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beelspillowpet · 3 years

Note

Headcanons about how the side characters (brothers too if you want) act when you want to go for a walk late at night in the dark in the Devildom with them, but it might not be entirely safe since you're human.

Hey, anon! This is a CUTE!!!!! prompt! Nice and soft <3 Thanks for the request!

Lucifer

Was about to go out for a walk anyways. He really needed to cool off after dealing with the shenanigans in the kitchen regarding Beel and Levi.

He’s sort of glad you wanted to go for a walk too, but he’s not so foolish enough to think that it’s anything more than a mere coincidence.

The walk with him is quiet, but every now and then either of you will strike up a conversation. Mostly him. It’s usually about his brothers, or your time here in the Devildom.

After your walk together, he feels rejuvenated. He doesn’t try to show it too much, but he enjoys his time spent with you. He starts to ask you to go on walks with him from time to time now.

Mammon

Walk yourself! Damn human...

That’s what he says, but he obviously comes running out after you. You didn’t give a damn; you were getting out of that house one way or another. Whatever happens, happens.

That’s what you told Mammon, and he nearly smacked you over the head for it. Be glad you’re a weakling human. The GREAT Mammon is now your bodyguard while you have your stupid little walk...

He doesn’t stop talking the entire time, though. Stupid human this, dumb brothers that... It almost makes you wonder why you asked him to tag along. Your eyes meet for a moment and for a moment he stuttered to a stop, blushing. Oh yeah. That’s why.

Leviathan

Ew, working out? Are you on drugs?

Well, that was a little harsh... but still. Walking is for normies. And Beel. Though I guess he sorta... jogs. Is there even any difference? GRAAAH! Fine. I need a break from this level anyways, it’s been kicking my ass for the past hour!

That’s all he says, before he’s out the door with you. He’s very protective of you on the walk, and when other demons are walking by, he wraps his tail around your waist possessively. You think it’s pretty cute.

What isn’t so cute is how exhausted he is so quickly. It astonishes you, honestly. The walk to RAD is longer than the distance you two have walked so far. I guess that’s probably why he doesn’t show up there often.

Satan

Oh, that sounds lovely. He eagerly complies with you, ready to get out of the house at the drop of a hat.

He’s not ashamed to show it either. He would rather you come to him first when you’re excited for new scenery, so a walk sounds like a perfect way to ease into all of that.

He’s the one walking you, though. You’re dragged all over the Devildom with him, when you wanted “a peaceful stroll under the constant watchful gaze of the moon.”

He stops and looks at you. “That was very poetic.” He doesn’t mind showing how impressed by your eloquence. He decides soon after though, that you’re right. You DO seem pretty tired, so he’s taking you home. Enjoy the long walk back!

Asmodeus

Of course darling! Just as long as it’s a short stroll. Maybe you two can get some pretty Devilgram photos by that rose bush near RAD too?

He does not like walking for too long. Doesn’t want to break out into a single sweat and oh! People walk their dogs there, be careful of poop on the ground, will you?

A good portion of the walk is him talking about himself, or talking about a party happening around the way. While tempting, you were no where near dressed for the occasion.

Well don’t you worry, Asmo always comes prepared! He has a change of clothes in his bag for you, and you’d fit it too! Congrats! You’re now stuck at a party, when all you wanted was a quick outing!

Beelzebub

Oh, sure! He loves going for walks. Or jogs. Or runs. Usually runs, because more calories are burned. But if you want to go on a walk, a walk is fine too. Just don’t be surprised when you only burn half as much as-

You’re already walking ahead of him. It’s not like you didn’t care- well not that much if you’re being honest- but you just wanted to get away from the house. Being in a house where chaos is right around the corner (literally) puts you on edge sometimes.

Beel can appreciate the quiet of your walks together. He assumes you wanted it to be as peaceful as possible, but something about him always makes you feel uneasy. Like he’s hiding something heavy on his conscious. At some point he even whispers, “You’re still here.” Whatever that means.

You decide to keep walking with him from time to time. You’re curious to see if he’ll ever open up to you, or if you’ll just have to be that “annoyingly curious” (Mammon’s words, not Beels) human that you seem to be so well.

Belphegor

No. That’s too much effort. Going places???? But why though.

In the same fashion as Mammon, though, he comes after you when you leave the gates. Like HELL is he going to let you off on your own.

He complains part of the time while out, but figures you aren’t listening that much. Most of the walk is quiet after that, and he almost feels awkward, having complained so much at first.

He almost wants to speak up. Have a heart to heart with you. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but there’s a nervousness scratching at his throat. He decides against it. Next time, he thinks.

Diavolo

Oh a walk sounds fun! He knows a few pretty spots to walk on. Or maybe his private beach would be better suited?

He gets on his running shoes and more comfortable clothes and is out the door. He’ll be back... eventually!

Oh, you meant the two of you? Well, er... that’s fine too! His point still stands. It’s dangerous for you to go alone anyways.

The walk is peaceful, but filled with chatter. Much less about your time in the Devildom, and more out your very different way of life in the human world. He wants you to be the one to talk, and for him to listen for a change.

Barbatos

A walk sounds delightful.

He would be happy to accompany you on a quick stroll to relax your mind. He is silent the entire way, however, speaking when spoken to.

It isn’t much, but it’s enough for you. He’s grateful for that. Occasionally he will ask if you would like a quick break, or to stop in this or that place for a treat.

He’s grateful that you wished to take him away from his responsibilities, even for a brief moment. It shows character in you. That you really do see him as more than a butler, for some reason. He wouldn’t mind more walks with you in the future.

Simeon

Oh a walk sounds fun! We should probably bring Luke with us right?

Yeah, probably not. People would confuse him for our child together! Wouldn’t that be funny, though?

Walks with an angel sounds pleasant, and that’s exactly what it is. Its filled with fun chatter about life, about RAD, about this exchange program. The entire time, he’s assuring you that no matter what, he’ll always lend an ear to listen.

Will always walk you back to the gates, and wave goodbye. You usually feel like you could walk for longer with him, but he figures you might be tired. Ever considerate, he let’s you go before you talk each others ears off.

Luke

Isn’t it always nighttime here...? Either way-

Sure! He knows this nice little cafe you and he could go to for a pit stop!

There’s also this nice little animal park you two could visit afterwards, where the pets run with their leashes off. Maybe you’ll get lucky and pet one or two?!

He secretly doesn’t know why you asked him to walk with you. Could it be because you feel safe with him around!? Is it because you needed a break from those nasty and mean demons? ESPECIALLY Lucifer!? He gets it! Wholeheartedly! He’ll protect you, MC!

Solomon

:)))

He’s glad you asked him. A nice walk in hell with your local sorcerer sounds crazy, but it’s anything but. At least for now.

He probably does drag you into something crazy, like suggesting potions for you to try for this or that.

He might take you to Hocus Pocus without you even realizing it. Never mind it, you probably should have just stayed home! Still though... that sorcerer does have a pretty smile. it might be worth the long trip to Hocus Pocus after all...

#obey me #obey me headcanons #om!#om! hcs #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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artemstellation · 3 years

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tot men + favourite things about you.

artem wing...

.... admires your courage. he's always watched you, and while ready to help you at any moment of trouble, he's held himself back because you've always stood strong and you found a way out, no matter what.

whenever he'd watched you in action at the very beginning, he found himself growing anxious with each passing second, and itching with the need to step in and help you out, but each time, you've found a way out that he hadn't even thought about.

your spirit to stay strong regardless of the situation inspires him ― he finds himself finding out solutions he hadn't thought of before even in the face of immeasurable pressure in the court and staying strong for his clients, in whose innocence he believes in.

marius von hagen...

.... admires your wit. he adores the fact that you can keep up with his jokes and teasing, and retort back with some of your own. he finds himself looking forward to your next conversation when one ends, and seeks you out to engage in a little dance of words.

he finds it absolutely hilarious that while you can whisper the sweetest of words to a person, you can also destroy another one with no hesitation at all (he's found himself at both ends quite a few times, with the former happening a lot more often).

he's slowly picking up on your sense of humour ― and doesn't find himself minding it one bit. you've got all sorts of inside jokes with him, and you can find him snorting randomly when he's recalled a particularly funny one. your conversations always shoo his boredom away, and give him something to look forward to when he's done with work.

luke pearce...

.... admires your laughter. it never fails to bring him ease, and he often finds himself joining in with you, feeling all his worries float away, as if they never existed in the first place.

even as kids, luke has always seeked out your chuckles and snickers, often finding all sorts of ways to make you laugh for no reason at all other than wanting to hear it. he's the reason why you've got so many fond and happy memories of your childhood (and he's glad about it).

a lot of times, he ends up at your place, finding you whenever his heart and mind are in turbulence, often reminiscing over long-gone memories with you to distract himself from his anxieties. still adores making you laugh, because he thinks that your laughter sounds like the best kind of sound in the world.

vyn richter...

.... admires your eloquence. he revels in the way you speak to others, and comfort them. it ties in with his adoration of your voice, and he could listen to you talk all day long.

he watches the way you interact with other people ― sometimes understanding them even with a lack of words, sometimes talking to them so much that you lose track of the time (he secretly wishes to be one of the people who you can understand without words, sometimes).

invites you over for reading sessions a lot in his free time, so he can listen to you read the many stories in his vast collection, often times falling asleep to the sound of your voice. he has a lot of conversations about various subjects with you, and finds himself looking for a new topic to talk to you about quite a few times (not that he minds).

✦ notes; consistency of text in posts? we don't do that in this house. anyway, here it is~ i hope you like it, anon!

- rine

#(🐅) rine's musings #tears of themis #tears-of-themis #tears of themis artem #tears of themis marius #tears of themis luke #tears of themis vyn #artem wing #marius von hagen #luke pearce #vyn richter #tot x reader #mihoyo #mihoyo tears of themis #why do i keep forgetting the tags #i'm a dumbass #certified #otome x reader

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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Started out rocky, now they’re both cocky

(Part 3 of the rooster!Jaskier series, but it’s not necessary to read the other parts. All you need to know is that Jaskier is a rooster and he’s here to cause chaos)

word count: 3378

content warnings: innuendos, use of the word “cock”

part 1 part 2

AO3 (here Jaskier is called Dandelion, bc I think this has more game!Danelion vibes)

Jaskier had often imagined what it would be like to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen. In his mind, there had been no doubt that he would sweep into a deep bow, announcing his presence to the witchers residing there with a confident grin and eloquent words.

Alas. As fate – or, in this case a very insistent Geralt – would have it, Jaskier was unable to do either of these things. His words had been replaced by crowing, charming someone with a smile was most definitely impossible if one had a beak and an ugly lappet beneath one’s chin. And as for sweeping into a low bow – well, it would look rather silly if a rooster were to bow and he was beneath making an idiot of himself. That’s what Valdo Marx was for and he would not lower himself to that imbecile’s standards.

