beach, you weren’t so sure if you could play off your arousal as you anxiously waited for him to press the button.

Eren had his hair pinned up in a small bun and when you glanced down to his body, you nearly went stupid. It was hot outside, so of course he was already sweating as he set up the beach essentials, the sweat gleaned from underneath his white shirt as it lifted up when he stretched over to move something. You didn’t have much time to soak it in though before his shirt was promptly pulled off and his muscles were on full display in front of you.

And oh fuck, maybe you didn’t even need him to turn on the vibrator.

“Y/N, come sit down.” You heard him say as he sat down and you obliged, patting the sand off of your flip flops and putting your belongings on the edge of the salmon towel. You pulled off the cover up you had on, revealing your swimsuit and your hand subconsciously grazed over your lower tummy, worried that people could see the vibrator’s prominence. Eren whistled sharply as he looked you once over from his sunglasses. “Damn, babe…”

You shot him a look but then your mind wandered off as you took a good look at him. You just wanted to know where he kept that devious thing. But seeing as he leaned forward with his knees up and his forearms resting on them, his hands were completely empty and he smirked at you when he noticed where your eyes landed.

“Looking for the remote?”

“N-No, I was just thinking about how funny you looked sitting on a tiny pink towel.” You stuttered back, sitting in between his parted legs. His hands came to rest against your shoulders and you sighed, leaning back into him. It was truly a beautiful day, the sun glistened onto the sea with the rays beaming against your skin. The umbrella didn’t shield you two much but it was better than nothing, the inch of privacy comforting you as you waited for the inevitable. He had propped the two beach chairs on either side of the towel as well so that added to the depth of what covered you two.

“It’s Mikasa’s towel.” Eren admitted with a chuckle, like you didn’t already know. He planted a kiss against your exposed shoulder as he rubbed his hands gently down your arms.

Your eyes slipped closed as he trailed his lips up towards your neck, but you shook off his teasing. You vaguely felt him shuffle behind you, unaware of what he was grabbing and you clenched around nothing as you thought of him pressing the remote. “Eren, there’s people around.”

“That’s the whole point, duh. Besides, I’m only putting sunscreen on you.” He grinned slyly as you heard the click of the sunscreen bottle echo in your ears and the cold lotion basically felt like ice as he slathered it against your back. Your skin was already so unbearably hot, from the sun and from his constant teasing, and the fucking devil basically sitting in between your thighs. You flinched, earning another quiet chuckle from him.

“You’re so on edge today, it’s cute.”

You didn’t respond as you tried to relax in the way he massaged the sunscreen into your skin, but all you could think about was the pressure you sat against and you couldn’t help but subtly grind against it. It barely did anything but you still sighed as you felt a tiny ripple of pleasure erupt throughout your body. You felt Eren’s calloused fingers stop rubbing the sunscreen in and you stopped your hip movements with a shudder as he sucked a slight hickey into your neck.

“Someone’s excited, hm?” Eren hummed as he gave you the sunscreen bottle, a smirk buried in the crook of your neck. “Here.”

You lathered the sunscreen over the rest of your body as he turned on the speaker you two had brought, not very loud of course; you didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself. Your music playlist came pouring through the speaker and you relaxed a bit more, the bass of the song thrumming into your veins. It distracted you from the vibrator dilemma and you happily sang along to the tune, watching some kids near the water make a sandcastle.

And then the fucker pressed the button.

“Eren!” You gasped out suddenly, dropping the sunscreen bottle in your hands. They flew to his forearms that had wrapped back around you and your legs clamped shut as it seared pleasure into your clit. It buzzed viciously against you and you couldn’t do anything but take it, shaking lightly in Eren’s arms. He had put it on high too, that goddamn bastard and a moan threatened to spill from your lips.

“What is it, baby?” He asked, his voice almost mocking your high pitch. The remote was wedged into his left hand and you wanted to snatch it away and throw it into the ocean. You were much too close already, the comfort of the song you sang falling away and you leaned back into his chest with a tremble.

Your fingernails dug into his forearms and you felt him hard against the small of your back, pressing into you there as you got off on the incessant vibrations. You tried to keep your mouth shut but tiny whimpers forced their way out and you swore you felt him grind up into you with a breathy laugh. Eren flipped the remote in his hand, toying with it and your back arched into the droning sensation.

You squirmed against him, trying desperately to stay still and to stay fucking quiet. But it was insanely difficult, especially when Eren parted your legs again as he threw your disposed cover up between them. His free hand slipped underneath your arm and down your chest, straight to your swimsuit bottoms and you keened at the way he pushed the vibrator harder onto your clit. He kept it there as his middle and ring finger plunged into your slick without warning. He gathered some of it onto them and then pulled them out with ease, tutted quietly as he examined with a furrowed expression.

“All because of this damn vibrator, huh?” Eren sucked them into his mouth like a fucking whore, tasting you on his tongue and you whined at the action. “How come this doesn’t happen when I’m fucking you?”

You didn’t know if anyone was looking your way and honestly, you didn’t care anymore as your orgasm came bubbling up to the surface. Eren clasped his hand over your mouth, muffling the moan that came from you as you convulsed against the softness of the towel. It crashed over you harshly and you almost bit the remote that was pressed against your lips as the vibrations overstimulated you– it was too much, all too much and you gasped for air as he switched it off with the press of his thumb.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby.” He shushed you, kissing the back of your neck as you came down from your high. “Breathe.”

His palm fell from your mouth, dropping the remote near your leg and you audibly sighed out in relief until you felt his other hand back between your legs. His fingers slid back into your wet heat and your breath hitched, discomfort circling in your abdomen. You were so, so sensitive and all you could think about was how to get your thighs to stop twitching involuntarily. “I’m not fully convinced. How the fuck did you get so wet from a toy?”

“Eren, hold on, please hold on…” You pleaded, your entire face flushed red and you panted as you felt pleasure seep into the pit of your tummy again. You felt the cover up fall from your waist and you knew you were exposed now, his hand inside your bottoms and-

“Don’t worry, no one’s looking. I promise.” His words flew out in almost one breath as he felt the flutter of your walls against his fingers. He was so fucking hard in his swim shorts, he needed to get his hand on himself so badly but he wanted– needed to watch you squirt from just his fingers. How could such a little toy be so enticing to your pussy when he was right here? In the back of his mind, Eren knew it was probably just the scenario he set up for you, his control over a toy looming over you like a dark cloud. But it still made him fucking jealous.

God, he really wanted to make you squirt in public. He wanted you to fall apart all over his fingers whilst families sat a few feet away, tending to their screaming children or drinking from beer bottles without the slightest clue as to what’s going on right behind them.

He curled his fingers into you headily, right against your sweet spot and you moaned at the overwhelming feeling hurtling up your spine and fuzzing your mind over. The music had been turned up a notch, you vaguely realized, for your sake. Because you just that fucking loud, mewls and whines coming from you. Eren pressed his dick up against the small of your back harder, grinding into it as he kept pushing into you quickly.

“C’mon, baby...fuck, I know you can squirt.” He groaned into your ear, watching over your shoulder with darkened eyes. He fumbled for the remote again, aiming to turn it on to rush you along but it was too late as you leaked all over his fingers, against the polyester fabric of your swimsuit, and all over Mikasa’s towel. It gushed out of you with a high whimper and you bucked his hips into his fingers in ecstasy.

“Yeah, that’s it, my God. So much for me…” He cooed, pulling his fingers out and covering you up again with your pull over. He patted your thigh lovingly and you scowled at him, smacking him on his leg hard.

“Mikasa’s gonna kill me!” You whined out, still out of breath and all Eren did was laugh.

“Mikasa’s not going to get her towel back.”

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jjungkooksthighs · 9 days

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked.

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head. So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions. Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering, you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t.

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left, the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega. An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do. You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic. Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished. “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does.

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him.

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines, remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture.

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature.

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh.

How he had fucking ruined you.

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down, “I…I-“

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you.

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.”

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck.

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You, the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #jungkook bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #alpha!jungkook #alpha!jungkook x reader #dom!jungkook #sub!reader

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scarletttries · 11 days

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When Fallout Characters Fall In Love... (Fallout Show Request)

Pairings: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader, Maximus x Reader, Norm x Reader

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has sent in a request for the Fallout show, please keep them coming as this is definitely the show that I'm thinking about the most at the moment! Also let me know if you want a part two of these headcanons or something similar :)

The Ghoul:

- Cooper Howard couldn't put his finger on exactly when he had accepted that the life he now led would be one devoid of love, but it was a hollow feeling he carried in his chest wherever the wasteland took him. Maybe it was in the decades he'd spent wandering and gaining a reputation as a heartless cowboy without an ounce of mercy. Or the fact that he hadn't met anyone that had stirred up a single emotion inside him, fearing the aching betrayal of his wife would haunt him even as lifetimes passed. Maybe it came to him in the way he flinched each time he caught his reflection in the few unbroken windows he passed, flesh slowly forming caverns and creases where once there were only the faintest of lines that showed endless signs of life. The wasteland was no place for love. That's what he had decided.

