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wri0thesley · 3 years

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Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible.

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week - the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff #writing #food for ts #alcohol for ts #Anonymous

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

Text

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response.

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly.

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx

-----

Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that. Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all. But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch.

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind.

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips.

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss.

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be.

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you.

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences.

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.”

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process.

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?”

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face.

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now.

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?”

“On what I get in return.”

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly.

You couldn’t help your smile.

“I guess that could work.”

655 notes · View notes

fific7 · 3 years

Text

Unexpected - Part 3

King Caspian x Reader

Summary: What happens if you push the respectful and well-behaved King Caspian a little too far? You’re about to find out.

A/N: The final chapter. This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with some lemon zest 🍋 Friends to Lovers AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including debatable consent at first, loss of virginity and oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My video edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Ever since his hasty departure from your study, Caspian had not exactly avoided you but had taken to just popping his head round the door and wishing you a cheerful good day before disappearing again. You had smiled to yourself. It certainly did seem that you had some kind of an effect on the King. You weren’t absolutely sure what that was, but it appeared to be a positive one.

You were excitedly planning an outfit for that evening as a banquet was being held to celebrate Cornelius’ birthday. No-one had mentioned how old he actually was and you weren’t sure if that was because they didn’t know or if they were just being tactful. You’d bought him three new quills as his gift, which he’d accepted gratefully as he was always snapping the tips off his.

Later that afternoon, there was a brief knock and Caspian’s smiling face appeared round your door. “You are coming to the birthday banquet tonight, aren’t you, my lady?” You nodded, “I am, Caspian.” “Well… I’ll see you there,” he grinned, and then he was gone.

Smiling, you went back to mentally reviewing the dresses in your wardrobe. Tonight you’d make sure you looked your very best for Caspian.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Meanwhile Caspian walked off down the corridor, deep in thought. He was sure that she’d noticed that he was keeping a physical distance between them the past few days, but it was the only way he could think of to avoid making a complete fool of himself. Again. Like he had the last time. His face burned every time he thought about it. She’d known why he’d rushed off, he was sure of it.

He would have to dance with her tonight. It would look strange if he didn’t, and he felt his stomach tie itself into a knot. How on earth was he going to keep himself under control? He would just have to figure out a way… somehow.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Eventually, after several changes, you’d chosen a deep ruby red velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline, your hair was artfully pinned up and you had added a sparkling necklace and earrings.

The music played, the tables were laden with food and drink and Cornelius was thoroughly enjoying himself as the centre of attention. The courtiers whirled around the room in spirited waltzes and you watched as Caspian danced with girl after girl after girl. Everyone apart from you, in fact. You had a sick sinking feeling in your stomach - it looked like you’d got it all wrong, he obviously didn’t have any feelings for you at all. You blinked fiercely as you felt your eyes fill up. Well, your mother always said pride comes before a fall, and you supposed that you’d been prideful in thinking that he felt something special for you.

Taking a large drink of your wine, you considered leaving the banquet. What use was there in staying? Just to watch Caspian dancing with all the other women, while you - a sorrowful heap of jealousy - sat in the corner by yourself? No, that was not going to be you, you thought.

Standing, you smoothed your dress and started to move out from behind the table, only for Cornelius to lightly grip your wrist. “You’re surely not going already?” he questioned you. You nodded, “Yes, my lord. I.. I have a headache and should retire to my chamber, I think.” He did not let go of you, “Oh, my lady, can’t I persuade you to stay just a little longer? It is my birthday after all!” he smiled mischievously at you. Oh, he had to make you feel guilty, didn’t he? You sighed, “Very well, my lord, just for a very short time though.” He refilled your wine cup, “Have some more wine,” he encouraged you, “I’ve heard it’s very efficacious in treating headaches!”