A less obvious, though no less important reason why Jaskier was not going to present himself the way he normally would have, was simple: To do so, he’d have to stop letting Geralt carry him. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t so certain anymore, whether Geralt was carrying him because why wouldn’t he carry his dearest friend? Or if he did it so he could have a hold on Jaskier and prevent him from running away and wreaking havoc again.

Which was, of course, preposterous and also rather hypocritical of him. After all, the whole reason why Jaskier was here in the first place – and in this undignified form at that – was so he could fulfil Geralt’s wishes and use his unique talents and talons to destroy the room of one of Geralt’s brothers, a task that he was more than willing to take upon himself.

Still, it would have been much appreciated if Geralt had made sure that the other witchers welcomed him as well, or at the very least knew who he was, instead of ignoring him mostly while they greeted Geralt. Truly, it was a marvel that the witcher who welcomed Geralt at the gate didn’t pay any special attention to Jaskier. Not that he needed the attention per se, but it would have been nice and, well, there was a reason why he wasn’t used to people ignoring him. He was a delight! And no one could tell him that the sight of Geralt warming his hands by burying them in the feathers of an exceptionally beautiful and sophisticated rooster wasn’t a sight worth being paid attention to.

Filled with righteous indignation, Jaskier fluttered his wings and pecked a little at Geralt’s fingers, when he had been ignoring Jaskier way too long – not that any amount of ignoring Jaskier would have been acceptable - in favour of talking to the fetching witcher wearing red leather. Eskel, if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, and as everyone knew, he was never mistaken.

The action earned him a small tightening of Geralt’s arms around him that had him squawking indignantly, but at least, Eskel now looked at him. Jaskier did his best to preen and exude an air of sophistication. For a blissful moment it seemed that he had indeed thoroughly charmed the witcher. Eskel’s face lit up, he reached out and –

“Sir!” Jaskier tried to shout, but his voice contorted his outraged outcry to a crow.

How- the audacity of – what did Eskel think gave him the permission to just pet Jaskier as if he was but an animal? Oh, how dare he…

Oh. Oh. No, actually, it was quite a nice sensation having strong hands caress his head and down his feathered back as gently as a lovesick poet would run their fingers over a flower. Quite nice indeed. He could get used to this.

To his shame – but really, who could fault a bard for seeking a little innocent pleasure in being touched by a handsome man? – Jaskier leaned into the touch. Thank all the gods that he hadn’t been turned into a cat, or else he might have had to suffer the indignity of starting to purr under the well-deserved attention.

For a brief, blissful moment, all was perfect. Until -

“He will get along well with Lil’ Bleater,” Eskel said. “You think we can put them into the stable together?”

And that was just – no! Oh no no, dear witcher. A pretty face and a soft touch would not be enough to save him from Jaskier ‘s outrage.

Expectantly, Jaskier turned his head to Geralt, his most beloved friend, the man who had rescued him countless times from the clutches of those who meant him or his reputation harm. Surely, now would be the perfect time for Geralt to come to his aid once more and defend his honour. Certainly he would –

“Hmm.”

Oh that bastard! This was no disagreeing or scolding hum. This hmm, accompanied by a sly smirk and a mischievous twinkle in Geralt’s eyes was very decidedly not the support that Jaskier was looking for.

Jaskier nipped Geralt’s fingers again, but that only served to make the witcher grin even wider. Together with Eskel, Geralt walked through the gate and towards the entrance hall, giving Jaskier a shit-eating grin when they passed the stables and making a comment about how in there, no one would hear the rooster’s morning crow.

He better just be teasing. As tasteless of a joke as this was, Jaskier might find it in himself to forgive Geralt for the threat of making him sleep in a stable with a goat.

As they walked, Geralt kept petting him absentmindedly, which was admittedly nice. Jaskier could live with being used as a glorified hand-warmer, if it came with the luxury of being carried around and getting pressed against a strong man’s chest.

Even better than that, though, was the look the old witcher, who Geralt greeted with the name Vesemir, gave Geralt, when they met him in the great hall. The way his eyes wandered from Geralt’s face down to where he was stroking his rooster marked him as a man who had lost all faith in Geralt.

A younger witcher with slicked back hair, who must be the infamous Lambert, the very reason why Jaskier was here, snickered behind Vesemir’s back.

“Looks like I’m officially the superior brother now,” he said with a grin. “The only one whose best friend isn’t a farm animal.”

“Your best friend is a cat,” Geralt deadpanned.

“A handsome cat that would claw your pretty face off if he heard you taking shit about me.”

Lambert’s grin looked infuriatingly smug. Jaskier didn’t know this cat they were speaking of, but one thing should never be questioned: He was the farm best animal friend. Even if he wasn’t really an animal or – he shuddered at the thought – living on a farm. But how dare Lambert imply that a cat could be better than a rooster? He gave Lambert his best menacing glare, which fell rather flat, considering he was a damned bird, currently snuggling against Geralt.

As was to be expected, which didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t take offence to it, Lambert ignored him. “What’s his name anyway? I sure hope it’s not Roach.”

If he had been able to snicker, Jaskier would have done so. Lambert might be a cock – oh, who was Jaskier to judge such a thing? – but it was nice to see that the bard wasn’t the only one who would relentlessly tease Geralt for his inability to come up with good names.

“Eskel has his Little Bleater,” Lambert added, his grin turning downright devious. “So, pretty boy, you have…a Little Cock?”

Little? Little?

The gall of that man! Jaskier was anything but small, thank you very much. But then again, Jaskier couldn’t shame a man for showing such a great understanding of wordplay, especially when he used his talents to tease Geralt.

Oh, who was he kidding? He liked Lambert.

Between his unexpected appreciation for the youngest witcher and the urge to make himself seem bigger than he was, Jaskier nearly missed Geralt’s answer. It was exactly the sort of reply one would expect. Except…Geralt did not correct Lambert regarding the fact that Jaskier was an animal.

Now, here’s the thing. Jaskier loved his witcher with all his heart. Geralt was his best friend in the whole wide world and he would never exchange him for anyone, as much of a smug bastard as he could sometimes be. But by the gods, why oh why, did Jaskier ‘s best friend have to be a man who didn’t have the presence of mind to just, oh, I don’t know, tell his family that the rooster he was bringing with him was a cursed human? There was no doubt that Geralt had told his brothers and father of Jaskier before, for how could he not? Jaskier was a great subject to talk about. Surely, Geralt couldn’t be worried about them not accepting him in their midst.

A quick glance at him – Jaskier preferred not to think about how strange a rooster turning his head nearly upside down and giving a stink eye must look – made it quite clear that he was, in fact, not worried at all. Instead, Geralt was up to something.

Jaskier glared at him, as if staring might let him read Geralt’s thoughts, provided Geralt knew how to use his mind to think.

Perhaps his plan was to give Jaskier the best possible way to get attention by only introducing him once he was back in his dashing human form? Oh, that would be marvellous! After all, if there was one thing Jaskier was good at – well, there were numerous things, of course, but we shall ignore that for the sake of the dramatic – it was making an impression. He had to commend his friend for being so thoughtful as to grant him such an opportunity, unless…

Oh, Jaskier knew that look on Geralt’s face. He was having far too much fun with this. A suspicious amount of fun even. It would almost make one think that all this had never been solely about Lambert’s room at all. If Jaskier hadn’t known any better, he might even be inclined to think that Geralt was taking delight in letting Jaskier stay cursed.

Well. If that was the case, Jaskier would make sure that Geralt would delight not much longer in that.

He let out an ear-piercing shriek that had Geralt flinch and unfortunately squeeze him a little uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” He asked, as if he didn’t know fully well the magnitude of what he was doing.

Before Jaskier could answer, well, whatever equivalent of answering he could do in this form at any rate, Lambert spoke up again.

“Jaskier?” He cooed. “How sweet. You miss your bard so much that you call your rooster by his name? Who would have thought the White Wolf could be so soft-hearted. Watch out or Roach will get jealous if she learns that you found a new love.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled, though whether he was defending his own reputation as a stoic, brooding loner – ha! As if anyone could look at him and believe him to be such a thing! – or if he was outraged at the thought that anyone could take Roach’s place in his heart, Jaskier couldn’t tell. It was likely a mixture of both.

“Oh, so you don’t miss your bard?” Lambert lifted an eyebrow. “Is it perhaps just a certain bodypart of his that you miss? I guess then it would make sense why you gave his name to the cock.”

Lambert turned away from Geralt before he could come up with a reply, but before he had his back fully to Geralt, Lambert caught Jaskier’s eye and he winked.

Oh. Oh ho ho, he knew. That sly bastard. Evidently, Lambert was the only witcher who knew how to use his brain and seen through the curse and Geralt’s admittedly poor attempt at making it seem as if the extraordinary and overall splendid rooster was but a normal bird and now Lambert was fucking with Geralt.

And – now, listen. Jaskier had been looking forward to destroying Lambert’s room. There was nothing like joining forces with a friend to mess with someone who annoyed them. Well, the biggest pleasure Jaskier knew came from proving once again that he was more talented than Valdo Marx, but that was a given, so it shall not be mentioned further. The point was that Jaskier would have done as Geralt had asked of him.

But now, with this new knowledge that Lambert apparently shared the same ambition as Jaskier to become the biggest nuisance he could be, he couldn’t possibly work against him. Jaskier could recognise a kindred spirit if he saw one. Reading people and recognising his own greatness in others was one of his countless talents. The last and perhaps only time he had met such a kindred soul before, had been in his first year at Oxenfurt at the admission exam, when Valdo Marx had immediately singled out Jaskier as the one who could be the biggest threat to his career. As loathe as Jaskier was to admit it, he too had recognised a certain talent in the other bard and they had both decided to make it their lives’ mission to not let the other top them.

Jaskier had not regretted that decision a moment in his life, but even he had to admit that said rivalry was the reason why he was now a rooster and delightful as that could be, he could have done well without it.

So, he would not make the mistake of antagonizing a congenial person again. At least not know. Who was to say what the future held? The important part was, that for now, for once in his life, Jaskier was going to be the bigger person.

He waited until the moment was right, a feat greater than any he had ever faced before. As virtuous as he was, being patient was not one of Jaskier’s strong suits. Still, once night had fallen and Geralt had thankfully not made true of his promise to put him in the stables, he snuck out of Geralt’s room, searching for Lambert’s instead.

Lambert, of course, was already waiting for him, a cocky smile on his face and his arms crossed in a way that meant business.

He greeted Jaskier with the fateful words “You gonna help me mess with Geralt?” and obviously, there was only one possible answer to that.