- But even in the fall of civilization there's room for a surprise, and you were certainly one of those..

- He heard rumour of you before your bounty crossed his desk, a runaway scientist from a mysterious body known only as The Institute, a target to everyone for the sheer volume of classified knowledge you might possess.

- A life on the run was no easy one, and Cooper knew that better than anyone, so it didn't take long for him to track you down to a small town just on the outskirts of the radiation's no man's land. His gun was cocked as he strutted towards the half open door of the rundown house he'd narrowed your location down to, glancing at the poster in his hand one last time before he burst inside. Even from the poorly illustrated version of you, he could see your eyes were kind, almost hopeful, like you still believed science could make right what had gone so wrong in the last 200 years. He almost felt a tinge of guilt as he steeled himself for a fight, saying a silent prayer that you wouldn't be behind the walls in front of him.

- Stepping in carefully he expected traps, or an army of robots to jump to arms, but instead he found you travelling alone, a small satchel of papers clutched in your arms as you stared him down with a calm resolve that caught him more off guard than any weapon.

"Do you still believe there's hope for this world Mr Howard?" Your voice was soft, not the trembling fear he was so used to hearing. You stared up at him without a trace of disgust in your expression, your eyes locked on his as he considered your question, and then lowered his weapon.

"And what if I do?" His heart ached at the question, so hardened by years of cynicism that even the idea of hope and goodness were almost too heavy to bear. He felt more human than he had in years as you slowly inched towards him, the creaking floorboards beneath you cutting through a tense silence that had The Ghoul feeling like he was back on a movie set, everything so perfectly orchestrated to have his stomach in knots. And then you extended your hand to him and gave him the most genuine smile he could remember receiving in this whole sorry chapter of his after-life,

"Then I think we could really make a difference. Together." Your pip-boy screeched as his irradiated hand stretched out to reach yours, but you didn't flinch, gently squeezing the twisted flesh as you shook on what you bought felt in the depths of your souls was going to be a meaningful partnership.

- It would be a straight forward life trying to use your research to get the world back on track for there to be joy and peace again. But with The Ghoul by your side you can expect; a personal bodyguard who cares more about your safety than his own by far, a gleaming look of pride in his eyes any time you tell him which Cooper Howard film was your favourite, the slow and steady acceptance that he is still worthy of love even in his new twisted form, and Cooper being endlessly grateful that you are the person who wants to give that love to him.

Maximus:

- All Maximus had ever wanted was to be a knight of the Brotherhood. He wakes up every morning and does his best every day just to try and earn his spot in this family of welded metal and unflinching loyalty. It wasn't until you arrived on the base that he started to realise there were other ways he might form a family.

- A nearby village had been half destroyed by raiders until the Brotherhood stepped in, clearing out the violent scavengers and bringing anyone with skills they could utilise back to base for assessment. Maximus was sitting alone, nursing the most recent wounds inflicted by his so-called brothers when he watched you march in alongside two soldiers, the final evacuee of your faded community, a distance in your eyes that he felt akin with from his own home's destruction. You could feel his eyes on you before you spotted him, a rag damp with blood pressed to his nose as he sat huddled against a corrugated iron shack.

- Despite the sheer joylessness of the situation, Max couldn't stop himself from sporting a smile, waving at you like you had locked eyes across the schoolyard not some barren military base. Whatever he hoped for in that moment seemed to pay off as you waved back, a small laugh escaping your lips at the absurdity of his blood soaked grin. He watched as the knights around you escorted you to the medical tent for a check up, waiting until they left their guard posts beside you to sneak behind the off-white fabric, following some unknown instinct he'd never felt call to him before. You bolted upright where you perched on one of the medical beds as he appeared, visibly relaxing when you recognised him from outside and once again waving in his direction. His mouth worked faster than his brain in that moment, heart hammering in his chest as the words gushed out with his new found affections,

"I used to live in Shady Sands. I know what it's like to have your home destroyed, your family hurt, everything changing all at once. But you're safe here with the Brotherhood, and even if it doesn't feel like it today, things are going to be okay eventually. Also I'm Maximus and if you ever need to talk to someone, I'm, like, around all the time, and no one else really wants to talk to me so I'm probably going to be available... " He trailed off as he tried to recover what had ended up a far more embarrassing sentence than he'd hoped, his lungs burning as he realised he'd forgotten to take a breath through his whole winding spiel. But when you smiled at him any shame seemed to float away, and as you patted the bed and nodded for him to take a seat beside you, the once lonely squire suddenly felt much closer to finding a family than he had surrounded by his brothers.

- As you settle into life on the base, you and Maximus only grow closer. Expect; late nights of sneaking out of your dorm so you and Max can stare up the stars and plot your escape from this life, fantasising about what a life beyond these walls and this world could be like for the two of you, someone who has your back no matter how bad things get and how low you feel, and truly some of the most god awful flirting you will ever hear.

Norm:

- Growing up in the Vault, Norm had always been told the value of belonging to a community, and how everyone in the vault was just a big happy family. But none of that stopped Norm feeling like an outsider, like he didn't quite operate on the same wavelength as the rest of the cheerful strangers he shared his deep underground walls with. After a few of the annual exchanges between vaults, he had all but given up on hoping to meet anyone he felt he could actually feel close to.

- When his overseer father had finally decided it was his turn to continue the vault's legacy and be part of what Norm considered an archaic tradition of arranged marriages between the linked vaults, Norm couldn't have been more resistant. He pleaded for the council to reject his nomination, begging them not to force some young hopeful to be subjected to his notable lack of enthusiasm for the rest of their life in this dutiful swap, but with limited options of eligible young men, he soon found himself staring down the doors of your vault. The suit previously used by his fellow bachelors had been tailored to within an inch of its life to try and fit his slight frame, the shoulders still feeling like they hung off him, threatening to swallow him up along with ground as he watched the round door slowly start to roll open.

- He thought this whole thing was stupid and outdated, and he knew there was no way he could actually find someone to love and love him in return behind those doors, so why was his stomach so full of butterflies as slowly your face started to appear in the artificial light of Vault 33. He waited to see you throw him a false smile, going through the motions as much as he had planned to, or even a look of disappointment that he was not the man you had been picturing as the door crept open. Instead he really thought he saw sincerity in your eyes, a thoughtful understanding as he choked out his name, his stammering not going unnoticed by his sister who quietly chuckled behind him.

"It's really nice to meet you, Norm." You spoke each word with intention, like it wasn't just a rehearsed greeting but an honest confession that sent sparks flying in the air between you.

- Suddenly the pressure of matrimony didn't feel so all consuming. And maybe this system was more advanced than he had appreciated. And there might be a small chance that he wasn't destined to spend his life feeling like he was on the outside, that he might finally have someone that could take him as he is, darkness and light, for better or for worse.

- Whether you stay in the vaults, or make your move to the surface world, with Norm by your side you can expect: Sarcastic comments muttered under his breath at inopportune moments just to see the way you fail to contain your laughter, being the sounding board for all of each other's thoughts and feelings no matter how serious or silly they might be, Norm clinging to your side through everything knowing that he only feels himself when he's stood in your light, and being the one person Norm would do absolutely anything for, bringing out the bravery and intelligence that was always just below the surface of this sweet man.

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flowerandblood · 19 days

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The Fall from the Heavens (27)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: fingering, masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk, kissing without consent, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When her uncle decided that they would spend the night in Dragonstone for a moment she thought she had overheard herself − she was unable to contain her delight and outburst of joy at his words, feeling that he had somehow rewarded her for her efforts.

Or at least she thought he had.

His sudden change of plans was unlike him, and she was aware of that, knowing his nature.

He detested deviating from the plans he had previously made for himself.

However, she recognised that perhaps he wanted to show her and her family his sincere intentions, to prove that she was not just a prisoner in his eyes and that he, as her husband, could also sleep under their roof without being one.

She wasn't sure if she had ever been as happy in her life as she had been the moment she flew through the sky next to Vhagar, Caraxes and Syrax; her heart was filled with heat and hope, her uncle's words echoing in her mind like a sweet whisper.