Laughing, you sat down and took the goblet from him. “Indeed? I confess I haven’t heard that said of wine, my lord.” Nodding vigorously, he replied, “Oh, yes - I am sure I read that recently somewhere - in a medical book or suchlike.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching you, one of the Kingsguard. Before you turned to look fully at him, you saw a look of annoyance flit over Cornelius’ face, before his usual small smile returned.

“May I have the pleasure of the next dance, my lady?” asked the handsome soldier, whose name you didn’t know. You nodded and stood, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead you onto the dance floor. The orchestra finished playing the previous waltz, and prepared to play the next one.

Caspian’s dark eyes met yours as he straightened up from bowing to his partner. Something flashed in them and you looked away, up at your own partner. Wasn’t he happy to see you dancing with someone? Well, that was a shame, you thought - he can just have a taste of his own medicine! The music began and you and the soldier began to dance, thankfully neither of you treading on each other’s toes. You saw that Caspian was dancing with yet another lady. Hmmm, not so bothered then, you thought somewhat bitterly.

Throughout the dance, however, any time you looked towards Caspian his eyes were on you. Continuing to look away, you’d wait a few moments and look again. Yes - still looking. Now you were confused, if he didn’t care, why was he staring? Maybe it was just a ‘big brother’ kind of thing. The dance came to an end and you and your partner bowed to each other, and as you stood straight again you realised with a start that Caspian was standing slightly to the right of your soldier, gazing at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian’s heart had jolted in his chest when he saw her take the floor with one of his Kingsguard. Jealousy raged through his veins. She was only supposed to dance with him! He continued staring over at them as the dance progressed, barely looking at his own new partner, and as soon as the dance finished he quickly bowed, mumbled a thank you and hurried over to her and the soldier.

The soldier bowed his head to his King and took himself off at speed. Caspian was still looking at her, and eventually she cleared her throat and said, “Good evening, your Majesty,” bowed her head slightly and also started to leave the dance floor. “No!” he exclaimed, and her eyes met his again, a confused look in them. “I mean… don’t go, I was about to ask you to dance.” She gave him a small smile, “And are you asking me, your Majesty?” Now it was his turn to look confused, “Why, yes… I am,” he replied and extended his hand towards her.

Taking it, she followed him to a more central area of the dance floor and as they reached it he swung around, pulling her close against him and drinking in her scent. He heard her give a small gasp and realised what he’d done - the waltz the orchestra was playing required a side by side promenade at arms’ length for a few steps before traditional waltzing then took over. Hastily, he released her and they performed their promenade steps, before he was able to take her into his arms once more.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” he breathed next to her ear, “I was overwhelmed when I saw you arrive.” She laughed, not meeting his eyes, “Really, your Majesty? I didn’t think you were even aware I was here.” “What?” he said, totally confused, “Of course I knew you were here!” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes as they moved around the dance floor. “Well, it’s just that you were so busy with all your dance partners I didn’t think that you were, your Majesty.”

Caspian felt like a thunderbolt had hit him. Of course! What a damn fool he was. He’d been so busy trying to distract himself from mooning over her, that it hadn’t dawned on him what it might look like to her - that he was totally ignoring her. He’d noticed that she’d gone back to calling him ‘your Majesty’. He desperately thought of how he could explain this without giving himself away. “Oh… no, no… I’m, I’m always aware of… of where you are,” he said then winced as he realised how lame that sounded. “I thought I would save the last dance for you,” he added, hoping this would redeem him somewhat.

She finally looked at him, a slightly reproachful look in her eyes but she didn’t speak. “I’m so sorry if it looked like I was ignoring you,” he said in a rush, “I just didn’t want to seem too eager.” She laughed but he could tell there wasn’t a lot of humour in it, “Don’t worry, your Majesty, that definitely wasn’t the impression you gave.”

Caspian was panicking. How could he be so stupid? Now she was upset with him, and he only wanted her more than ever - she looked stunning in her ruby red gown. He held her even closer to him and decided to stop talking, maybe he could just show her how he felt by holding her close. He saw her eyes widen and realised that had been a mistake too. There was no doubt that she’d felt his rampant erection, even through the heavy fabric of her dress.