It was thrilling having an ally in his mission to create chaos and take revenge on those that had slighted him. And, oh, how Geralt had slighted him!

The first step of their however-many-steps-they-would-get-away-with-plan was simple: Jaskier was supposed to take a nap. In Geralt’s bed. Specifically, in his hair, creating a nest out of it.

Now, Jaskier was no craftsman for any craft that didn’t involve the spoken word, but he did so love to make himself comfortable. So that was what he did. Snuggling into Geralt’s hair and masterfully rearranging the strands with his beak until they could well and truly be considered a mess.

And then, as always, Jaskier woke Geralt up in his new favourite way. One would have thought that Geralt would have gotten used to Jaskier crowing into his ear at the top of his lungs. But no. Geralt grimaced and grabbed his pillow to throw it at his tragically underappreciated companion. The feathers flying through the room were not only those from the pillow.

So naturally, Jaskier started complaining. Loudly. Loud enough to, as a completely arbitrary example, signal a different witcher whose room was down the hallway that their plan was in motion.

Before Geralt could find another pillow to throw at him, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s breeches that the witcher had unceremoniously dropped to the floor the past night and dragged them towards the door.

Cursing, Geralt chased after him, wearing nothing but his underthings. Had Jaskier been alone, he would have gotten caught, no doubt, but the door flung open just in time for him to dash through and just before Geralt could reach him, Lambert, who had been lying in wait, scooped Jaskier up and ran down the stairs and outside, cackling like a hen, while Jaskier let out a triumphant crow that was somewhat muffled by the breeches still firmly held in his beak.

Geralt was catching up to them quickly, but Lambert and Jaskier had one rather obvious advantage: There were two of them.

Lambert dropped Jaskier unceremoniously, leaving him to flutter his wings to land somewhat elegantly – oh, who was he kidding? He plummeted to the ground like a stone - and they dashed into two different directions. For a precious moment, Geralt stood there frozen to the spot, surely contemplating which menace would be able to cause the greater chaos, if he didn’t catch him: The rooster with a godcomplex or Geralt’s little brother in possession of opposable thumbs.

Geralt, once more was forced to choose the lesser evil, but here is the thing: As it was so often the case, there was no correct choice to make.

While Lambert ran back to Geralt’s room to cause who knew what chaos, Jaskier ran towards the stables, and be it only for the dramatic irony.

Geralt must have chosen to follow Lambert and Jaskier was almost insulted, but it gave him the chance to take his time, pushing open the door to the stables and dragging the breeches inside. Just a little revenge for all the times that Geralt had made fun of Jaskier when he had been forced to run out of town without his breeches, since they had to be left in a lover’s rooms.

He dropped the breeches in Lil’ Bleater’s corner and watched with smug satisfaction as the goat immediately began munching on the breeches happily. Jaskier gave her a proud look and had they both been human, he would have kissed her hand in thanks. As it was, he was rather fond of his beak and he would not risk hurting it by kissing the goat’s hooves. Still, Lil’ Bleater lived up to her name, giving a happy little bleat that Jaskier chose to interpret as thanks for the delicious meal. How polite of her.

Who knew. Maybe they would become friends after all.

From somewhere in the keep, Jaskier could hear a bang and then a shout of disgust and had he been in possession of his luscious lips, would have made them split into the biggest, most self-satisfied grin, when Geralt’s voice continued cursing loud enough to be heard even where Jaskier was. To be fair, Geralt had probably opened the windows of his room. At least that was what Jaskier would have done in his stead to escape what Lambert had done to his room.

Well. Served Geralt right. No one could accuse Lambert of unoriginality and Jaskier was nothing if not petty.

Of course, the bomb that Lambert had set off wasn’t another moon dust bomb. Where would be the fun in that? No, Lambert and Jaskier had agreed, as much as a rooster and a witcher could agree, that they would be gracious and bring Geralt closer to what he loved the most: The sweet sweet smell of his cherished Roach. In this case, the smell of what Roach left behind, when she had eaten a lot.

There were more steps to their genius plan of creating chaos in the keep, one of which involved a fork, a strategically placed axii and the backside of whoever pissed Lambert off the most, and naturally there were endlessly more possibilities for improvisation.

Sadly, the other witchers, roused by the mayhem and possibly even the stench coming from Geralt’s room, didn’t seem to appreciate Lambert and Jaskier’s combined genius and they made sure to break the curse on Jaskier as soon as they got the change.

Now, there was only one fundamental flaw in that: For some unknown reason, the witchers hadn’t considered the fact that Jaskier’s personality hadn’t changed when he had become a rooster. They had no idea what they were in for, now that Jaskier had opposable thumbs again.

This would be a fun winter indeed.

#There's a bard lose in Kaer Morhen #jaskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #Lambert #Eskel #rooster!Jaskier #cock!Jaskier #my writing #Hähnchen #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #feral!Jaskier #cursed!Jaskier #Jaskier&Lambert

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

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pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines.

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

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After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

#bts smut #bts fic #jimin smut #yoongi smut #yoonmin #yoonmin smut #yoonmin fic #jimin fic #yoongi fic #dom jimin #sub yoongi

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musicallisto · 3 years

Text

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee @softeninglooks (all my writing)

#writing in formal english is so hard? when it's not your first language? you're just like 'does this mean something or am i making this up'#mywriting #game of thrones #got #tyrion lannister #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones one-shot #got imagine #got fanfic #got one-shot #tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister fanfic #tyrion lannister one-shot #tyrion lannister x reader #will spellcheck this tomorrow morning so for now have this #multifandomfix

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jayeray-hq · 3 years

Text

How He Shows You Affection: Kageyama Tobio

Thank you again for requesting anon!

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: None all fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Masterlist - Character Masterlist

Thank you as usual to the amazing Tay @deathcab4daddy I know you’re busy so I really really appreciate it! 🥺💖

He Dotes on You

Kageyama had always been a bit socially awkward, which had at times made it difficult for both you and others to see how very much he cared about you. It had taken you a good long while to realize that despite the stilted, often abrupt, and abrasive, words that came out of his mouth that he truly loved you. He was even doing everything in his power to show you, since he couldn’t seem to vocalize how he felt with any sort of eloquence. It was in the little things he did, every day and in every moment that showed he was thinking about you.

It was how whenever he went to the vending machines, he always came back with his milk in one hand and your favorite drink in the other. It was in the way he ensured you never ran out of your favorite treats at home, restocking them every time he went to the store and never forgetting them. It was how there was always a seat reserved for you at all his games, even the ones you couldn’t come to because he wanted to remind you that you were always welcome and that he was always thinking of you.

The little things he did never failed to make your heart warm, each gesture stating how much he loved you loud and clear for anyone who cared to look. After all, each gesture was catered to you and to the things you loved. It surprised every single person who asked about your relationship, but after the first few mistakes where you stated your preferences to him clearly, Kageyama hadn’t ever gifted you something you didn’t like.

Your volleyball crazy boyfriend had proved over and over that the only things he paid attention to and bothered to memorize were about the things he loved. It was why he’d struggled so much in school, and yet he never seemed to forget a single detail about you. He knew your favorite dessert, the things you craved, when your cycle was, your hobbies, and the little things you did or that he could do to brighten your day. He memorized it all, carefully and meticulously and pulled those details out when he needed them to help him prove to you how very much he cared.

It meant when the two of you went shopping that if you happened to mention you liked or wanted something, you could almost always count on having it show up sometime in the near future. It made things a little difficult at times as your boyfriend, with all his adorable awkwardness, didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word excessive. You couldn’t help but find that part of him incredibly cute. It just meant you’d had to learn to watch your words so you wouldn’t accidentally take advantage of the way he wanted to spoil you.

However, the clearest and most obvious sign of his adoration for you was when you asked him for something, he almost never said no, even if doing it for you made him a bit uncomfortable at times. If you asked him for a hug, he gave it, even if it was in public in front of his team, or even in front of reporters and fans despite the fact that public displays of affection made him uncomfortable. He would blush the whole time, and maybe be a little stiff and awkward, but if you asked, or even so much as hinted that you might need it he would do it without hesitation.

It was another thing you were very careful never to take for granted, unwilling to make him uncomfortable or unhappy for your own selfish reasons. However, you really appreciated that he was willing to step out of his comfort zone for you, to do whatever it took to make you feel loved.

A lot of people over the years had asked you how you could be with someone who seemed so cold. You’d always scoffed at those people, because it was very clear to you and everyone who truly knew him. Kageyama was the exact opposite of cold. Sure he struggled sometimes, but it was clear to you that he was doing his best to show you how much he truly loved you, and in the end that was all that mattered.

He Makes Time for You

You waited patiently up in the stands, watching as your boyfriend practiced his setting for Hoshiumi, Ushijima, and Romero below clearly working on something or another. You honestly loved watching your boyfriend practice, the look on his face was unlike anywhere else, the sheer joy and concentration in his expression clear to anyone who cared to look.

It was very clear to you that the volleyball court was where Kageyama belonged, and where he felt most comfortable. However, these days you liked to think volleyball wasn’t the only thing that could make his face light up with joy, a feeling that was only confirmed as he glanced up after a successful toss to meet your eyes.

It was a habit he’d formed fairly early on in your relationship, searching out your face in the crowd, almost as if seeking your approval, something in his face clearly asking ‘did you see that? Did you see what I did?’. The answer of course was always yes, because when he was playing you could hardly ever tear your eyes away from him, which was part of the reason the two of you had gotten together in the first place.

However today wasn’t about volleyball, or enjoying watching him set for hours on end. No today was supposed to be about the two of you. It was an important date after all, Valentine’s Day, and one he’d promised to you. He clearly hadn’t forgotten, judging from the lovely bouquet of your favorite flowers that had arrived while you were at work, and as he caught your eye, he nodded to you in acknowledgment before turning to his teammates.

You weren’t sure what exactly it was he said to them, but it had Hoshiumi letting out a surprised shout, and Ushijima raising a brow at your boyfriend. Romero, whose Japanese had improved a lot recently, simply clapped your boyfriend on the shoulder in a clearly congratulatory manner before gently pushing him off the court.

Kageyama went, though not before meeting your eyes and gesturing that he would meet up with you in the lobby. You waved in acknowledgment, a wide affectionate smile on your face as you stood to leave, even if it would take him at least ten minutes to shower and dress.

Your departure however was stopped by a shout from Hoshiumi. Curious, you turned to find all three of the players who’d been practicing with your boyfriend, along with the team captain Hirugami, Fukurou, all gathered below the bleachers clearly looking to speak with you.

“How did you do it?” Hoshiumi asked you bluntly, his eyes wide with shocked awe as he stared up at you.

“Do what?” you asked him, a little dumbfounded by the question. Hoshiumi was a bit of an odd one, and though you didn’t know him well you did know he was the kind of guy that was almost impossible to predict.