I am proud of you.

Those words meant more to her than any of his other confessions.

Of course, his confession of love was a wonderful thing, but she had always been waiting for him to appreciate her as a person, not just a woman he saw by his side.

With this, she finally felt equal to him.

Her optimism extinguished as quickly as it had appeared as soon as she crossed the walls of the family fortress. Although her heart screamed with joy at the sight of familiar rooms, smells and sights, the faces of her brothers left her with no illusions.

She swallowed loudly as she saw the hateful look on Jace's face; she knew him and she knew that he was hurt.

He was disappointed and heartbroken, he felt humiliated and, deep down, betrayed by her, even though she never meant it.

Luke clearly didn't know what he felt himself, because he just lowered his head, unable to look into her eyes.

She felt a squeeze in her throat at the sight, a discomfort in her stomach that told her that perhaps this wasn't her home at all anymore.

She was no longer welcome here.

She was snapped out of her reverie by Rhaena − her step-sister was the first to approach her, warmth and longing in her gaze, some kind of understanding from which she felt tears under her eyelids. They hugged each other tightly, though they had never done so before − her words made her feel a tightening in her stomach.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice, and she smiled involuntarily at her words.

"Me too."

As Baela approached them, also enclosing her in the tight embrace of her arms, she thought with a shrug that even though she hadn't let them into the depths of her heart for so many years, they truly cared and worried about her.

At the very end Joffrey ran up to her, sobbing loudly.

"− why have you been so long in King's Landing? − why did you leave us? − Jace wouldn't read me my favourite book −" He mumbled cuddled into her belly, her hands combing through his dark curls with the calm motion of her fingers.

"− forgive me − I'm here −" She said softly, looking at her older brother and swallowed hard, seeing the murderous glances they exchanged over the table with her husband.

She looked at her mother, who nodded, understanding what she wanted to convey to her.

"You are certainly exhausted. Take up your old quarters, daughter, I will immediately command them to be brought to order and prepared for you." Rheanyra said calmly, and she bowed before her.

"Thank you, my Queen." She said softly, looking into her eyes. Her mother swallowed hard and nodded, allowing them to leave.

As they stepped inside her chamber, she felt a squeeze in her heart and some kind of elation; all her belongings were in their places exactly as she had left them, as if no one had been allowed in here since she had been forcibly held in the Red Keep.

She shuddered, snapped out of her reverie when her uncle moved ahead of her, strolling around the room with his hands folded behind his back, intrigued.

It seemed to her that some part of him wanted to understand what her life had been like and who she had been for the eight years during which they had been separated.

She saw him walk over to her old oak desk and run his fingers over its top, thoughtful.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually.

She felt heat in her lower abdomen at the thought that he meant the place where she had written letters to him.

"− yes −"

She swallowed quietly as he hummed at her words, watching as he sat in the chair where she sat many times leaning over the parchment, scribbling words on it meant only for his eyes. He tapped his finger on the armrest, turning to face her in profile as he gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in memories.

She thought that although her return home had proved more uncomfortable than she had thought, she was grateful to him.

Whatever decision he had made that morning had led them here and was proof of his intentions.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said quietly, smiling at him, wanting him to know she wouldn't force him to sit at the same table with her family.

She thought she would spend the evening with him, give him the feeling that she was not speaking with anyone behind his back, and perhaps in the morning, before they flew away, she would ask him so that she could speak to her mother at last in peace and solitude.

Comforted by this thought and the fact that it looked like all was not lost, she began to tell him about her life in Dragonstone, to show him the books she had written to him about in her letters, the places she had flown to on Larax.

It seemed to her that her husband was only partially listening to her; his gaze was thoughtful, his face expressed weariness and discouragement. She knew that something was making him uncomfortable and she suspected that it was about the place they were in; however, she did not know how to help him, to give him the feeling that neither he nor she was in danger here.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −" She finally made an attempt to find out what had been on his mind since the morning. He shuddered at her words and looked at her with a horror as if he was about to faint.

"I'm tired." He replied quickly, without thinking, as if he wanted to answer her anything just to end the subject. She sighed quietly, recognising that she couldn't push him too hard.

Not after what they had managed to accomplish.

"Let's go to bed."

She felt a squeeze in her throat as, already lying on the bedding, she watched as he took out his dagger and tucked it under his pillow; she looked at him and met his calm, impassive gaze.

She decided not to say anything, understanding where his caution came from, not wanting to discourage or frustrate him.

She smiled involuntarily, content as his body clung to hers as soon as he lay at her side. She heard him murmur as she snuggled his face between her breasts, felt his arms embrace her waist and tighten around the material of her nightgown on her back.

She loved it when her mother sang lullabies to her when she was a child; it always calmed and soothed her. She had never dared to sing to him when they were children, fearing that her voice was too squeaky and unpleasant, but now she decided that maybe that was just what he needed.

So she sang, humming softly, once in a while placing a warm, lingering kiss on the top of his head − she felt his embrace slowly growing weaker, his muscles relaxing, his breathing quiet and even.

She sighed quietly feeling him fall asleep.

Someone's jerking and growling roused her from a deep sleep; when she opened her eyes for a moment she didn't know where she was or what was happening.

She recognised her chamber but did not know what her uncle was doing in it, convinced that he still had not answered her letters, as he had not done so for eight years.

After a moment, however, her mind seemed to regain focus and she remembered that she was his wife after all, and that his silhouette lying beside her was not a figment of her imagination.

She raised herself up on her elbow seeing that his body convulsed once in a while, as if he was trying to break free of something, whimpers and grunts came out of his throat, however, his mouth did not open, tears began to fall from the corners of his eyes one by one.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!" She called out, grabbing his arm, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

She was frightened and jumped back as his eye opened suddenly, his figure rose to sit up, and he began to pant like a wild animal, quivering all over. She looked at him in disbelief, horrified to hear that he was struggling to catch his breath.

Was he having nightmares again?

Was he dreaming again of the night he lost his eye?

"− easy, my love − breathe −" She whispered tenderly, gently touching his back; he flinched all over and looked at her as if he didn't recognise her − his eye was wide open, his nostrils twitched in accelerated, heavy breaths.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled like a small, terrified child and fell into her arms, bursting into a sob so loud that the voice stuck in her throat.

She embraced him immediately, letting him find protection and comfort in her arms, stroking affectionately his hair and back, placing warm, soft kisses on the top of his head in an attempt to reassure him.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She mumbled, feeling that the fabric of her nightgown was all wet with his tears, his hot, broken breath enveloping her skin.

She felt like he wanted to melt into one with her, to hide deep inside her from whatever it was that scared him.

He was silent for a long moment, trying to calm himself; she hushed him tenderly, whispering that he was safe, that she was by his side, that all was well. She finally heard him swallow hard, his voice trembling and uncertain.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −" He muttered. She blinked, twisting comfortably in her seat, feeling her heart begin to beat faster.

"− I'm listening to you, my love −" She whispered, stroking his hair. She released him from her arms when she felt him wanting to rise.

He sat on the bedding with his side facing her, running his shaking hand over his face, his healthy eye closed as if afraid of what was about to leave his mouth.

"− I − fuck −" He began, swallowing hard − her hand rose to his back, stroking it reassuringly.

"− easy − take your time − start from the beginning −" She encouraged him softly, not wanting him to fall silent again, seeing that he wanted to throw off whatever had been weighing on his shoulders since they had left Harrenhal.

"− you may remember − Lord Strong wanted to speak with me soon after we arrived in Harrenhal −" He said uncertainly, and she nodded, reminding herself that this was indeed what had happened.

"− yes −"

Her uncle swallowed hard, drawing in air loudly.

"− he told me at the time − that my grandfather had no intention of letting your mother and Daemon leave the Eyrie alive if it turned out they wouldn't accept our terms − but now I think they wouldn't have left alive anyway − Larys had his spies there −" He muttered and fell silent, freezing completely as she did, her heart beginning to pound like mad.

My grandfather had no intention of letting them leave the Eyrie alive.

"Will you be by my side even when all is lost? Even if there is nothing left but darkness? Is that what you had in mind then?" She mumbled out in pain, feeling that there was a complete void in her mind. "Will I be there for you even if your grandfather kills my mother?"

"− n-no −" He began quickly. "− will you be there for me even if I fail to prevent it knowing that I didn't tell you −"

She felt a constriction in her throat and lower abdomen, felt tears of disappointment and sadness flowing into her eyelids − now it was her body that trembled in convulsions, his gaze full of shame and horror directed at her.