He made a sudden decision and danced her rapidly across the floor back to the table, hastily sitting down and tugging her into the seat next to him. He pulled his tunic down as far as he could over the bulge in his lap and leant forward slightly, embarrassed and running his hands over his face. “Are you alright, my King?” she questioned him. He looked sidelong at her, “I think you know exactly what’s wrong with me.” Then in an even quieter voice, “The same as in the orchard that time.”

He saw a blush start to rise over her face. So she did remember it.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Oh! you thought, your mind racing back to that encounter in the gathering dusk. You had thought about it frequently over the years with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. You knew you’d been quite forward in your curiosity, and often wondered if Caspian ever thought about it too. And now it seemed that he had. With a frisson of jealousy, you’d also wondered what other sexual experiences he’d had since.

“I… we said we’d never talk about that, Caspian.” While dancing and when he’d pulled you closer to him, you’d felt that hard length of his against your stomach and knew exactly what it meant. But now here he was, bringing up the subject himself.

“We said we’d never speak of it to other people,” he corrected you, gazing into your eyes, “but maybe we need to discuss it further between ourselves. Come, let us leave the banquet for a while so we can speak in private.” He stood up and held out his hand so you also stood, taking it and following him as he led you out of the banqueting hall, aware of the many envious glances from the other women as you left with the King.

They could think what they liked, you thought. They will know you were childhood friends, although you’d made a point of never telling that to any of them. Castle gossip will have ensured that they all knew about it in any case.

Caspian led you upstairs to one of the empty salons and outside onto the large balconied terrace which was attached to it. He knew his castle well, you thought. Due to its position in one of the towers it wasn’t overlooked by any other window or balcony, and the size of the large terrace prevented anyone from seeing anything if they looked up from the grounds.

He came to a halt and turned towards you, his eyes blazing with something - you weren’t sure what - as he looked into yours, “I…I want,” he faltered, “I need…!”

You opened your mouth to ask him what he wanted and needed but before you could speak, he pushed you up against the terrace wall, you felt his mouth on yours and he was kissing you passionately. You realised he was also raising your dress and felt the fabric creep past your knee and then halfway up your leg.

Looking down you saw that Caspian had unlaced his breeches, just as you felt his fingers brush past your undergarments. Because unlike last time, it was he who had hold of his manhood and before you fully realised what he was doing, he’d slid his erection inside you and continued to push until he was fully sheathed. You were gasping and his dark brown eyes looked more like deepest black as he stared into yours, before he lowered his head onto your shoulder, groaning and whispering your name.

“Caspian!” you eventually managed to breathe, “what are you doing?!”

“What you wanted me to do that night in the orchard,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice rough.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian gripped her hips through the dress fabric and began to thrust up into her. She’d wanted him to do this to her those few years ago, right? She’d told him he was a coward because he’d pulled out. So now he was only taking what he could’ve had under the pear trees that evening, wasn’t he?

He heard her voice, through her gasps, “We were children, Caspian, who didn’t know any better. Now we do. What if you get me pregnant?” Caspian stopped thrusting, she needed to hear the truth.

“I don’t care! I’ve wanted you every second of every day since!” his voice broke, “Don’t you realise I’ve always been in love with you?!” He leaned his head back slightly and looked into her eyes, “Tell me you don’t want me to do this and I’ll stop.” She hesitated and he immediately began thrusting again, kissing her and pulling her closer to him. Eventually he felt her fists pummelling his chest, “Caspian! Please! I can’t get pregnant.”

He stopped with a heavy sigh, resting his forehead on hers for a moment before straightening up and pulling out of her. Taking his dick in his hand he turned away from her, frantically rubbing and squeezing his length before finishing quickly, bending over slightly and catching his seed in the palm of his other hand.