“How did you convince Kageyama to leave practice early?” he asked, his voice getting louder and louder with each word, clearly baffled, “We can hardly ever get him to leave the building period, but somehow he’s ditching us early?”

“Kageyama is very diligent,” Ushijima added thoughtfully, also looking a bit baffled as to why anyone would want to leave practice. The compliment was a high one though, especially from Ushijima who was honestly the epitome of diligence.

“But I didn’t,” you told them, unable to help the fond smile that pulled at your lips as you realized that your boyfriend had clearly made special plans for the two of you, especially if he was leaving practice early, “Tobio was the one who told me what time I needed to be here. He insisted on making the plans for today.”

Hoshiumi made a clearly disbelieving noise, but Romero who had been listening intently and quietly asking Hirugami for clarification at certain points simply nodded voicing, “Is the power of love, sí?”

You flushed a bit at having it pointed out so bluntly, especially when Hoshiumi squawked in clear surprise and Hirugami started in on a coughing fit, clearly trying to cover his laugh. However, the beaming smile on your face no doubt gave you away.

“Kageyama told me a couple weeks ago that he’d be leaving practice early today,” Hirugami told the group, once he’d recovered from his fit, “It surprised me and the coaches too. Apparently, he’s more of a romantic than I thought.”

“I never thought I’d see the day Kageyama loved something as much or more than volleyball,” Hoshiumi voiced with a frown, “I’ve known that kid since high school, and never would’ve guessed he had room in his head or heart for anything more than the game. Guess you must be pretty special to him eh?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond to the surprisingly perceptive question from the white-haired wing spiker, as your conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the man himself. He was dressed surprisingly nicely, in dark pants and a deep blue button down that no doubt had been picked for him by his older sister Miwa. He had a bit of an impatient look on his face, clearly suspicious as he glanced between you and the members of his team who’d gathered to speak to you.

“Oy, come on, we’re going to be late,” he informed you bluntly, holding his hand out to you.

“You look nice Tobio,” you acknowledged, immediately accepting his hand, smiling up at him, and enjoying the faint pale blush you could see across his cheeks. He was clearly a little flustered at the compliment, simply dipping his head, unable to collect himself to return the compliment just yet.

However, he did carefully guide you out of the bleachers, ensuring you didn’t slip on the stairs because of the heels you’d worn to match your date night outfit. The soft, admiring look he gave you every time he looked at you more than enough of a return compliment, and reward for dolling yourself up for the night.

You waved in acknowledgment as the team wished the two of you a good evening together. You stepped out hand in hand with your boyfriend ready to enjoy the evening and celebrate your love, one that he’d more than proved already, simply by taking the time off to be with you.

He Vocalizes it to You (and only to you)

“Tobio is something wrong?” you asked your boyfriend, deeply concerned with the way he’d been acting all evening. He’d been fidgety and restless, casting you furtive looks out of the corner of his eye that he clearly thought were subtle but were actually anything but.

Usually when he got a bit agitated or when something was bothering him, you could get him to relax by cuddling up together on the couch and running your fingers through his hair as you watched something mindless on tv. Tonight however, even that surefire method had failed. You weren’t sure what was wrong, only that something was.

Kageyama fidgeted for several seconds, clearly fighting with himself as you waited patiently. By this point in your relationship, you were well aware that sometimes the best thing to do with him when you wanted answers was to quietly wait him out and give him some time to get his thoughts together.

You didn’t mind. The fact that Kageyama was able to communicate effectively with you at all was, according to some of his old high school senpai, a minor miracle. After all, verbal communication was one of the areas your boyfriend struggled with the most, and had led to quite a few misunderstandings and hurt feelings on both sides from the people he’d known over the years.

He’d gotten much better though as he got older and a little more patient. It was something he credited Sugawara, Hinata, and Oikawa of all people with, which had always baffled you a bit. Oikawa himself had squawked rather indignantly when your boyfriend had mentioned as such in his hearing which, while hilarious, had done nothing to clear up your confusion.

You were grateful for it nonetheless as it had certainly helped ease things in your relationship. The two of you had, had more than a few bumps along the way, especially at first, but these days you liked to think the two of you had a good system worked out and communicated rather well.

“I love you,” your boyfriend blurted suddenly, the words pulling you from your reminiscence about the past rather abruptly and startling you a bit with their volume.

“I love you too, Tobio,” you told him immediately, a little taken aback, but warmed nonetheless about his declaration of affection, even if the delivery hadn’t been all that smooth. He didn’t say it as often as some, and never where anyone else could overhear, too shy to do so, but when the two of you were home, he never failed to tell you and it warmed your heart every time.

“You- you know I love you,” he continued hesitantly, peering up at you from where he’d been resting on your lap, his deep blue eyes clearly troubled as he asked, “right?”

“Of course,” you answered, more than a bit baffled about what had brought this on all of a sudden, “And, you know I love you back, right?”

“I know,” he murmured his voice quiet, but filled with affection as he peered up at you, his face full or adoration even if the worry hadn’t completely left his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” he told you earnestly, his ears burning red, clearly embarrassed but determined to keep going despite that, “Because everyone says it isn’t obvious, and I just thought, maybe it might not be obvious to you.”

“Everyone says?” you repeated a little baffled, before remembering the article that you and one of your friends had been laughing at over lunch earlier in the day. It was one of those stupid gossip rags that made up random news articles about celebrities. This particular one had proclaimed that it was clear your boyfriend wasn’t in love with you, because he was never affectionate or loving toward you when the two of you were in public.

It had even gone on to proclaim this was because he was in love with another woman, and included a grainy picture of him hugging her as clear ‘evidence’. You’d nearly laughed yourself to tears seeing the photo as it was clear how incredibly uncomfortable he’d been, stiff as a board in the embrace. Even funnier was that you’d recognized the ‘other woman’ in the photo as his sister Miwa.

You hadn’t given it a second thought other than to ask your boyfriend if the PR team of the Adlers was going to do anything about it. He’d immediately responded with an affirmative, and you’d seen the magazine had been forced to print a retraction and an apology just an hour or two later. You’d honestly forgotten about the incident completely, but apparently your boyfriend hadn’t.

“Tobio, you know I don’t care about what anyone else says about our relationship right?” you told him gently, “As long as you know I love you, and I know you love me that’s all that matters. As long as you keep talking to me, keep telling me you love me that’s all I could ever need to know how you feel.”

Kageyama still looked a bit concerned, the furrow that appeared whenever he was thinking hard about something still evident between his brows. You meant the words though, really and truly. You knew how hard they were for him to say, both because he struggled with communication in general and because he was shy about expressing his feelings. Which was why it meant the world to you that he went out of his way to say them to you. You didn’t need him to proclaim them to the world, him just saying them to you was more than enough.

“I love you,” you told him earnestly, peering down at him, gently smoothing the crease in his brow until his face relaxed, into the soft look he reserved for you.

“I love you too,” he told you sincerely, sitting up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Then that’s all you have to say,” you assured him, nuzzling your face into his affectionately, relishing in his presence, and basking both in his love and the words he saved for you and you alone.

#JayeRayWrites #JayeRayReplies #how he shows you affection #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #kageyama #tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio x y/n #kageyama scenarios #kageyama headcanons #kageyama fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagines #haikyū!!#haikyu fluff #tobio kageyama x reader

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years

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Baby, You’re Perfect

Pairing: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: Weight insecurity, negative body image/icky thoughts, body shaming from relatives, talks about skipping a meal once, general stuff like that. Kirishima’s reader is actively trying to lose weight. Cursing/language throughout (but mostly in Bakugou’s)

Characters: Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari

Author’s Note:

And here we have yet another request that is super old. I’m talking this has been chillin in my inbox for three good months. My sincere apologies, anon. And again, I’m sorry that that had to happen to you. Your grandma has no right to speak to you in that way. You’re making great progress and that’s amazing! Keep going strong, I believe in you. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun doing this request! We all need more chubby y/n on this website.

Yes, it says Hawks but I contacted the anon and we switched it to Denki bc I don’t write for Keigo (and we had a lovely conversation. they’re very nice :D).

Also the first two insults are things that have actually been said/done to me irl (hehe tasty self projection) and the last one in Denki’s is from an episode from Tuca and Birdie (it’s a good show).

Anyway, be nice to people. Respect others and speak to them as equals. We’re all human beings here, trying to get by. We’re also like a month away from 2021, I shouldn’t have to say that >:(

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Sugar

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bakugou:

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of their faces, tired of their words. You were headed home early, and you would not be sorry.

You didn’t hate your family. They could just be a little . . . difficult sometimes.

At first, it had gone well. You’d arrived at your aunt’s house yesterday for a family gathering and met up with everyone. They’d hugged you and asked you how you were doing. They’d even asked after your pro hero boyfriend, who you had chosen not to bring along for the purpose of spending some quality alone time with your family.

But then it happened; the thing you’d been dreading, the type of comment you’d hoped against all things you wouldn’t hear this time. But there it was.

You were nearly done preparing for lunch, helping to place dishes of food out in the backyard for your family meal. Your aunt was starting to serve people food, and you happened to glance up to see one of your cousins making herself a plate.

“Do you want any more?” your aunt asked your cousin, ready with her ladle.

“No, thank you, I’ve got enough.” Your cousin flipped her long perfect hair over a perfectly narrow shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to get fat like—” her gaze wandered over to you, meeting your eyes pointedly, “—some people.”

You faltered. Had she really just said that? About you? Well, it wasn’t impossible that it would come from her, but seriously? Today?

You swallowed a lump that had started forming in your throat, setting down the new stack of paper plates. Your aunt shot you a pitying glance. Was she even going to say something? Would she call your cousin out on her words?

No. She just moved on. Moved on like you should have. But something about it stuck with you. Your cousin’s words and implications rang through your mind, making you feel sick to your stomach. You shouldn’t let it bother you this much. You were doing better, both with your habits and your confidence. So why did it hurt so bad?

The darker thoughts you’d kept at bay began to come back; you were worthless, you were ugly, you were undeserving. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why was your stomach churning and your hand shaking? Before you knew it, hints of tears began to prick at your eyes.

No.

You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you this way. But you were no longer interested in staying, any sense of hunger leaving you for sick dread.

Next thing you knew, you had said an early goodbye and put your things in the car, headed back home. Maybe driving wasn’t the best idea, since now you were alone with your thoughts. But crying wasn’t worth it. It was a bad idea, especially since now was the time to focus on the road ahead.

You couldn’t have gotten home sooner, a sense of relief washing over you once you pulled into the driveway. You unlocked your front door, pulling your bags in behind you. You heard movement coming from the kitchen as you set everything down; the sound of the faucet turning off signaling to you that Katsuki had heard you come in.