She sucked his cock, she let him take her, and he knew that the next day her father and her mother could be murdered.

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head and laughed low.

"− you will betray me − you will run away − those are your words, aren't they? − you were always the first to accuse me − was it because you were trying to cover up your own conscience? − you wanted me to let you down so that you wouldn't feel guilty about doing it over and over again? −" She asked with a cold mockery, from which he bowed his head in embarrassment, in a subconscious reflex he had inherited from his mother plucking the cuticles around his fingernails.

He did not answer.

"− what should I do now? − divorce you? − say I won't come back to King's Landing with you? − not speak to you for eight years? − tell me, uncle, what do you think you deserve? −" She asked dispassionately, feeling the tears of rage and grief one by one run down her cheeks.

She saw him tremble at her words and curl into himself, as if he were again the same little boy who had cried in her arms when his mother had reprimanded him for inappropriate behaviour.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as he hid his face in his hands and wept helplessly, as if his whole person, everything he had built around himself was just falling apart in front of her eyes, showing him his insides, what was left of him.

He was vulnerable.

"− fuck − I − I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you'd change your mind − that if you warned them they'd see it as a betrayal and wouldn't want to pact − that's why I didn't let any of us stay in the Eyrie − I −"

"− because my mother agreed − but what would you have done if things had turned out differently? −" She asked coldly, and he swallowed hard, covering his eyes with his hand, as if he could not bear what he felt or this conversation.

"− I don't know − I don't know how I could have protected both you and my family then − what decision of mine would have saved you from death −" He muttered and she pulled herself up from the bed, recognising that she didn't feel like listening to this, that she had had enough of him and his guilt when it was always him, him, him disappointing her.

From the first night she had returned to him, when he had closed her cheeks in the brutal grip of his fingers she had seen in his eye what had now become clear to her.

He was weak, and when he was afraid, he resorted to violence.

She heard him stand up behind her, panting heavily, wiping his tear-wet face with his hand.

"− no − don't leave − I told you because −"

"− because your conscience didn't give you peace − because you didn't want to carry your guilt alone −" She hissed, turning towards him with furrowed brows.

She felt that fury, not blood, was flowing through her veins now.

He swallowed loudly at her words, looking at her wide-eyed.

"− if you've never hidden anything from me − you've never concealed anything from me for fear that I might react impulsively, leave − but if you did, come back to bed − I won't touch you −"

She pressed her lips together in fury, recognising that he must have been mocking her, but then she felt an unpleasant sting in her heart that proved she had doubts.

She heard again the words of one of her servants in King's Landing whispering in her ear that when the time came, Prince Daemon would help her escape; she heard again the words of Alys speaking of the prophecy she had not shared with him for fear of his reaction.

Had she really never hidden anything from him?

Her whole body screamed for her to leave; she wanted to do it, but felt that if she did, she would be lying to herself and to him, creating an image in which she was without flaw.

She could say that she had the right to do it, that she had good intentions, but didn't her uncle think the same about his decisions?

She glared at him and let out a loud breath, returning to the bed without a word, sinking into the soft sheets, turning her face away from him. She heard him breathe heavily, and after a moment, the bed creaked under the weight of his body settling against her back.

"− tell me −" He whispered.

She sighed heavily and grunted, recognising that her faults were less than his anyway.

So why did she still feel shame and a squeeze in her gut?

"− after I tried to take my life I was told that my father could help me escape − don't ask how − I also didn't tell you about the prophecy I heard from Alys −"

"− that fucking witch is a liar −" He growled, and she let out a loud breath, impatient.

"− it is possible − but I also heard this prophecy from your sister's mouth − both of them spoke of two rivers of blood merging into one, taking the shape of a dragon's crowned head −" She choked out finally, her husband stirring beside her in his place, surprised.

"− what could this mean? −"

"− I don't know − I was afraid that when you heard it, you would want to give up on the negotiations and return to King's Landing − Alys warned me, so she probably knew what your grandfather was planning to do −" She said regretfully, thinking that strange woman was more concerned for her safety and her family than her husband.

She heard him swallow hard, letting the air out loudly.

"− forgive me −"

She lay in silence for some time, feeling anger that he expected her to simply forget everything, understand his reasons and forgive him as always.

No.

"− I will forgive you, but I have my conditions − we will stay here longer − for a week or two, I will decide in the morning −" She said coldly.

"− but − my mother will be convinced that they are holding us by force −" He began, but she would not let him finish.

"− you will write a letter to your brother informing him that my mother has accepted his terms, but is also setting her own − that we will stay here to discuss all the details, show our goodwill − if your mother wishes, she can travel here in her own person − you can leave Dragonstone when you wish, but I will stay here as long as I desire, and you will show no opposition −" She said impatiently, feeling her heart pounding like mad, her hands clenched into fists.

Her husband swallowed loudly at her words, tense.

"− I − very well −" He muttered finally, knowing that any other words would forever cross him out in her eyes.

She hummed under her breath, covering herself tightly with the bedding and closed her eyes, figuring she wouldn't turn towards him for the rest of the night.

"− don't try to take me or embrace me −" She commanded and he sighed quietly.

She swallowed hard when she felt him place his large hand on her head and begin to stroke her hair exactly as he had when they were children.

She felt furious that it was so pleasant, so soothing, that he knew she loved it.

"− my Rheanys −" He whispered tenderly. She pressed her lips together at his words, feeling a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

The next morning she was awakened by a rustling noise and the sound of a quill scratching on parchment; she lifted her sleepy eyelids and saw his silhouette sitting behind her desk, bent over a letter he had apparently just written.

She felt strange at the thought that he was sitting in the exact place where she had spent years writing him messages that had never received a response.

She knew, however, that she now had the upper hand over him and that her word was an order to him.

She was not going to imitate his cold nature and not speak to him − they had to maintain a semblance of at least a warm relationship so that the image of their marriage, on which the whole agreement between the two parties was supposed to be based, did not begin to crack.

He lifted his gaze to her when she stood up, but they did not exchange a word between each other.

He did not know what to say.

Her maidservant walked in at her summons and bowed before her, bending her head humbly.

"− my Lady, will you have your morning meal before your travel? − your mother would like to speak with you before you leave for King's Landing −"

"− we will have a meal, but convey to my mother that there is no rush − my husband and I have decided to stay here for a few weeks as an expression of our sincere intentions − my husband is in the process of conveying this message to his brother − my uncle is in need of new garments, provide them for him without delay and bring them to my chamber −" She said calmly; her servant blinked, shocked and nodded, immediately disappearing behind the door.

Despite what she had learned and the rage she felt, she was pleased − the roles had been reversed and although her husband was not her prisoner, he was attached to her and was forced to stay in a place that disgusted him.

Good, she thought.

She wanted him to feel what she had felt during the month she had spent in King's Landing, imprisoned by his mother and grandfather.

"− I wish to spend this afternoon with my mother − if you so desire, I can show you in which chamber the library is located −" She said lightly, without looking at him however, taking a bite of bread spread with confiture. Her husband rolled his eyes, displeased.

"I have no intention of leaving your quarters." He replied indifferently.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement at his words.

"You are not my prisoner, uncle. You can walk and fly wherever you please. Holding someone by force is not in my nature." She murmured softly − her husband gave her one tired look.

She smiled at him in a way from which he swallowed hard and looked away, sighing heavily.

He knew she was enraged and he wasn't going to get in her way.

One of the aspects she enjoyed upon returning home was that she had finally retrieved all her robes; her uncle looked at her from the side, watching as her servants helped her put on a golden gown with long black sleeves that reached the ground.

"− make braids around my head − my husband adores it when I wear this hairstyle, is he not? −" She sneered, glancing at him over her shoulder. She only saw him roll his eyes, running his hand over his face, not saying a word.

He knew he had to endure everything she was throwing at him with humility if he didn't want to make his already bad situation worse.

She had no idea what he could do to regain her favour, her trust, the respect she had for him.

"− have a pleasant day, husband −" She threw over her shoulder, leaving him alone in the chamber, recognising that she did not care what he did.

As she stepped into her mother's quarters, Rhaenyra rose from her seat, putting down the quill she held in her hand, approaching her with surprise and uncertainty written on her face.

"− is it true? − are you planning to stay in Dragonstone? −" She asked in a trembling voice − she smiled and nodded. Her mother sighed in relief and walked over to her, embracing her tightly with her arms, snuggling her head into her neck.

They pulled away from each other after a moment, her hands gripping her cheeks, her thumbs stroking her skin as if she remembered a time when she was still a small child.