Turning back towards her, he found he was looking at empty space. She was gone.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You ran as fast as your fancy dancing shoes would let you to your chamber. Throwing yourself headlong onto your bed and beginning to sob, you wondered how on earth you’d got yourself into this stupid situation. Because you teased him! your brain yelled back at you, it’s all your fault and you know it! Caspian is such a polite, shy, well-behaved boy and look what you made him do!

Eventually your tears stopped flowing and you wearily got up from the bed, struggling a little to unlace your dress at the back but eventually managing it. You’d had to learn how to do that as you didn’t have a lady’s maid, unlike at home. Having washed your face, taken down your hair and changed into your nightdress, you had just lain back down in bed and pulled the quilt over your head when you heard a single knock at your door.

You knew it was Caspian, that one knock had been a special signal between the two of you since you were children. Knowing in your heart that you shouldn’t answer it, you nevertheless got up and opened the door.

It looked as if Caspian had also been crying, his dark eyes were as wide as saucers. “I need to explain.”

You nodded and stood back, allowing him to come into your chamber.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He locked the door behind him, he didn’t want any interruptions during the discussion he was about to have. She’d walked back to her bed and sat on the edge of it, looking down into her lap. He followed her over there, also perching on the bed next to her.

He drew in a deep breath then said in a low voice, “I’m truly sorry for what I did earlier.” He looked down, “You looked so beautiful but you danced with him, you were in his arms and I was so very jealous! I wanted you so much. But what I did was unforgivable.” He heard her exhale then she said, “I have to say, it’s not how I imagined losing my virginity, Caspian.” His head flew up, “But that… we… didn’t that happen when we…?” She shook her head, blushing, “No, not properly. You didn’t get far enough inside that time,” and looked up at him, “but you did this time.”

Now he felt himself blushing. “Oh! I always thought I lost my virginity to you that evening,” he said, “And you? That means you haven’t been with anyone else?” He held his breath and then she shook her head, her eyes downcast again. He felt an immense sense of relief, blowing out a big breath of air. There was a short silence and then he heard, “Caspian?” He looked over at her, “Yes?” “How many women have you been with since then?”

He leapt up off the bed, drawing himself up to his full height, “None!” he shouted, then as he saw her jump, lowered his voice, “I have been with no woman except you.” Suddenly he knelt in front of her, and he met her intent gaze, “I’ve never wanted anyone else apart from you.” He noticed her eyes welling up, and a few tears slid down her cheeks. He reached up and gently wiped them away, “Why are you crying, my darling?” he asked, “Doesn’t that please you?” She managed a feeble smile, “I’m crying because I am pleased to hear that, yes.”

Caspian’s brain hurt a little as he heard this; he wondered if he’d ever understand women. He decided the wisest course of action would be to remain silent and just smiled back at her, nodding as if he fully understood. She sniffled a little and then said more boldly, “Caspian, when you were… you know… earlier, you said you’d always been in love with me.”

His mind rapidly rewound to when he’d been trying to make love to her, had he said that?! He really didn’t recall - his mind had been on other things! - but as it was the truth in any case, he nodded. He took hold of her hand, “Yes, it’s the truth. I’ve loved you since I met you.” “But we were just children.” “It doesn’t matter. You’re my soulmate, I’ve always known that. It was truly awful when I had to flee the castle as I knew I wouldn’t see you - maybe ever again - but I had no choice, and I just had to try and put you out of my mind until Narnia was safe.”

He got up and sat next to her on the bed again. “It was really difficult. Just recently, everything was starting to return to normal and I was about to try and find you, when you arrived here as Cornelius’ assistant. It seemed fated that we should be together. But you kept on saying how I was your dear friend and.. and my heart broke. I was sure that’s all you felt for me - friendship.”

She shook her head, “No, Caspian. I don’t think I realised it until I came to the castle and saw you again, but I think I’ve always loved you too.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian’s face had the hugest grin on it as you finished speaking. “Really? You love me?” You nodded, “Yes, I do.” Suddenly he was back down on one knee, “Then please - make me the happiest man in Narnia and marry me!” You must have looked like an idiot with your mouth forming a large O, but eventually you managed to say “Yes!” Then he had jumped up, pulling you off the bed and wrapping his arms around you, whirling you round while you squealed and he kissed you.