Heaving a sigh, you tried to chase the negative thoughts from your head. They shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t something to dwell on. You were home again, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your family for another few months at least.

Bakugou’s head peeked out from around the doorframe, double checking that it was you who had walked in. “What are you doing here?” he called, ducking back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” You tried to keep the tartness out of your voice, but some of it must have crept back in. The sounds from the other room stopped again, and the house went eerily quiet. Huffing, you dragged your luggage into your shared bedroom.

You felt drained, that was the only way to describe it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hang your clothes in the closet. Giving up, you laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but hear your cousin’s words ringing over and over in your head, reminding you of the countless years of both internal and external torment you’d gone through regarding your weight.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made you glance down, registering a spiky blond head of hair approaching you on the bed. You said nothing as the mattress dipped next to you, indicating that Bakugou had come up on your side.

The two of you were silent together for a long moment, and a stolen glance told you that Katsuki was mirroring you with his head resting on his arms as he stared at the blank ceiling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in this mood?” he finally asked.

You sighed. “My cousin can just be a pain sometimes.”

“She the one you were telling me about or is it someone else?”

“Same girl.”

“Hmm.” Bakugou continued to keep his eyes trained solely up above. “What did she do this time?”

“Called me fat.” You tried to keep your voice even. You were simply stating a fact. It shouldn’t bother you like this, right? Even so, the tears you’d been forcing back once again rushed to your eyes, causing your tone to pitch. You swallowed them down again, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t something to spend time crying over.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Katsuki said, a little unhelpfully. “I don’t want to see you hating yourself.”

You frowned at this. “I don’t hate myself,” you said, thinking about your words for a moment before you spoke them. “I don’t hate my body. It’s just that . . . sometimes I wish it looked a little better, a little different. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think you’d be happier looking like everyone else.” Bakugou’s gaze had shifted from a blank one to a glare.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “It’s just . . . hard sometimes. Being like this.”

Finally Bakugou rolled to face you, taking one of your hands in his. “I know you . . . struggle with your self-image or whatever, but you can’t let it take over your life, got it? You can’t just waste it worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’re never going to be able to please everyone, but if they’ve got a problem with you, then they can go fuck themselves. You want to know the one person’s opinion who matters most? Yours. You have to be the one who’s taking care of yourself.” Katsuki paused for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers as he considered his words.

“You want to know who’s opinion is the second most important?” he continued, his voice starting to get a little more mumbly. “Mine. I picked you because I love you. I love everything about you, from your shitty, annoying personality to your gorgeous body. You are so much more than just ‘enough’ for me, so don’t go worrying about that. You’re everything to me, and you know that, right? I love you no matter what, so don’t let this ruin your whole day.” He kissed your knuckles, signaling that he had said his peace.

You smiled at him, a tear or two finally sneaking past your defenses. “How—how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Sometimes you say something horribly stupid and I swear I hate you, and then next thing I know, you’re telling me everything I need to hear.”

“Tch, I can be eloquent whenever I want. It’s a choice.”

“Alright.” You rolled over so you could properly face him. “Can I have a hug?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but nevertheless held open his arms. You happily snuggled into the hard, built muscle enveloping you, offering a beautiful contrast to your own soft body.

“Do you need me to talk to your cousin?” Bakugou asked. “I’ll do it.”

“Nah, let her go.” You nuzzled your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

______________

Kirishima:

You honestly expected your family to last longer when it came to keeping from upsetting you. Nevertheless, maybe you were being a little too optimistic. But come on, did they have to ruin everything the literal second you walked through the door?

Even after the scathing comment, followed by a half-hearted, hasty brushing off, you forced yourself to spend time with them. It wasn’t often that you got to see this half of your family, so you decided to ignore it with the rest of them.

But as you sat on the couch sipping tea, you were unable to focus on the light conversation buzzing around you. The event that happened mere minutes before played over again in your mind, causing you to wince.

You’d walked into the house, prepared to greet everyone and have a nice time, when your aunt looked up from her position on her arm chair. “Hello, (Y/N),” she’d begun. “Ah, look, you’re still fat.”

Your heart had almost literally stopped beating in your chest as you froze in the threshold. Had she just said what you thought you heard? You must have been mistaken, right?

Any positive anticipation you’d had of seeing your relatives had plummeted to your feet, and you strongly considered turning around in place and leaving without another word.

But you couldn’t do that, of course not. Then your aunt had begun to babble something about how it made you look cute like a baby, but her words had already done their damage.

You tolerated the rest of your afternoon with them, but it was a great relief to you when you were finally able to leave and go home. As soon as you pulled into your driveway, you exhaled a sigh of relief. It was over with, and it hadn’t been that bad.

Eijirou wasn’t home, but you knew he wouldn’t be long after you. You went about making dinner, knowing he’d appreciate it once he got home. He was always so tired these days.

Even so, as you stirred broth in a pot, your aunt’s words rang in your head. You vaguely remembered telling her about your weight loss a month ago. You figured you’d been making considerable progress, and you knew that no one was more proud of you than Eijirou himself. But had it really made a difference?

After a moment of fretting, you turned off the stove. You walked into your shared bedroom, flicking on the light. Your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. You frowned, going up to it. Turning your body this way and that, you tried to see if you recognized a change in your appearance. You lifted your shirt, only to wince at yourself and tug it back down. You pinched at your arms, your thighs, and your cheeks, growing almost angry at the way your fingers sunk into the flesh.

Maybe you hadn’t been making as much progress as you’d thought. Or the progress you had made wasn’t enough. Without you even realizing it, your mind began to toy with ways to speed things up. Guiltily, you found yourself wondering if Eijirou would notice if you just skipped dinner that night.

You shook your head to clear away the intrusive idea. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. Eijirou had told you that he’d help you lose weight the right way, so you’d stay healthy and be able to keep it off. It would be best to listen to him.

Still, you found your eyes glued to your reflection. You wouldn’t consider yourself vain, but there was something in the way that your eyes traced over your curves, wondering just how they might look on you if only you were a little smaller . . . .

Movement behind you in the mirror caught your eye, and you were quick to recognize a head of spiky red hair. You must not have heard Kirishima come in through the front door.

“Hello,” you said with less cheer than usual.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you, coming up from behind to give you a hug.

You leaned back into his chest as you both stared at each other’s reflections.

“Checking out my perfect girlfriend?” he teased, referring to how your eyes continued to trace down your body. “That’s my job, you know.”

You snorted, gently rubbing at his forearm.

“So how was your family?”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

“I saw you left something on the stove. Are you doing okay?”

Oh, Kirishima. How did he do it?

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really have a good time there. Got a little upset is all.”

Eijirou frowned. “What happened?”

You took one of his hands in yours and began to play with his fingers, now determined to keep your eyes from catching another glimpse of yourself. “My aunt told me I was fat.”

You missed the flash of genuine anger that shot through Kirishima’s eyes. He knew this was something you’d struggled with for a long time. Your aunt had no business making comments like that about your body, especially now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, deciding to keep himself calm for your sake.

You continued to fiddle with his large hands. “I just worry sometimes that I’m not doing enough,” you mumbled. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just meant to look like this?” You sniffled, hating the sudden tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

“Honey . . .” Eijirou spun you around and held you to his chest, running a hand down the back of your head as you finally let the tears slide down your face. You nuzzled into his shirt, appreciating the warm, familiar feeling of it. “Even if you weren’t able to lose more weight, you know I’d still love you, right?” he said in a tender voice. “I’d think you’re beautiful either way.”

He tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, giving you one of the most loving gazes you’d ever seen. “And besides, we’re not together because of how you look. I love you for you. I love your personality, and how you always say and do the cutest things.” He bent down for a quick kiss, caressing your cheek as he pulled away. “I love your laugh, and I love looking into your beautiful eyes . . . .” He kissed you again, beginning to gently guide your bodies to the bed at the other wall.

Eijirou laid you down in the center of the mattress, hovering over you as he went in for another kiss. “I love your body too. This body, just the way it is. I love how it feels to hold you at night—” he kissed your neck. “—I love your chest, your butt, your arms, your thighs—” he nuzzled his nose against your face and neck. “—your cute tummy.” He pushed himself up and gazed down at it with such a genuine expression of love, you almost started tearing up again. “The cutest tummy in the world. And I love it because it’s yours.”

With that, he bent down again and lifted up your shirt just enough to give it a little kiss. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips, which only made his ruby red eyes dart up to meet yours mischievously.

“You like that? What if I did it . . . again!” He placed a second kiss in a different spot, going for another and then another. You broke out into laughter, the sensation of his lips and nose brushing over your sensitive skin making you squirm in his hold.

Soon, he was laughing himself. He nuzzled into your skin one last time and blew a raspberry against your skin.

“Eiji—!” you began to protest through a laugh.

“What?” He smirked at you, moving up and settling his chin in the valley of your chest.

You smiled right back at him, bringing up your hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “I love you.”

Kirishima took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles as he looked into your eyes. “I love you too, baby.” He held your hand in his, getting lost for a moment simply looking at your face.

Eventually he sat up, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m proud of you too,” he told you, tucking your head under his chin. “I know you’re actively making a change for the better, and you’re doing really well. Results won’t happen immediately, you just have to stick with it sometimes.”

You sighed through your nose, taking his hand in yours again. “I know. I just get discouraged sometimes is all.”

“And I’ll just be here to put you back on track. You’ve got this, you know.” He hugged you tight against him, rubbing your back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “I’ll help you make dinner.”

“Sure,” you said, chuckling lightly.

“What? We both have to eat, and you know me. I’m a hungry shark.”

You laughed again, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there’s always more where that came from.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay?”

______________

Kaminari:

If there was one thing Denki hated more than anything, it was seeing you upset.

He could tell something was off the moment you came through the front door. You were too quiet, and that bothered him. When you finally made it up to your shared room, Kaminari was already watching the doorway for you.

He noticed immediately that your eyes were puffy and a little red. Even your posture looked defeated and slumped over.

“Hey, Denks,” you said once you noticed him stretched out on the bed. His heart broke even further when he saw you try for a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Kaminari got up, clearing the space between you so he could put his hands on your shoulders.

“I—I just,” you began to stammer out, feeling the flimsy dam you’d placed behind your eyes begin to falter. “I . . . don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.” You covered your burning face with your palms. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t let things like that get to me.”

Kaminari frowned, trying to figure out what might have made you so upset. But he wasn’t one to pry when it came to situations like these, and he knew you’d tell him on your own time.

Even so, he led you to where he’d once taken position on the bed, pulling you up with him. He knew that sometimes you simply wanted to be distracted from things, so he decided to do just that. Allowing you to settle in next to him, he picked his controller up from the covers again where he’d set it down.