"− let's sit down −"

Being in her chamber again was like a dream to her − she couldn't believe she was sitting at the same table again, surrounded by the same furniture and bed with a red curtain, with the windows open to a view of the great sea.

"− does he treat you well? −" She asked suddenly, taking her hand in her own.

Her mother's question surprised her, but it also filled her heart with warmth and emotion.

"− I − yes − despite his harsh, difficult nature −"

"− so how did he let this happen? −" She asked, exposing a part of her wrist with her thumb, where her pale scar was clearly visible. She swallowed loudly, not knowing what to answer her.

She wanted to tell her about the moon tea, but hesitated.

She didn't want her to think that her husband knew about it, that he was a worse person than she assumed.

It devastated her to think that she still had to tell half-truths.

"− I did it as an act of desperation − when he found out he wouldn't leave my side for weeks − he wouldn't let anyone but himself, Helaena and the maester cross the threshold of my quarters − he let me see Luke −" She muttered, looking at her at last. Her mother lowered her gaze, sighing quietly, tired and pale.

"− when Daemon passed on your words to me, I was furious − I didn't understand how you could do this to me −" She began and fell silent, closing her eyelids for a moment.

She felt an all-consuming shame at the thought that she had failed and disappointed her as a daughter.

"− forgive me − I would never question your rights if it were only about you − but you know very well that it is not −" She said cautiously − her mother lifted her gaze to her and nodded.

"− I know −"

They fell silent for a moment.

"− can I trust him? − your husband − and my brother −" Her mother asked coldly; she raised her gaze to her, surprised to feel that her lips involuntarily parted.

I don't know.

"− yes −" She muttered. "− he refused Maris Baratheon to take her as his wife − he himself proposed a form of compromise, and his elder brother supported him − Aegon is not a good man, but he cares about his children − he knows he will not leave them a secure, safe throne − just as you would not leave it to your sons −"

They said no more.

She spent some more time with her, just holding her hand, wordlessly trying to comfort her, thinking with weariness that she had to give up everything that was rightfully hers.

She finally decided to take pity on her husband and return to her chamber, not wanting to leave him alone for so long in a state of anxiety and uncertainty.

She felt her heart stop as she stepped into her quarters and saw no one inside − a cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him leaving her.

He had returned to King's Landing without her.

She pressed her lips together, involuntarily feeling her heart begin to pound like mad with pain and sadness, her eyes glazed over with tears that she was ashamed of, thinking it shouldn't hurt so much, and yet it did.

She looked around the room quickly, looking for a letter or anything else that might say he had left her some word, but found nothing of the sort; she shuddered when she heard someone's dim voices in the distance and walked over to the window.

Her father and her uncle stood facing each other on the beach with their hands folded behind their backs, discussing something animatedly, a clear tension between them.

She felt regret towards herself, her body filled with an overwhelming relief that he had not left her, that he had not betrayed her again.

She thought the gods had been cruel, allowing her to love this man so deeply.

She blinked, startled, when she heard the door from her chamber open; she turned and saw the figure of her eldest brother, who only spoke up when they heard a loud clatter of wood behind them.

"− how could you do this? − choose him over us? −" He growled with regret, resentment and disappointment, his big brown eyes filled with anger and pain from which she felt a tightening in her throat. She furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"− we both know what the truth is − you can't rule with lies −" She replied, shrugging her shoulders; Jace moved towards her and she flinched all over, surprised at how pale he was, his lips tightened into a thin line − she had the impression he was trembling all over.

"− this was my inheritance − my throne − my crown − and you chose him, a man who did not write back to your letters for eight years, who humiliated you by calling you a bastard, and you shared a bed with him the first night you saw him, like some... −" He didn't finish and fell silent, the word he wanted to say stuck deep in his throat. She felt her lower lip tremble at his accusation, her eyebrows arching in pain and anger, her eyes red from tears of shame and humiliation.

"− say it − you've already spoken the word in your mind −" She sneered, lifting her chin higher, challenging him.

"− I won't call you an unworthy name −" He muttered lowly, and she laughed involuntarily at his words, shaking her head.

"− you think that makes you a better man? − look at this −" She hissed, lifting her hand up, exposing her wrist tugging impatiently at the material of her black sleeve. "− here is what I have done for you and for your crown − should I do it again? −"

She swallowed loudly, surprised when she noticed that something in her brother's expression had changed − Jace had grabbed her wrist and locked it between his fingers, but there was no aggression in the gesture, his thumb stroking her smooth, bare skin.

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing loudly; she felt that there was a kind of tension between them from which her heart was pounding like mad, but she wasn't sure what it was caused by; something in his gaze, in his brown, misty eyes and parted lips, made her feel hot.

"− do you love him more than our mother? − than Luke, than Joffrey? − than me? −" He asked in a trembling voice and she shook her head, not understanding what he meant.

"− Jace − it's a different kind of love − I −"

"− what kind? −" He hissed. "− the kind where you're constantly betrayed? − in which someone mocks your parentage? − locks you up like some prisoner? −"

Gods.

"− Jace −" She gasped, feeling that something in his questions, in his gaze, in what he wanted to hear from her had broken her down, her whole body began to quiver.

She shuddered as he approached her suddenly, as his free hand cupped her warm cheeks, as his forehead pressed against hers, his voice trembling as the words left his throat like a river.

"− I am your oldest brother − you were born to be mine − I would be good to you − you know I would −"

"− brother, what are you saying? − you had no objections when my mother decided to marry me to Ronnel −" She said disapprovingly, furrowing her brow in anger.

"− it was our mother's decision − how could I oppose her? −" He asked with a frown, as if he really believed what he was saying, a cold shiver ran through her body as his thumb ran over the soft skin of her cheek, hot with emotion.

"− you have never loved me − not in this way, we both know it well − you have always preferred to lie to yourself rather than face the truth − you do not look at me as the woman you desire, but as an inheritance that was taken from you −" She said with pain, feeling that what he was saying was not due to any deep feeling he had for her, but to his anger that she was not waiting for him docilely like his throne and his crown.

Her brother swallowed hard at her words, his hot, ragged breath enveloping the skin of her face.

"− when you were born, our mother told me that you might be my future wife − and I always, always saw you this way −"

"− you mocked me with Aegon −"

"− I craved his attention − he was older and impressed me − didn't you do anything you regretted as a child? −" He muttered wearily; she felt her heart stop at his words, a drop of cold sweat run down the back of her neck.

What was she supposed to answer him?

"− brother − I am married to another man − of my own free will −"

"− you are a traitor −"

"− how dare you −"

"− you are a traitor, but I still am unable to hate you −"

A squeal of terror stuck in her throat, her body froze completely as his lips pressed against hers in a greedy, hot, sticky kiss, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her cheeks, refusing to let her move away.

She cried out and pushed him away − before he could make any move her hand slapped him in the face so hard that he took a few steps back, clutching his red cheek, panting heavily.

"− get out −" She muttered, placing her hand over her heart, feeling as if it was about to burst out of her chest. "− get out of my chamber, brother − I'll forget this...conversation ever took place −"

Jace swallowed hard, horrified and ashamed, as if it had only now occurred to him what he had actually done.

What would Baela say if she saw this?

It seemed to him that they both couldn't believe he had done it − Jace had turned and walked out, leaving behind an open door and a complete blank in her mind.

She thought he wanted to take it out on their uncle, to take away something that belonged to him.

That she was just an object for him on which he had decided to vent.

She thought with pain that he, unlike her husband, had never tried to truly understand her.

When her uncle returned to her chamber they did not exchange a word − he seemed distracted and frustrated to her. He took one of the books from the bookshelf and sat by the fireplace, pretending to read. She lowered her gaze, playing with her fingers, thinking only of the fact that if she hid it from him, she would be just like him.

She didn't know for a long time how she should put it into words, but she figured he'd be furious either way.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −" She muttered, glancing at him fearfully − his eye opened wide, looking at her in disbelief, his jaw clenched in such a way that a shudder went through her.

He was silent for a moment, as if he had run out of words, which frightened her even more.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, closing the book with a loud slam, pulling himself up from his seat like an enraged bear.

"− he kissed me − grief and humiliation took his mind away − I − wait − gods −" She muttered, standing up as soon as he headed towards the door, which he opened with a loud clatter, running out into the corridor after him.

"− Aemond − no, no, no − stop! −" She hissed, grabbing his arm, but he pulled away from her, opening door after door until he found himself in the right room − Jace and Beala were sitting together at a table, apparently discussing something.

Her older brother rose from his seat and turned pale at the sight of them, horrified.