After the two of you had calmed down somewhat, he left to go back to his own chambers as even although you were now betrothed, it wouldn’t be seemly for him to spend the night with you, even if you just slept in the same bed. He promised that he would have a ring for you by the next day and while you’d assured him there was no rush, he’d insisted that he wanted a betrothal ring on your finger as soon as possible.

You lay awake most of the night, too excited to sleep. It seemed incredible but all of your most precious dreams had come true.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next morning, Cornelius had appeared in front of your desk as usual and throwing aside his usual decorous manner, had hugged you. “I am so pleased to hear your news!” he declared. “I’ve never seen Caspian so happy. He was bouncing around like an over-excited rabbit this morning,” he chuckled, taking your hand and squeezing it while you laughed at his description of Caspian’s reaction. “I know the two of you will be so happy together,” he continued, “Now! We must start planning the wedding!”

When Caspian came to your study later that afternoon, he led you out from behind your desk, went down on one knee and proposed to you once again. This time, he produced a small jewellery box from his tunic pocket and opened it, showing you a ring with a large pear-shaped diamond as the centrepiece. It was beautiful and as Caspian slipped it onto your finger, he whispered, “To always remind you of the pear trees in the orchard,” with a small mischievous grin at you.

“How did you get the ring so quickly?” you asked him, as you were amazed that he’d managed to find such a beautiful, perfect ring in the space of one morning. He’d winked at you, “I have my contacts, that’s all I’m going to say.” You never did find out for sure, but there was one diamond merchant in the town nearest to Cair Paravel who had similar gems and you thought it might be from there.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

One thing you did know for sure, the other ladies of the court’s eyes were out on stalks as they glimpsed your new ring when you joined them for dinner that evening. Every single one of them was praying you were going to tell them to whom you were now betrothed and eventually - when you had still said nothing and dinner was nearly over - one of them could keep quiet no longer.

“My lady… umm, I cannot help but notice your beautiful ring!” You dipped your head, “Why thank you, my lady,” you replied. She smirked at you, “But you are not willing to share the name of your betrothed with us?” You shook your head, a faux-regretful look on your face, “I cannot as yet, my lady. My betrothed has to be the one to announce it,” you went on, with a small shrug. Of course, this just meant that their curiosity ate them up even more.

But Caspian had advised you that he had to firstly tell the Grand Council, then your parents, the courtiers and the people of Narnia in that order - that was the accepted, traditional procedure and that was that. So you had to keep quiet, although in truth you were literally bursting to tell everyone!

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

When the news was finally announced, everyone showered congratulations onto you and Caspian. Although you did get the feeling that the other ladies of the court gave their best wishes through gritted teeth and with fake smiles. You knew that they were secretly devastated as you’d won the prize they had been trying to win, and you felt slightly sorry for them as you knew you’d have felt the same if Caspian had asked one of them to marry him.

In the meantime, Cornelius - much to your surprise - had indeed become almost your sole wedding planner, and very good at it he was too! He’d already arranged just about everything. In fact the only thing you had left to worry about choosing was your dress.

Caspian was getting nervous about the actual ceremony; he was worried he was going to forget his vows when he tried to say them to you. You had just told him, “Make them up! As long as you mean them, it doesn’t matter what you actually say.” He’d laughed, pulling you into his arms and kissing you hungrily, but then the two of you had to spring apart as two female courtiers appeared round the corner without warning. You’d all nodded to each other; they pretended they hadn’t seen you and Caspian kissing, and you two pretended you hadn’t been caught.

Until you were married this was frowned on in public, in what you considered to be one of various out-dated court traditions. You’d be shaking up some things once you were Queen, you smiled to yourself.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Caspian was super-excited on his wedding day. He was nervous, yes - but it was a good nervous. Apart from the fact that in a few moments he’d be joined together for all eternity to the woman of his dreams, tonight, their wedding night, they would finally - finally - be able to make love properly. He couldn’t wait.