You noticed he’d been playing Minecraft. You let yourself take a mild interest in his mining session that you caught him in the middle of. You watched him wander through a cave system; placing torches, killing the occasional zombie, and mining out various ores he happened upon.

What you didn’t see was how often he shot you glances, studying your face for any signs of you getting upset again. He saw when you finally took your eyes off his screen, frowning distantly as you twisted the material of the blanket underneath you.

Before he could ask you again what was going on, you opened your mouth to speak. “Do you think this outfit is too much?”

Denki faltered, confused. “No? What do you mean by that? I think you look really pretty.”

You pursed your lips. Clearly that wasn’t the answer you’d wanted. “I just—I don’t know.” You frowned and went back to avoiding his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Denki asked. A sudden idea struck him. Before you could answer him again, he stood up on the bed and walked over to a shelf you kept just above it. He pulled down a large stuffed Pikachu he’d gotten you a few years ago, and went back to sitting next to you. “Would it be easier to tell him?”

Denki positioned the toy in his lap, grabbing hold of its little arms and letting it go through various motions, starting with a little wave at you.

You couldn’t help but snort at Kaminari’s antics, looking from the plushie to the curious but concerned expression on your boyfriend’s face.

“Your Pikachus are worried about you.” Denki lifted it up higher on his chest, continuing to fidget and wave the arms back and forth in a little dance. “You saw your family today, right? How did that go?”

Your face fell again and you shrugged. “It went well I guess. My grandma just said something dumb and it made me upset.”

Denki frowned, lifting the arms of the Pikachu so its hands were on its pink cheeks. “What did she say?”

You shrugged again. “I was messing around with my cousins and I said I looked like a snacc. And then she said that snacks were probably what made me so fat in the first place.”

Denki’s frown deepened. “That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t think she knew what I was talking about, to be fair. And maybe it’s a little funny. I mean, she’s not wrong.” You rested your chin in your hands, sighing. “It just caught me off guard. It’s a dumb thing to be upset over, like I said—”

“Hey.” Denki met your eyes. “It’s not dumb. You have every right to be upset.” He held his arms open to you. “Come here.”

You sat up, letting him embrace you.

“Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are and how much I love you?” he asked from next to your ear. “Because I’ll do it.”

He took your shy smile as a yes, letting you settle back as he proceeded to lift up the stuffed yellow toy.

“Are you hearing this, bro?” he addressed it, throwing a serious look on his face. “The most gorgeous person on the planet is sad. We have to do something about it.”

Denki put the Pikachu’s paw on its chin, tapping it for a second before removing it again. “What’s that?” he asked it. “You have an idea?”

He lifted the toy to his ear, pretending to listen to it for a moment as he nodded along. Once he was satisfied, Denki scooched himself even closer to you. He brought Pikachu’s nose up to your cheek and made a kiss sound with his lips. Setting the toy down beside you on the bed, he motioned for you to come sit in his lap.

You obeyed, settling yourself in between his thighs and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“There you go,” he muttered, slotting his nose beside yours as he touched foreheads with you. “I love you and you’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “And I know that you can feel a little insecure sometimes with how you look. You’ve got bad days, and you have good days. It’s my job to be there for you on these bad days, and you can be there for me when I have mine. I want you to know that you’re so beautiful and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He connected your lips to his for a long moment, trying to convey all his feelings for you into it. “And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less-than. They’re not the kind of person you should be listening to. Trust me when I say that you’re perfect just being you.” Denki wiped a tear trail off your cheek with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the skin there.

“Thanks, Denki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

He gave you a soft, caring smile; his fingers still lingering on your cheek. “Is there anything you want to do together to make you feel better? We could watch a movie, we could snuggle, whatever you want.”

You leaned in and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

He hugged you back. “I love you too. You’re my sunshine nugget, and it would take a heck of a lot to ever change that.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Taglist: @basicaegyo @fourteenow @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @onepieceask @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @xoxopam4

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

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TAE TELLS: JIKOOK

It's taken me days to get round to making this blog post- commenting on another Jikooker's analysis.

Now y'all don't need me to provide a tall list on all the reasons that this a bad bad idea for me. Lol.

Been there. Done that. Doesn't end too well.

Mi nar wan treble wif gudt piipel.

But I also don't want to shy away from the conversation; whether or not Tae is good at keeping Jikook's secret. Whether that is a tell. If it is, does that mean all the times he's 'exposed' Jikook were wrong analysis etc.

Let me start off by saying, I totally admire this content creator. I don't have a particular favorite Video creator- most of my go to YouTube jikook content creators are Spanish speaking content creators, Karmy and a few Iarmy- a lot of whom have disappeared off of the surface of the internet over the years.

These days I watch just about anyone that shows up on my recommendation or home feed. Used to leave comments and what not but I've refrained from that due to privacy issues and prefer to share my thoughts on my blog instead.

Haven't seen a lot of her analysis, but hands down agree with a lot of the analysis she's made in the few I've binge watched so far- thanks to y'all who recommended her to me.

I think for the most part she knows what the fuxk she is doing. She definitely knows what she is talking about in her videos and I like that. I admire that.

I don't disagree with anything I've seen so far on her channel. Especially her thoughts on Kook. Fearless Kook. Absolutely love those.

I think she could have taken time to flesh out her theory on this whole 'Tae is good at keeping Jikook's secret' bit cos it seems that's what causing the stir? I don't know.

'If Tae is good at keeping people's secrets then there is no way he could have exposed Jikook blah blah blah'

Sigh.

Tuktukkers will jump on anything to invalidate Jikook. Sigh. Sigh.

I can't put words in her mouth, but I don't think she was interpreting Jimin's words to mean that Tae is good at keeping others' secrets and so cannot 'expose' Jikook like we been saying in this part of stan land.

And if she did mean it like that then I'm afraid I'd have to humbly disagree.

My understanding of Jimin's assertion that Tae is good at keeping a straight face when it comes to others' secret is that, he meant Tae has a strong poker face and it's hard to tell when he is lying or telling the truth sometimes.

That's all Jimin was saying. In my opinion.

Which honestly, it's truth. Tae is such an actor. A talented one at that. I mean have you been watching Run episodes?! Ayayaya.

I won't play Russian roulette with him cos imma end up with bullets in my head.

Play Texas hold'em with him at your own risk.

I mean he is the king of blank expressions in BTS. Isn't that why RM describes him as 4D?

He's only what, honed that- should we call it skills, since debut! He's become a master at it. Add his impeccable acting skills to it and its kaboom.

His blank expressions to me sometimes seem like a coping mechanism, if you will. And often times, he deliberately induces it to mask his feelings- when someone says something he finds annoying or something he is uncomfortable with.

A typical example is when JK read 'Tae Kook' in the comments during their VLive and he pretended he didn't know what the fuxk JK was talking about- prompting JK to explain to him that that was their ship name yadda yadda. Insert skull head.

Now we all know HE KNOWS TAE KOOK.

I saw a lot of jokers running around teasing Tuktukkers with the whole "look, your bias don't know y'all ship exists bye'

Listen, I'd join in on the joke- nothing makes me happy than jokers pulling some tuktukker legs but just as long as we all know and agree that's not true.

They all know of their ships.

They've known since the beginning.

They know everything.

When he said get out of your imagination I don't think it was because he had no ideas what homegal was going on about on Weverse.

Tae has many tells. When he exchanges awkward looks with RM or Jimin when Jikook or JK does something outrageous that's a tell.

When he passive aggressively smirks after revealing a detail on the whereabouts of Jimin at 1am that's equally a tell.

The slight head tilt when he says Jk don't want Jimin to come that's equally a tell.

He is very observant.

He loves to observe Jikook when they are up in their shenanigans. In my opinion. So when he is quietly looking at Jikook, observing them with no expression on his face that's equally a tell.

JK is not the only one always watching JM.

I mean he was stood right behind Jimin when he and JK were taking turns staring at eachother while Joonie was busy being eloquent. Tae saw all of that but didn't react to it.

In the recent OT7 VLive when Jimin called Jk too big or something Tae was right behind them and as I pointed out in my analysis on that, he looked away almost as soon as JK turned to look at him- JK was conscious of Tae and he knew Tae was looking at them through the viewfinder.

Sometimes he feels compelled to call them out on it too like he did in the dynamite MV when he blurted out, let's not look in the cameras when JK and Jikook were about to do their weird eye fucking absolutely gay stuff that they be doing from time to time.

All these are tells. To me at least. And I think in her video she was simply pointing out yet another tell of Taes- his blank expressions around Jikook in certain moments.

Having a poker face is one thing, having a blank expression is another.

Like I said his poker face is deliberate. He turns that on in various situations ranging from mild to not so serious circumstances like keeping others from finding out he is a mafia in a game etc.

His blank expressions are often times involuntary. His resting face. Sometimes I don't even think he realises he's blanked out.

When he don't know what to do with himself he blanks out. It's similar to how JK intensely focuses on Jimin when he doesn't know what to do with himself on set or when the cameras are rolling.

When he isn't intensely focusing on Jimin he becomes fidgety or sometimes does some really weird expressions that have popularly become various memes under the heading Jungshook.

It's not just Tae. It's not just Jimin. They all have their tells and go to expressions when they don't know what to do with themselves on camera.

Tae has a strong poker face, he is a master of blank expressions, and he is notoriously one of the most passive aggressive members in BTS.

Any of these can be tells depending on the context and situation.

-As long as we are able to distinguish between these moments and expressions I suppose.

His expression when Jikook were narrating the rain fight for example would be a blank expression and not a poker face in my opinion- a poker face is a deliberate state of induced expressionless demeanor.

Yes he had a blank expression. But I don't think that that was deliberate. That's just his go to resting face when he is not active in a moment most times.

I found his comment, 'that was a long time ago' much more telling that he knew about the rain fight and that expression of embarrassment he had on later equally said that he knew and thought Jikook were being gay unprovoked.

But that is my thought process.

I gotta respect hers too. It's valid.

Him going blank dead silence when Jimin said he loved waking up to see JK's face was more of that 'awkward, can't believe JM just did that shook moments' he gets around Jikook from time to time when they do something very shocking and gay.

I'd be lying if I said I understood what she was driving at with that bit in her video but I don't totally disagree with that.

By her stating that, I don't think she implied the opposite of it. Nor did Jimin by his statement.

Tae has a good poker face don't necessarily mean he is good at keeping secrets. I think it is much more nuanced than that.

I mean he is good at keeping your secret until he misses his best friend and soulmate then it's 'JK don't want Jimin to come' 🤺🤺🤺

Sometimes I wish Jimin were a triplet so I can slipt him between Tae, JK and RM. Suga and Hobi don't mind sharing him with the others and it seems Jin only wants his mirror so... Lmho.

And yes, Tae does give Jikook away from time to time- blank face or not.