Her husband walked into his quarters with a wide, menacing smile, exactly the same one he bestowed on him and Luke when they saw him duelling with Criston Cole in King's Landing. He put his hands behind his back, shifting his body weight to one leg, cocking his head.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −"

"− Aemond −" She said warningly, but her uncle didn't listen to her, his healthy eye wide open, as if he was just waiting for this.

An opportunity for confrontation.

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered amused, revealing his teeth in a wide grin full of feigned recognition.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela thundered.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that she knew nothing.

She moved ahead and stood in front of her husband, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"− we are leaving −"

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −"

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He murmured in a voice filled with poison, from which a strong shiver ran along her back.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela hissed, furious that her betrothed simply looked at their uncle and remained silent, unable to get a word out.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He directed his words to her, to his sister, sadness and regret in his gaze, from which she involuntarily felt sympathy.

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" Her husband hissed, gripping her cheeks in his hand − her voice stuck in her throat as his fleshy lips clung to hers in an aggressive, loud kiss, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat.

She sighed as he turned her back to him, pressing her brutally against his chest and grabbed her neck − she grasped his wrist as his free hand slid down her lower abdomen, his fingers dug into the material of her gown beneath which her womanhood lay, she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out into her ear and she closed her eyes, feeling with horror and disbelief that her nipples had hardened, that her walls had clenched around nothing at his embarrassing words, feeling his finger tease what lay between her thighs despite her resistance.

"− u-uncle − stop −" She muttered, a moan stuck in her throat as she felt his erection behind her throb hard at her words, pushing against her buttocks, his fingertips dug deep into her folds hidden beneath the fabric.

Gods, he wanted her brother to watch this.

Baela looked at Jace as if she suddenly understood everything, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief.

"− what did you do? −" She asked quietly, her older brother shook his head, all red, turning his face away, unable to look at it.

"− I −" He didn't finish; her uncle let her go immediately, panting loudly as she did when Daemon walked into the chamber, looking at them, then at Jace and his daughter.

He grinned.

"− what is the meaning of this...commotion? − hm? −" He asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement and mockery; she looked away and glanced at her uncle, shaking her head with furrowed brows, letting him know that he was to remain silent.

Her husband pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not utter a word.

They stood in awkward silence, with only the quiet fizzle of the blazing fire in the fireplace around them.

"Mmm." Her husband hummed and turned away, heading for the door. Not knowing what to do, she simply moved after him, casting only one apologetic glance at Baela.

When they finally returned to her chamber she let out a loud breath.

"− what was that supposed to mean? −" She asked in frustration, wondering what had possessed him.

She tried not to think about how embarrassingly wet she was now.

"− I don't know what you're referring to, wife − I've merely shown my nephew the depth of my understanding as to his desire −" He grinned, grabbing a jug full of wine, pouring himself a full cup of it.

She licked her lower lip in impatience, standing still and watching him − their gazes met as he raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep sip from it.

"− what − are you wet now? −" He sneered and she felt a hot wave of shame surge through her body − she felt like her cheeks had turned scarlet.

"− don't mock me − this was humiliating −" She growled, furrowing her brow, a smirk on his face that she didn't like.

"− if you say so, wife −" He muttered, approaching her lazily, playing with his cup in his hand, raising it to his lips again "− I, however, think you'd rather I did something else −"

He said and took another sip of wine, swallowing it loudly, towering over her with a look from which a pleasant shiver ran through her core.

"− I think you'd rather I fucked you good in front of him − for me to slip my fingers under your skirt and sink them into your leaking cunt −" He murmured, leaning over her so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, her walls swelling all over at his words − she felt a drop of her own wetness run down her thigh.

"− am I wrong? −" He asked, cocking his head curiously, taking another sip of wine from his goblet without taking his eyes off her.

She drew in a loud breath as he set his cup down on the table standing beside them with a loud clang of steel, taking a step towards her, his lips parted in desire.

Gods, no.

"− don't touch me −"

She saw him squint his eyes as he hesitated, his nostrils flaring in accelerated breath.

She knew he was hard.

She knew he wanted to soften her up.

"Mmm."

She immediately summoned her servant wishing that she would help her pull off her gown and let her hair down. After this, she lay down in bed, covering herself with thick furs, not looking at him or speaking a word to him. She swallowed hard when she heard him lie down right next to her and closed her eyelids when she felt his hot breath on her neck.

She thought he would try to touch her, embrace her and give her a reason to push him away, but he just lay behind her back, driving her crazy.

She waited for some time, listening to his quiet breathing, and decided that he was surely asleep by now; her hand slipped silently into the material of her nightgown, lifting it up. She swallowed quietly, tightening her lips as her fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood begging to be fulfilled, teasing and squeezing the bud between its fleshy folds.

She felt herself grow hot, her heart began to pound like mad at the indecent idea that these was his hand touching her in front of Jace, making him watch, wanting him to see what her fulfilment looked like.

She felt her walls clench greedily around nothing at the thought, her fingers teasing the spot between her puffy folds with circular, intense strokes.

Involuntarily, her hips began to rock softly to the rhythm of the flicks of her own fingers, she felt that she was wonderfully close to fulfilment.

"− what are you doing? −" She heard his low, cool voice and froze completely. She swallowed hard, sliding her hand, sticky with her own moisture from between her thighs, and remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

"− go on −" He said in a hoarse, deep voice from which a shiver went down her spine. She heard a rustling behind her and then the sticky sound of skin slapping against skin − his hot breathing quickened, heavy and ragged. "− come on −"

She couldn't help herself; her fingers dug into her swollen folds again causing a wave of heat to pass through her body − she felt pleasant tickling sensations in her lips, fingertips and nipples. She moaned quietly when she felt his nose pressed against her hair, her hips involuntarily began to rock when she heard him begin to pant, the splats behind her getting louder, louder and louder.

"− fuck − you know I'd lick you good there − hm? −" He sighed and she felt her whole body quiver, her fingers teasing her puffy pearl all sticky from her own wetness.

"− mhgm −" She whined, tilting her head back, feeling his hot, uneven breath on her ear, his swollen, wet lips run down her neck.

"− are you leaking? − are you leaking at the thought of how good I would make you feel? − at the thought of your brother watching me fuck his little sister? −" He breathed out, and she moaned loudly as she felt a wonderful, relieved sensation at his words, her fulfilment shaking her like a hot, tickling wave.

Her slit pulsed all under her fingers as her own moisture leaked out of her, she shuddered when she felt his warm, rough tongue run across the bare skin of her neck, leaving a slick, wet mark on it.

"− fuck, Rheanys −" He muttered and after a moment he gasped − she felt something sticky and warm spurt out onto the back of her nightgown.

His seed.

Gods.

She closed her eyelids, trying to calm her breathing, furious at herself and her weakness.

"− let me embrace you −"

"− no −"

She heard him huff, sighing heavily, his face still sunk into her neck.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, thinking with frustration that she hated him with all her heart.

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koishiro · 7 months

Text

# - 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : originally planning to sit through hours of pain by the hands of a blond tattoo artist - who you know is very well off limits - bakugo finds a way to calm your nerves

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : smut

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : aged up!characters, oral (f!receiving), doggy style + missionary, SLIGHT nipple play

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : tattoo artist!bakugo x f!reader

masterlist | bnha masterlist

“Fucking - shit!”

You'd started just after a late lunch, and the day was drawing to a close. This was your second sitting too; there was a lot of detail in this one and you'd probably be back anyway. A couple of hours was all you could handle, realistically – otherwise you'd stand up from the couch and fall straight back down again.

The first time you tentatively opened the door, you were pretty nervous. Everyone had been raving about the place, and it felt intimidating – not in a grimy way, but more like out-of-your-depth. It was so clean – spotless even – professional and artistic. There were some incredible pieces of art on the walls and retro tattoos everywhere. The other artists were hipster types with beards, rimless glasses and flesh tunnels in their ears.

This time you weren't quite so unnerved. It was busier when you returned for the second appointment, but livelier too – three or four artists working on clients, everyone talking, the artists laughing and their subjects trying not to for fear of moving.

You stood on a chair as he applied the stencil to your lower leg. You watched from high up as the blond carefully positioned it just-so, his head bowed over his work, his own tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, creeping up his neck. He blew a lock of blond hair away from his face as he straightened, telling you to lie face down on the padded massage couch.

It hurt like hell on the back of your calf. More than the first time, when he'd worked around the side and over your shinbone. You distracted yourself with your phone, checking your Instagram account, emails- anything really. You noticed last time that he hadn't been much of a talker. You tried to engage in conversation, curious about the man who was leaving permanent marks on you and while he was perfectly polite, it seemed like he didn't want to chat.