Their first two attempts hadn’t exactly been stellar successes - and of course, they shouldn’t even have been trying the first time around! - but he just knew that it would be third time lucky. No guilty childish fumblings, no adult angry/jealous sex… it would be just the two of them, lying in amongst the crisp cotton sheets and deep quilts of their marital bed. No prying eyes, no interruptions, no rush - it would be just heavenly. He already felt a little thrill of arousal.

He heard the musicians begin to play the joyful wedding music and he turned to see his beautiful bride - in a gorgeous white dress and holding a bouquet of delicate white flowers - bathed in sunlight and standing in the entranceway. Would he ever feel as happy as this again, he wondered? He didn’t think he would.

She paused for a few seconds and then began to walk gracefully across the Great Hall towards him. Approaching him, through her veil she met his gaze and gave him a dazzling smile.

His smile in return was even brighter and totally blissful.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@paracosmenthusiast @jessevans

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#king caspian #king caspian x reader #king caspian fan fiction #king caspian fanfic #ben barnes #voyage of the dawn treader

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

“Nice plan.”

Summary: There's an enemy tailgating you and Crosshair through the busy streets of Coruscant, and you spontaneously come up with a plan to show the stranger that your two aren't a threat.

Pairing: Crosshair x gn!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1617

Tags: First kiss, Surprise kissing, Friends to lovers, Missions.

Notes: If you like my work then please reblog it!! xx

Being in the heart of the battlefield is common for you, but not for your associate; Crosshair enjoys his comfort up on cliffs, tucked away, viewing the world through his rifle's scope. Sure, he's been shot at before, and he's got the wounds to prove it, but the world is extremely different for him, now that he's trailing behind you through the centre of it. Well, soon to be the centre of it. Everybody has split up, taking their positions and waiting for said target to arrive. The streets of Coruscant are busy, as always, making it easier to weave through undetected. You're trying to find a ledge to overlook the club that the target is in, and once you're ready, you'll com Hunter and watch as he goes inside to draw the target out. The only problem is that there's a lack of ladders around these buildings, and you can't exactly scale up one of the walls without looking... odd.