I hope this helps??

Signed,

GOLDY

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merry-thieves · 4 years

Text

Possible meanings of Chain of Iron snippets

Yes, this is going to be a long post.

I didn’t put all teasers here only those where I could actually come up with something.

Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world.”

So, Alastair is definitely speaking to one of the Merry Thieves

probably James, since Al and Matthew aren’t on the best terms and conversations between Thomas and Al would go in another direction (either fighting or with way more feelings)

it seems like James and Alastair are on quite good terms here if Alastair isn’t snappish and shows his true (happy) emotions

Anna was fortress-surrounded by her friends: tall, handsome Thomas; Christopher, who shared his sister’s stern delicacy of feature, peacock Matthew, who always looked as if he’d just rolled out of an unmade bed piled with silks and velvet. And Eugenia Lightwood, who hadn’t bothered to take off her canary-yellow gloves or hat, as if she were ready to run out the door any moment.

They all eyed Ariadne suspiciously as she approached Anna. Anna didn’t seem to see her at all; she was leaning back with one booted foot braced on the wall behind her. She was all lean black and white lines, her close-fitting jacket following the outline of her slim curves, her head thrown back as she laughed. Her ruby pendant glimmered in the hollow of her throat.

Keep your head up, Ariadne, she told herself. You can do this.

“Hello, Anna,” Ariadne said.

First of all, Eugenia is in this group which is interesting regarding the main characters in Chain of Iron

Is Eugenia part of the main group? Has she an important role to play? (we are supposed to find out the reason why she is disgraced)

We have Ariadne’s pov here, so she might play a big role too in Choi, at least we will have more of her and Anna’s relationship

Also, she calls Matthew “peacock” which is so accurate and funny!

Alastair’s gaze flicked to Matthew. “Why,” he said, “are you not even wearing a hat?”

“And cover up this hair?” Matthew indicated his golden locks with a flourish. “Would you blot out the sun?”

Okay, Matthew and Alastair aren’t brawling which is a good sign

Also, where are they? There has to be a good reason if both of them are attending and standing next to each other

I’m guessing they’re outside since they’re supposed to wear hats

The brave princess Lucretia raced through the marble halls of the palace. "I must find Cordelia," she gasped. "I must save her."

"I believe the Prince holds her even now, captive in his throne room!" Sir Jerrod exclaimed. "But Princess Lucretia, even though you are the most beautiful and wise lady that I have ever met, surely you cannot fight your way through a hundred of his stoutest palace guard!" The knight’s green eyes flashed. His straight black hair was disarranged, and his white shirt was entirely undone.

"But I must!" Lucretia cried.

So, the main thing I want to point out here is that Lucie is crushing so hard on Jesse!

and does she picture him with an open shirt or am I reading too much into this?

James spoke at last, and there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.”

Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he think —“

Soooo, James and Alastair are friendly now? (please, please, please)

And who does Alastair have to give time? Matthew or more likely Thomas?

Also, James is one eloquent babe

“I know that you’ve been doing something — something you’re keeping secret. I’m not angry,” Cordelia hastened to add. “I just wish you’d tell me what it is.”

Lucie tried to cover her surprise.

it was about time that those two speak about all their secrets! They want to become Parabatai for Raziel’s sake!

but I have the sneaking suspicion that Lucie is going to deflect the question or is going to make something up to avoid telling the truth

(please let me be wrong)

“Alastair! Cordelia!” A familiar voice bellowed up from downstairs.

Sona went white and laid a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Elias?”

I’m not sure about you guys but going white and bracing oneself against a wall doesn’t seem like someone is happy

So, I guess Sona isn’t really happy that Elias is back

is there another reason besides the drinking why she isn’t

and is Elias mad at his children? I mean he is bellowing

also why is Elias mad at all? All his charges were dropped and he is a free man once more

Cordelia shivered a little, though it was not cold in the room. “There is something weighing on you, Matthew,” she said gently. “A secret. Will you tell me what it is?”

She saw his hand go to his breast pocket, where he often kept his flask. Then he lowered it stiffly to his side and took a deep breath. “You do not know what you are asking.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I am asking for the truth. Your truth. You know mine, and I do not even know what makes you so unhappy.”

Cordelia told Matthew everything about her father and maybe about her feelings for James

if we’re lucky Matthew tells Cordelia about the poisoning and someone can finally help him (I think CC said that Matthew would tell Cordelia everything in Chain of Iron, hopefully that’s true)

also, Matthew doesn’t want to drink after Cordelia told him the story about her father

Matthew also found out why Alastair had been so mean in school and that Matthew can't really partially blame him for what happened with Charlotte

Jesse glanced out the window. They were passing through Piccadilly Circus, nearly deserted at such a late hour. The statue of Eros in the center was lightly dusted with snow; a lone tramp slept upon the steps below it. “Don’t have too much hope, Lucie. Sometimes hope is dangerous.”

“Have you said that to Grace?”

Jesse shook his head. “She won’t listen.”

is there a possibility that Lucie won’t try to raise Jesse from the dead and instead tries to stop Grace from doing so? (the parallels between this and qoaad are uncanny)

I don’t think that there is anything that will stop grace from trying to perform necromancy other than force

“I’ve been trying to hate you,” Thomas said quietly, “for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

Alastair’s dark eyes glittered. “It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your father, too. You know it. So you don’t have to—to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

he is calling him Thomas!!! Ahhhh! (so they’re probably alone)

Thomas doesn’t really hate Alastair at this point but also hasn’t fully forgiven him

at least he hasn’t thrown Alastair into the themes

maybe Thomas is trying to suppress the fact that Alastair also wronged Thomas’s own family and it’s easier for him to direct his attention to Matthew’s family?

His golden eyes were fixed on her, fierce as a hawk’s gaze. She said, "It doesn’t matter what I said. I wanted them to leave you alone —"

"I don’t believe you," he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —"

Okay now, what did she say? I’m guessing something quite flattering or that she loved him maybe?

also, who didn’t want to leave James alone? Some bigoted Enclave members?

is James trying to fight against the bracelet’s spell? Or is he breaking Cordelia’s heart yet again?

James closed his eyes. Against the back of his eyelids, he could see the city take shape—the minarets flung darkly against a blue sky, the silver river. Cordelia’s voice, low and familiar, rose above the clamor of his nightmare. He followed it out of the darkness, like Theseus following the length of thread out of the Minotaur’s labyrinth. And it was not the first time. Her voice had lifted him out of fever, once, had been his light in shadows. . . . A sharp pain spiked through his temples. He blinked his eyes open: he was firmly back in the present, his friends all looking at him worriedly. Cordelia had already moved away from him, leaving behind the lingering scent of jasmine. He could still feel where her fingers had rested against his shoulder.

JORDELIA! (Sorry; I just had to get that out)

What city is this? One in a demon dimension?

And does James have some kind of visions now? Interesting...

I love the connection between James and Cordelia

Apparently, the gracelet is trying to suppress James's feelings and memories of Cordelia...but please tell me he notices here that he is in love with her?

Also, Cordelia is trying to stay away from James :(

Hands caught his wrists; he was hauled up roughly, an arm around his back. he smelled brandy and cologne.

“Matthew,” he said, in a dry voice. “James needs water,” Christopher said. “Do we have any water?” “Never touch the stuff,” said Matthew, settling James onto the long sofa. He sat down next to him, staring so intently into James’s face that, despite everything, James had to stifle a laugh. “I’m fine, Matthew,” said James. “Also, I don’t know what you expect to discover by looking into my eyeball.”

Okay WHAT IS UP with James in the latest snippets?!? I NEED answers!

Is James follwing in his father's footsteps? Regarding drugs you know...

Also, Matthew has a tendency to stare into Jame's face (not that I blame him)

Christopher!

Okay, I'm devestated that James knows it's Matthew because he smells of alcohol. I'm NOT okay!

Also, what kind of stuff is this?

“You should have told us,” said Thomas. “We would have helped you move your things. I’m exceptionally good at carrying large objects.” “And think of all those hairbrushes you would have had to relocate,” Lucie said. “Haven’t you got six or seven?” Matthew glowered at her affectionately. “I try to be at least as stylish as our local ghosts.”

I think it's clear that Matthew just moved and didn't tell any of his friends of his plans...Why Matthew, why?

Also, Thomas and Lucie are just so wholesome how they try to brighten the situation with their comments

Sooooo, is Thomas also good at carrying people *cough*Alastair*cough*, just asking...?

How many Hairbrushes does one need? Seriously, what kind of purpose do seven hairbrushes serve?

Don't worry Matthew, only Magnus can beat your stylishness

That’s all for now! Should I add anything else in your opinion?

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orsuliya · 3 years

Text

Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #I am so sappy it's getting embarassing #do I care #no not really and it's all your fault anyway #you evil nonnies with your evil asks #you know who you are #I am but a victim and so cannot be blamed for anybody overdosing on pure sugar

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crispmarshmallow · 4 years

Note

If you're still taking fic ideas, I *need* Satine & Anakin BroTP!! How about: while she's on a diplomatic trip to Coruscant, Anakin is surprised to find out something rather un-duchess-like about Satine. Genre is author's choice: humor, angst, action, whatever you want!

Okay, so I started by answering your ask and then it started taking a life of its own. I had to stop myself from making it even longer. I hope you like it. It took a long time to come up with. And so sorry for such a late reply.

Anakin is playing Sabaac with the Duchess of Mandalore. Satine Kryzé.

Or rather Anakin is losing spectacularly at Sabaac against the Duchess of Mandalore.

He doesn’t even know how he ended up doing this. Actually, he does. However, it is the last thing that he thought he would end up doing.

It started with Obi-Wan - on behalf of the Council - interrupting his patrols upon the Resolute around the Outer Rim to inform him that he is to return to Coruscant with the Duchess in tow. Senator Organa and Padmé are hosting an event for the refugees on both sides of the War and the Duchess is to be an esteemed attendee.

Anakin - ever the obedient Jedi Knight - informed Obi-Wan that he would do as told. However, not without getting in a cheeky quip or two of his own. His former Master had ended the transmission with a highly unimpressed glare.

Anakin might have said something along the lines of I’ll make sure your girlfriend makes it to the Coruscant - safe and sound.

After which he left the Resolute under the charge of Yularen and Ahsoka and made for Mandalore on the Twilight. He picked up the Duchess and her Guard. And set course for Coruscant.

He joined her in the lounging area of the ship, and tried to come up with something to say.

Anakin wanted to know the Duchess better. It bothered him that he didn’t.

The Duchess Satine is an important person to Obi-Wan - even if he denies it. And Obi-Wan is beyond important to Anakin.

So he feels that he should know the woman that captured Obi-Wan’s heart. After all, Obi-Wan knows Padmé very well.