"Smacks on that bit, huh," he'd said, as you took a break for a moment to adjust your position. You had done your best to stay still, but joked as you started that you'd have to make a real effort not to kick him in the face. After a while you had to fidget, because you had held yourself up on your elbows and were starting to tire.

"Too right," you sigh. "Ah well, it'll be worth it in the end”

He'd laughed with his colleagues but didn't seem to want to make small talk with you. As you lay back down, you glanced backward, appreciating how he looked as he concentrated on changing the needle in the tattoo gun. You went back to your phone, quickly squashing your thoughts. His girlfriend had been there, spending the last of her lunchbreak with him. And you had your own man at home. You were quite happy. Nothing wrong with appreciation though, you thought. No-

The sting on your leg made it hard to think anyway, so you looked around the room. One of the tattoo designs on the wall depicted a buxom young woman bent over a sailor's knee, taking a spanking, her heels flailing in the air. You wondered who'd drawn that one, and entertained the faint hope that it was one of yours. That you liked the idea.

The afternoon was drawing in and you'd almost finished. The other artists had completed working on their clients and all but one had disappeared for the afternoon. The read-head dude in the drainpipe jeans.

"Oi Bakugo, you almost done there?" Red-headed guy called over.

"Yeah, just some highlights and a bit of shading to go. You head off. I'll lock up”

"You sure? Thanks man. She doesn't look like the mugging-for-the-takings type," Red-head-dude grinned at you. "In fact she's been as quiet as a mouse”

"I didn't shut up first time round," you smiled back. "Nerves I guess”

"Ah, you got no reason to be nervous now though," smiled your artist. "Pro now, aren't ya? See you in the morning, dude," the man you now know as Bakugo, raised a hand in farewell to his colleague, and the bell on the door rattled as he closed it.

You laughed quietly.

"What?"

"You, taking the piss out of me. Just because it's only my second tattoo, and you're covered…”

"I wasn't!" he protested in mock horror. "Besides, these have been collected over years”

It was odd, you noticed, but as the needle burned on your skin, you felt Bakugo’s gloved fingers as he pulled the skin taut. He was gentle, but where his fingers made contact, you could feel the same burning sensation as where the needle buzzed. Like it was transferring pain. How strange that it should feel that way.

"Where'd it hurt most on you, then?" You asked, feeling a need to fill the silence of the shop.

"Hmm..." he tried to recall. "Probably the same place – or ribs, I think. That's always sore”

"It's transient though isn't it," you mused. "I'd still rather do this than be pierced. This hurts less”

Bakugo laughed. "I guess that depends on where you're pierced though. And piercing's quicker. Come on then, own up... Where?"

He was more talkative when there was no-one else around. You chuckled and dropped your head between your arms, onto the couch.

"Oh, now you're asking!"

"Ohhh... One of those, was it?"

"Yup. It's weird, sitting there fully clothed from the waist up, while someone's bending over your nether regions with a fucking great needle”

"Oh… Oh! Shit! I thought you were gonna say nipple!"

"Erm, no. I'm told that's bloody agony, although I do kinda fancy it. No, this was… well… they call it a VCH" you were pretty sure he'd know exactly where that went.

"Takes all sorts, I suppose. You don't look the type," he said.

"Is there a type..? I didn't keep it anyway. It was really annoying. What about you?"

"Oh.. um.. no. I stick to ink"

You could see that. Bakugo wore long army type pants but you could already guess that his lower legs were covered, as were his arms, and you noted that there must have been something across his shoulders at least. Still, that seemed to be par for the course – you never met a tattooist that didn't have shitloads of the damn things themselves.

"Okay.. just about done here. You did well – no wriggling. Wanna look?"

You sat up slowly. you go and look in the mirror, and decided to get moving. you dropped your feet to the floor and stood up, but it must have been too fast. Your head spun.

"Woah, easy there!" He grabbed your shoulders before you’d fallen, and you found yourself blinking up at his concerned face. You were too wobbly to trust yourself and just stayed there for a moment, half on the bench, half standing, with Bakugo supporting you. You felt like an utter twit. And you felt acutely aware of his proximity.

"Smooth huh?" You giggled weakly.

"It's okay, don't worry. It happens a lot. Even people who have had loads of tats still get cocky and overdo it”

He had strong hands. Big, and warm on your shoulders. You shook your head to clear it.

"You okay yet?" He still looked concerned. Fucking hell, you wished he wasn't touching you right now. Sure, he'd spent the last couple of hours touching you, but that was different. You were weirdly giddy. Like being slightly drunk, you thought. Your mouth ran away with you and you nodded toward the spanked girl on the wall, blurting out:

"One of yours?"

He withdrew, and looked sheepish. You eased yourself off the bench, standing on you’re own. Shaky, but standing.

"Ah. Ha.. Yeah. Yeah, that's mine”

He was rummaging in a cupboard behind the counter. You could see just a mop of spiky blonde hair, and then his eyes, as he rootled around.

"Don't normally do this but I reckon you could use it..."

He had found a small bottle of Jack and poured a slug into a disposable cup, passing it to you. With a shrug, he poured one for himself. You weren’t sure why – it wasn't like he'd got the shakes, was it? No, definitely not – his hands were as deft as ever as he covered the new tattoo, gently wiping away excess ink and blood, carefully wrapping your leg with clingfilm. You wished you were as steady.

You narrowed your eyes at Bakugo over the rim of the cup as you sipped gingerly.

"Don't give much away, do you?"

"Huh?" he was baffled.

"The… You know, the girl. So you distract me with hard liquor rather than risk me asking about her,"

Fucking hell, that'd be bravado from the whiskey, plus the close call from nearly hitting the floor. In a detached sort of way, you could imagine your sensible side looking down at your recklessness and sighing.

Bakugo bit his lip, which made something low down in your stomach twist, so you downed the rest of the booze because it seemed like a better alternative than staring at him. You’d almost forgotten the sting in your leg in favour of an ache - Yep, you thought, that kind of ache – in your nipples, and between your legs. So bloody typical, really... here you were, no makeup, ratty old jeans with one leg rolled up, socks with holes in, in front of an inexplicably attractive man who'd just spent a good couple of hours making you suffer.

You almost spat it straight back out again when you heard him say quietly "Yep... Gotta love giving a good spanking. Don't get the chance much these days, the girlfriend doesn't go in for it, but…”

Jesus, jesus, jesus. You didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to imagine being bent over his knee. Didn't want to imagine how the texture of his clothes would feel against your bare skin. Or what his hands would feel like. Oh fuck, big hands. Big, clever, rough hands. Bakugo must have seen how your skin flushed, how you licked your lips, because he stepped closer to you again. He took the plastic cup from you. You backed up, the small of your back bumping into the couch.

He followed. He was just an inch or two from you and you were sure he could see how your breathing had changed. You looked up at him.

"Shame," you murmured.

And Bakugo moved like lightning, his mouth crushing yours, one hand flying to the back of your head. You opened your mouth for him, and his tongue pushed, hard and insistent. You whimpered at the sensation of being so wanted, and he kissed you even harder than you thought possible, growling as he pushed one warm hand under your shirt, tugging roughly at the cup of your bra. He tasted of whiskey, with the slightest hint of cinnamon. His tongue was so hot it almost burned.

The couch banged up against the counter as he pushed you against it. His fingers found your nipple and twisted, hard. You squealed into his mouth and he laughed, pulling away just enough to catch a breath.

"Like that, is it? Thought so..."

You just looked at him, your swollen lips parted, breathing hard and fast. He held your gaze, his clear vermillion eyes unflinching. He was smiling, a small wry smile that spoke volumes. He knew what was happening just as well as you did.

You moved your own hands up, slowly, not daring to race. Twisted your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulled him down again, and kissed him again. Slower, at first. This was the chance you’d given him – a moment to withdraw that he'd not taken. They both knew that they shouldn't have even been in the same room alone together, not really. But it was between the two of them, now. He hadn't run for the hills. Your blood sang with the thrill of realisation; he wanted you, right now. You moved your other hand up the side of his body, enjoying the warmth of him, but now you slipped it under the waist of his shirt, to feel his patterned skin. He groaned into your mouth and his tongue slipped deeper, taking over.

His hand fell to your jeans, pressing right there between your thighs, cupping you. The heel of Bakugo’s hand was hard against your clit through the thick denim and you were breathless. Jesus fucking christ on a bike... You dared to daydream, and here it was – a fantasy from your own faithless imagination. Your mind was spinning, so close to losing all reason and functioning on instinct alone. Fuck… The smell of him!