So, you and Crosshair continue peering down alleys, searching for something to give you that boost to the upper levels. You can sense how tense Crosshair is; he's not fond of people, nor crowds, and thankfully they don't pay him much attention, despite being fully kitted out - Coruscant is used to the sight of armoured men, clone or not. You overhear Crosshair grumble under his breath, his patience running dry as you turn another corner to find nothing of use, only people mindlessly wandering by. However, an unfortunate thing does cross your eye as you go to turn around the next corner, only to stop in your tracks, letting out a sharp exhale as Crosshair accidentally bumps into you. "Why have you stopped?" he questions, and you can hear the annoyance in his tone, despite his voice being distorted through his helmet. You peer behind the corner again, double-checking what thought you just saw. Yep, your target's friends have begun heading your way, presumably going to meet up with the target in the club. "We have company," you explain, and begin heading back down the alley you just came from, Crosshair following behind. Thankfully, your target nor his friends know about you and your posse, nor do they know that they're being tracked - soon to be captured. You have the advantage of being anonymous, another pair of strangers throughout the sea of people that cover every square inch of Coruscant, but you still don't want to do anything that may draw attention - such as trailing them. "Just let them walk past, they don't know who we are," Crosshair suggests, walking beside you rather than behind. "And we should keep it that way. We don't want to look suspicious-" "-Doesn't this look suspicious? Coming back the way we came?" He has a point. Another small alley catches your attention, one that you're yet to go down, and you drag Crosshair by his wrist, pulling him down the surprisingly quiet passage. It backs onto a bunch of shops, with loth-cats rummaging through bins, and strangers sat on their back porches. "Are they still following us?" you question. Crosshair peers slightly over his shoulder. "Yes," he states. "You're taking us down an alley that leads to the back of the club. Have you not been paying attention to where we've been walking?" "I was more focused on finding a ladder." Crosshair lets out a defeated sigh. "We should have scaled a wall. It's Coruscant, people do weird things here all the time." As true as his statement may be, your target and his friends would definitely suspect something if they saw two strangers scaling up a wall, especially when they have bounties on their heads. A ladder it is, hopefully. Your comlink flashes, and Hunter questions what's taking so long. After explaining that Coruscant is lacking in the ladder department, and that your target has a few broody looking friends, he suggests that you two find somewhere safe to hide instead. Hunter needs to draw the target out before his buddies arrive, so the mission goes on without you two. No bother, this isn't the first time they've had to leave one of you out, or two... The alley finally leads to the back of the club, and there's a hefty crowd of people. This is the smoking area, possibly? But the sight of another alley catches your attention, a thin one, somewhat safe and hidden behind the thickness of strangers. You two begin weaving your way through, eventually coming to a halt between the tight walls. You prop yourself against one, and Crosshair takes the other, your feet touching subconsciously. It's a tight squeeze. You let out a deep breath, thankful that you're not buried under a helmet or a heap of armour; Crosshair seems indifferent, looking out over the sea of people and watching as the targets friends begin heading inside the club. Phew, you went unnoticed, just two strangers making their way through the universe. "One of them is coming this way," Crosshair unfortunately announces, his eyes meeting yours under the thickness of his visor. "I told you we shouldn't have come back the way we came." Shit. Ugh. Hunter told you two to stay safe and hidden, and this is definitely not heading in the direction that you want it to go. You look at your surroundings, attempting to find an escape route, but all you can see is a variety of strangers, busy chatting away, mingling, unaware of the danger that surrounds them. Wait. Maybe you can make it look as if you're just another pair of strangers in this crowd, and it'll be hard for your tailgater to begin asking questions and making accusations if both your mouths are occupied. "Take off your helmet," you order, and frown as Crosshair laughs from beneath it. "This isn't a very smart plan. I'd prefer having my helmet on if this stranger is going to start-" "-Just take it off! Trust me!" You cut him off, and watch as Crosshair grumbles whilst removing his helmet, cooping it beneath his arm. "Now what?" Crosshair questions, unimpressed as ever. You peek over the crowd and pull a worried expression as the stranger continues nearing, struggling to get through the thickness of people, and even barging a few clueless people out of the way. People always seem to forget that manners are a blessing. There's a sickly feeling in your stomach, both nervous about kissing your associate, and nervous that he'll reject you. How are you meant to explain this plan? Ask him to kiss you? Attempt to explain your silly thoughts to him? There's no time, and words fail you. Crosshair raises a brow as you babble "sorry," split seconds before stepping between his feet, placing a soft hand on his armoured chest, and pressing your lips to his. Crosshair freezes. He's tense, thick, eyes widening. You're kissing him. If his lip weren't occupied then he'd laugh and comment "brilliant plan," because it really is, but instead he stupidly stands there, as if he's forgotten how to function, let alone kiss back. And unknown to you, he has butterflies churning in his stomach, along with a thick lump in his throat. But he finally kisses back, his spare gloved hand moving up to cup the back of your head as he moves his lips against yours. Just in time, too, as the stranger who was about to begin asking questions realizes that you're just another pair of lovesick fools in this sea of people. He rolls his eyes at the sight before beginning his journey back through the crowd, heading into the club to unfortunately find that the rest of his crew has gone missing. Neither of you peek open your eyes to wonder if the stranger has gone away, but nobody has attempted to catch your attention, meaning the stranger must be gone. He's gone, you two are safe, and neither of you are moving away. The grip on the back of your head tightens, and Crosshair gambles a bold move by lightly running his tongue across your lower lip, only to be welcomed into your mouth. You can feel the corners of his lips move, turning upwards, smiling as you allow him to make the kiss messier. It's needy, desperate, and something that you've both been craving for a long time. "I think he's gone," Crosshair quietly mutters against your lips, not giving you the ability to answer as he kisses you again. Sadly, the sound of your comlink beeping forces your lips to part, and you remain pressed up against Crosshair as you answer. It's Hunter, ordering you two to return to the ship. They have the target, the mission was successful in every aspect. Every. Aspect. "We should get back. You know what Hunter's like if he's kept waiting," Crosshair comments. His hand removes itself from the back of your head, and he gives your hip a comforting squeeze before fully moving away. "Yeah, come on," you sigh, and unwantingly pull your body away from his. You're about to begin heading through the crowd once more, but Crosshair lightly tugs your wrist. "Nice plan," he comments, a smug expression across his lips. The expression disappears as he puts his helmet back on, although you know he's going to be looking smug for a long time. You did kiss him, after all, but he also kissed you back. "Thanks," you reply. "You played your role well," you jab back, earning your own smug expression before turning your focus to heading through the sea of people, overhearing Crosshair laugh behind you, his hand slipping down your wrist to entwine his fingers between yours, keeping you close.