He wanted to know what was beneath all the righteousness and pacifism and politics.

However, Anakin has never really been talented when it comes to conversations with women that are not Padmé or women that don’t violently dismantle battle droids for a living.

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m not much company, your highness.” He couldn’t help adding, “Obi-Wan has always been better at this sort of thing.” He sneaks a glance at Satine. Oh, he didn't know her well enough to know how she would take that.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that she seemed to be fighting a small smile at his comment. “Please, Master Skywalker. You overestimate Obi-Wan’s skills.” She put down the datapad she had been scrolling through. “Had the Jedi Master been here, I do believe we would have devolved into one of our shouting matches..”

Anakin let out a laugh. Yes, that did sound about right. He had witnessed one of those on the Cornet. And to be fair, that had been the highlight of that particular mission - Obi-Wan and Satine trying to act as though they don’t want to do unspeakable things to each other by shouting at each other.

“In his defense, Obi-Wan only does that with you.” He tried and failed to keep out the suggestiveness out of his word.

“I’m sure.” Satine looked amused, and Anakin knew that she knew what he was doing.

He continued. “Obi-Wan does not lose his cool easily.” He gestured to himself. “I would know.”

“I can imagine that you were a menace to raise, Master Skywalker.”

He grinned. He had been.

Satine looked thoughtful for a moment. “However, I do remember Senator Amidala mentioning that you are often her Jedi protector.”

Anakin froze. Yes. He made sure of that.

“What do you do to keep her company?”

Uh. Anakin’s mind froze. He could improvise when he faced death, but otherwise, he was really bad at it. Satine would not want to know what he and Padmé got up to in their free time if she had a clue.

“We..” His eyes fell onto the box of Sabaac cards that were under the lounge table. He and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan often played it to kill time. He doesn’t know how the tradition began, but it was something they did for fun. Fun is in short supply these days. “We play Sabaac.”

Satine looked at him funnily before asking. “Sabaac?”

Anakin nodded. Maybe too eagerly.

Her eyes fell on the box of Sabaac cards, and her eyes lit up with mischievousness.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t do the same.”

Anakin blanched. The Duchess played Sabaac?

ii.

And that is how he found himself losing to her.

She played and she played well.

Anakin thinks he should take a few notes as he loses yet another round.

Satine does not hide behind a mask of indifference like Obi-Wan - who admittedly Anakin has never won against - she is a lot like Anakin truthfully. Loathe he may admit it - just smarter.

She tries to intimidate her opponents, and it often works. She always looks so confident that it is unnerving. However, she does not let emotion take over. She does not panic like Anakin does from time to time.

“You’re far too good at this game, Duchess. Are you cheating somehow?”

Satine laughs. “And I would have thought Obi-Wan taught you how to play better.”

Anakin shrugs. “Obi-Wan didn’t teach me.”

“Padmé then?”

Force, no. He sighs. “I learned it on Tatooine.”

She looks surprised. “You’re from Tatooine?”

Anakin wishes he hadn’t brought that up. It brings back bad memories. It brings back the rage. He nods, clenching his jaw.

Satine must have noticed because she tries to steer the topic away from his home planet, but he knows that she is curious. A lot of people are curious about his past.

However, Anakin does not want the Duchess to mistake his reluctance to speak of it as weakness so he divulges a little bit more.

“I watched and learned from the pilots that dropped by at the shop I used to work at.”

Work. Satine must have caught on what he meant. Anakin was brought to the Temple as a child, and he must have been a child when he worked. And often children on Tatooine worked because they had no choice but.

She doesn’t look away. She just slightly deflates at the mention. “I learned it from my sister a long time ago. She learned it from who knows where.” Something in her voice sounds wistful as she speaks of her sister.

They continue their game. At first, it is as if a shadow has been cast upon them. Shadows from their pasts. Nonetheless, they slowly come out of it.

Anakin tries desperately to win. He has always won except against Obi-Wan and he wants to keep it that way if he can help it. Defeating Obi-Wan, Anakin is never sure if he’ll get that good.

They know each other inside and out, but Obi-Wan is not rash like Anakin.

He doesn’t hold back his whining as Satine wins and wins.

She lets loose as they go round by round. She laughs. She smirks. She even curses eloquently under her breath whenever Anakin does catch a rare win.

Anakin wonders if this is who Obi-Wan fell for. He thinks he would understand better if it was.

Unsurprisingly, and to Anakin’s chagrin, Satine wins. She gleefully gathers Anakin’s stack of chips. Her eyes twinkled from the win.

“I remain to be undefeated by anyone when it comes to Sabaac.”

Anakin scowls, though it slowly turns into a smirk. “I would like to see you try playing against Obi-Wan.”

“Oh. I have played against Master Kenobi.” Satine smirks right back at him. “Who do you think taught him?”

iii.

Anakin Skywalker is an interesting person.

Satine thinks as she and he make their way to enter the banquet hall. Apparently, the Jedi Knight had been invited too. Something about being the face of the Republican effort.

She had wanted to get to know him better. Obi-Wan has practically raised the boy and she wanted to see what he had grown up to be.

She knows that Skywalker resorts to unsavory measures when dealing with conflict. He has little regard for the lives of those on the enemy side. She had witnessed that on the Cornet. And she still has a lot to say about it.

However, she decides she quite likes him. He is nice company even if he denies so.

He is a decent Sabaac player too. Just no match for Satine.

It has been ages since she has even played the game. She thinks the last time was with Bo - before everything collapsed upon the two.

She had enjoyed herself during those hours upon the Twilight. And lately, Satine has enjoyed very little - with the Republic and CIS trying to coax her into picking a side, and the Death Watch gaining momentum within her system.

She finally let herself breathe a little. She wonders if Anakin has the same effect on Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master sometimes forgot to look after his own well-being. He had made a habit of it long ago. Maybe he had been born with it.

She shakes off these thoughts as they enter the banquet hall that is full of Senators and Generals and anyone of import. She knows better than to let her mind linger on Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Anakin and Satine had made straight for the ball once they landed, having prepared themselves for their appearance upon the Twilight.

“Duchess Satine!” Bail Organa comes rushing to the pair of them, taking Satine’s hand into his and pressing a light kiss on it. She smiles.

“Senator Organa. It is truly a beautiful event that you have organized and for a very noble cause.”

“We do what we can, Duchess.” He says modestly. He turns his attention to Anakin. “Master Skywalker. We are glad that you could make it.”

Anakin nods his head. “As the Duchess said, it is for a noble cause.”

Satine and Bail continue to exchange pleasantries as Anakin stays quiet beside her - his eyes seem to be scanning the crowd. They continue to do so after Bail leaves and Satine and Anakin venture further into the gathering.

However, they do stop when the Senator Amidala joins them.

“Satine. You made it.” She says as she embraces her tightly. Satine does not often show such affection in public, but she has a soft spot for the Senator. She is a good friend.

“Of course, I did.”

Padmé turns to Anakin, and Satine sees the way her eyes soften - how they seem to glean with something Satine knows better than to name.

“General Skywalker. It is always good to see you.”

He bows. His eyes are as soft as Padmé’s. “And to see you, milady.”

Satine has to suppress a snort. Who does Anakin think he is fooling?

They fall into conversation after that. She does not miss how the eyes of the Senator and Jedi keep seeking each other out.

Satine grabs a glass of champagne from a serving droid. “Oh, and Padmé, do tell me when you are free. I would love to test your skills in Sabaac.”

She sees Anakin stiffen beside her. Padmé regards Satine in confusion. “Satine. I must disappoint you, but I do not even know how to play Sabaac.”

Satine has to hide her sly smile behind her glass as her eyes dart towards Skywalker who has an expression of a child caught doing something he should not be doing.

“Is that so?”

Before Anakin can fumble for an explanation, Senator Chuchi drops by and pulls Satine away. Once she is free, she finds Anakin and Padmé standing a few feet away from her, whispering to each other without looking suspicious as much as possible.

Padmé has an expression of amusement and exasperation and worry.

Satine wonders what Padmé expected. Anakin is the last thing from subtle from what she has seen. She had noticed the way Anakin blushed and fumbled for words when she mentioned Padmé on the Twilight. And she saw the way he was grappling for an explanation when his eyes fell on the Sabaac cards under the table.

Satine is not a politician for nothing. She has not survived this long for nothing.

She continues to study them from afar. She wonders if that was what she and Obi-Wan looked like when they were young and in love.

As if her thoughts conjured the very being, her eyes fall onto Kenobi who is speaking to Senator Mothma.

As if sensing her gaze, he whips his head to her direction. His eyes softened at the sight of her. She is sure hers did the same. She raises her glass in acknowledgment and he smiles at her.

She hesitates before she makes up her mind. After seeing Anakin and Padmé look so content with each other by their side, she decides that she can let herself have that for a short moment or two.

She walks towards Obi-Wan. He notices and excuses himself from the Senator of Chandrilla and makes his own way to her.

“Duchess.” He says, bending to press a kiss on her hand, letting his lips linger a second too long.

“Master Kenobi.” She says, her lips settling into a smile.

“I hope Anakin did not trouble you on your trip here.”

She chuckles. “Of course not.” She pauses before adding. “It is a fine young man that you have raised, Obi-Wan.” She isn’t lying either.

Obi-Wan’s eyes gleam with pride. She knows he is trying hard to hide it, but she knows that Obi-Wan is proud of the man that Anakin Skywalker has become.

“I try.” He simply answers.

Her eyes travel back to Anakin and Padmé. Skywalker has seemed to drag Amidala onto the dance floor - holding her a little too close to be deemed innocent.

“I think that Senator Amidala would agree with me.” She doesn’t hide her smile this time. She sneaks a glance at Obi-Wan. He has his eyes on the pair too.

“A little too much of you ask me.” He is trying to restrain his own smile.

She wonders if Obi-Wan sees them in the young pair.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Obi-Wan nervously wipes his palms on his robes before offering her his own hand.

“Can I interest the Duchess with a dance?”

Satine looks at his hand for a few moments.

She and Obi-Wan made their choices years ago. However, who could blame them for letting themselves have these little moments?

She puts her hand in his.

And then Anakin proceeds to adopt Satine into his list of favorite people and so he joins Obi-Wan on his mission to Mandalore. Both of them save Satine and Anakin proceeds to beat the shit out of Maul for going after her and Obi-Wan. Maul lets it slip that Palpatine is a Sith Lord in hops of saving his life. And thus, Anakin and Obi-Wan and Satine and Padmé and Ahsoka and the 501st and 212th proceed to kick Palpatine’s ass out of existence.

#anakin skywalker #Satine Kryzé #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #obi-wan kenobi #Padmé amidala #ahsoka tano #Palpatine #bail Organa #asks #Duchess of mandalore #darth vader #OBITINE #Anidala

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