He tore at your t-shirt, dragging it over your head, and scrabbled at your bra. 99% of men you’d ever been with were useless with these things, you mused, and yet suddenly it was on the floor with your shirt. He unbuttoned your jeans and shoved them down, then caught himself mid-action, easing them over your sore leg gently. It put his head right next to your pussy, covered only by a pair of unsexily practical plain panties. He breathed in through his nose, his eyes closed... Then looked up at you with a downright mischievous look playing over his face.

"On the bench," he directed. You hopped up, your legs swinging like a small child. He'd found one of the low rolling stools, and sat down in front of you. He pushed your knees apart. A wet spot darkened your cotton panties, and you blushed despite herself. You weren't quite sure of his intentions until the blond brandished a pair of scissors at you – and you must have looked worried half to death, because he cocked one eyebrow: "Safe hands, come on..."

Before you knew it he'd snipped the underwear away. You were exposed completely.

He dipped his face towards your pussy and breathed you in again. You leaned back on the couch, supporting yourself up on one elbow, wanting to watch his face – but automatically closing your eyes in shocked bliss as that searing hot tongue licked you from bottom to top, spreading your lips apart, giving away just how wet you were.

"Fuck," you breathed. You were incoherent – now wasn't the time for intelligent conversation.

His thumbs held you, spread wide, and he lapped at your clit, drawing it into his mouth, nipping unbelievably gently with his teeth. You shuddered. You opened your eyes and saw him watching you, and he was smiling again. He dipped back down and this time his tongue pushed into you. Your back arched and you grabbed the back of his head, hissing at the extremity of the sensation.

You were disbelieving of it. You’d never known a man to do this... to eat pussy with such clear enjoyment. The sensation was amazing – the warmth of his breath, the smooth slickness of his tongue on your hot flesh, the scrape of his barely noticeable stubble on your thighs a harsh counterpoint.

You couldn't help but push yourself against his face, wanting more, murmuring words that didn't make any sense. You yelled out as he pushed a finger into you, teasing you, knowing exactly where to touch. He added another and you gasped. You could hear yourself! Christ, you were so soaking wet that as his hand moved, your cunt made obscene noises. Worse, you loved it. He lifted his face, still finger-fucking you with three fingers now, his thumb running over your clit.

"I think you needed this, didn't ya?"

You could only groan in agreement. Oh, you definitely did, but you sure as hell hadn't expected it. Bakugo laughed that quiet, knowing little laugh again and pinched your clit with one hand, while fingering you faster with the other. You squealed and your hips lifted, wriggling as you felt an orgasm building. You were amazed – it wasn't normally so easy to make you come – and you managed to gasp out a warning just before your whole body stiffened and shook.

He dragged his fingers from your pulsing cunt and strummed your clit hard, making you wail aloud as your pussy squirted hot liquid over the bench. He exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and delight, and pushed his fingers back into you more slowly now, dragging them over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your juice over his hand. Your head dropped back to the bench, your chest heaving. You were spaced out and stunned – you didn't think you’d ever cum that violently before.

"Holy fuck," you murmured, more to yourself than anything. Then you realised what a mess you’d made. "Sorry! Ah shit.. Dammit..." you sat up, about to scout around for paper to clean up. He laughed at you and grabbed your arm.

"No chance, babe," he smiled wickedly. "Get over here. Right now"

Bakugo helped you stand, shakily, and led you towards the chestnut-brown buttoned chesterfield sofa that waiting clients would normally loll on. You half tumbled onto the cushions and landed, naked, staring up at him. He flung his own shirt into a corner and tugged his jeans over his hips. You stared dumbly, drinking in the sight of his lean, inked torso. The patterns, words, pictures, life stories you supposed... they carried on downwards, over his hipbones, to meet the tattoos that ran up his legs.

His cock was rock-hard and he stroked it, not taking his eyes off you.

"Get on all fours," he said. You complied, your forearms resting on the arm of the sofa. He sat slowly behind you, running his hands over your ass, grabbing it and spreading you wide. He abruptly buried his face in your pussy, tongue diving inside. He came up for air and gasped, "Fucking hell, you taste so good..."

You felt him manouvre behind you, his hands still on your ass, his thumb occasionally drifting over the pucker of your hole, and then suddenly he was inside you. His cock slid into you smoothly, opening you up, stretching your cunt, and he kept on going until you were utterly full of dick. You squealed as his cockhead nudged your sensitive cervix. He withdrew achingly slowly, letting you get used to the sensation, and then rammed himself home hard and fast.

You felt his hand twist into your hair, tugging your head upwards, and arched your back. The pain of the pull on your scalp was exquisite, ebbing and flowing as he pounded you from behind.

"That's it, babe," he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice. "Come on, lemme hear you”

You couldn't help yourself – you were squeaking in pain each time his dick slammed into you, but you adored it. You heard the smack of skin on skin as his hips met yours, and your cunt was making deliciously obscene wet sounds.

"Please," you gasped out. "Please, please, please..."

Bakugo didn't cease his movement, groaning in pleasure. "Ah... Please what? Do you want more? Fuck, your pussy's so damn tight round my cock... Don't ask me to stop now”

"No, not stop,". you could hardly get your words straight. "I want to see..."

"Oh!" He understood you breathless gabble, and pulled himself free of your tight hole. The air felt cool on your lips and you savoured it briefly, before he pulled your hips back and helped you lie back on the couch. You looked up, wanting to watch his expression as he pushed himself back inside you.

He did so slowly, his eyes closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You squeezed his cock, once, as hard as you could, using your pussy muscles to show him just how hard you could work it. His eyes flew open and it was his turn to cry out.

"Fuck, babe... Do that again and I won't last five minutes”

You met his gaze, and held it as he began to move, more slowly now. He bent forwards and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth – then released it and moved his mouth to yours, kissing you, opening you up with his tongue as he opened your cunt with his cock. You dared to tangle a hand in his hair, now, and moaned your need into his mouth.

He sat back, and pushed his thumb between your lips, wetting it, then dragged it over your clit, watching your face for a reaction. You tensed and a red flush began to creep over your chest. A faint smile played over his face and he moved faster, fucking you a little harder, massaging his thumb in circles around your stiff clit, flicking it hard and feeling your body respond.

Your eyes had drifted closed as you enjoyed the sensations, but he wasn't having that.

"Look at me," he said softly. "I want to watch your face when you cum for me”

Christ. Just those words were enough, but he sped up, moving faster and harder. You hadn't been fucked like this for a long, long time – with a lot of guys it was all over in minutes, but he was too damn good for that. His thumb pushed your clit against your pelvic bone and you screamed. Your entire body was rigid as you came, your cunt muscles bearing down hard, trying to force his cock out of you. He pushed hard and deep into you though, prolonging your agony, and true to his word he was watching your face, only pulling his cock out right at the last second – and you wailed, loud and unbelieving, as your orgasm peaked, your cunt walls squeezing tight, and again – again! At some level you marvelled – a rush of hot fluid soaked your thighs as you squirted.

You sagged backwards, breathing fast, and put an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

Bakugo tugged it away, gently, smiling wryly.

"Oh no. Not gonna have you feeling all self-conscious about that. That was... amazing”

And he slid himself inside you again. He was close to coming, so close, you could see it in the lines of tension on his face. It was your turn to encourage him.

"Come on then," you murmured. You cupped your tits with you hands, tweaking your nipples hard, offering him a target – you expected him to unload all over your chest, but he growled, grabbed your hips, and surged forwards. You looked him in the eye and was met with a piercing, almost animal stare as he roared with the release. You felt the heat of his cum deep inside, as he punctuated his final few thrusts with words.

"Holy… fucking… hell," he uttered between clenched teeth. He sat up, and swiped at a sheen of sweat on his forehead. A worried look flashed across his face and your own smile vanished – oh, god, now he'd realised what he'd done, hadn't he?

He leaned down and checked the dressing on your leg. Then raised an eyebrow at you.

"Don't look so worried, it's fine," he grinned. He unfolded himself from the sofa and started to dress, throwing your clothes over for you to do the same. It was weird, you thought, that you could expose your most private places to someone, do the filthiest things, and then only afterwards did you feel awkward.

Bakugo passed you a glass of water, which you gulped greedily at, still slightly out of breath and still slightly disbelieving. "I've… well, I have to... Get home, you know..." you blathered.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "Really. I'm not saying anything" He kissed you, softly, slow and sweet.

"Message me though, when you want to book in again. That leg piece will need a couple more hours work”

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

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