#swwriting #the bad batch #crosshair x reader #sfw #gender neutral reader #star wars #crosshair x you #gn!reader #nice plan #tbbwriting

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Northern Exposure | Steve

❄ PART 3 OF THE MINI-SERIES ❄

Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); blow job, violence, creepiness on part of our boys, predatory behaviour, Bucky’s an asshole, they’re all too lonely and too desperate, mistaken identity.

This is dark! fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, A Bad Time x Reader

Series Synopsis: You’re a nature photographer stationed up north but the arctic isolation comes to an unexpected and unpleasant end.

Note: A reminder that drabble requests will be opening for an hour at 1pm today. The link to the google form will be posted at that time.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You woke up sore and senseless. The air was frigid against your front as the warm body behind you blazed against your back. The tiny throw blanket barely dangled over you as Sam hogged most of it and much of the cushions beneath you. His thick snores kept you alert although your eyelid weighed heavy.

You sat up cautiously. You looked over your shoulder as he kept rumbling and you whimpered as your thighs touched. You bent and reached for the tee shirt heaped on the floor. You pulled it on and stood. You glanced around the room and rubbed your cold hands together.

You neared the door and eyed the pin pad below the handle. No numbers, only a scanner to place one's finger. You sniffed and felt along the hem of the shirt. Your eyes stung but you knew you couldn’t cry. Not then, not there.

You stayed staring at the door blankly. What was wrong with these men? They were heroes. They kept the world safe and yet they could take you and do that. Sam wasn’t the end of it, he was only the beginning. You hoped maybe Steve would care, that maybe you could persuade him that it was wrong. He was Captain America, he had to know it was.

“You mess with that thing and you’ll trigger the lockdown protocol,” Bucky’s voice cut through the morning air, “any foreign fingerprint requires a manual override and I’m not getting stuck in here with you.”

You turned and winced at his angry glare. You hadn’t heard him come out. He snorted and went to the short counter. He slammed a tin down on the counter as you watched his broad shoulders and the dark tails of his hair that hung between them. His unwieldy activity awoke Sam and he sat up with a grunt.

“Coffee?” Sam rubbed his eyes.

“You can get up and make your own,” Bucky retorted.

“Where--” Sam’s voice died as he saw you and he turned his legs over the edge of the couch, “what are you doing over there, baby?”

“Trying to get away from you, I’d say,” Bucky bristled, “you can’t trust her, you know that.”

“Shut up,” Sam stood and held the throw around his waist, “how about a shower, baby? Nice and hot.”

“It comes out of your time,” Bucky snarled, “I’m not waiting three hours for the tank to reheat.”

“Yeah, yeah, grumpy pants,” Sam rolled his eyes and neared you, he held out his hand to you, “you should wash up…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “especially after last night.”

“You know I have enhanced hearing right?” Bucky stirred the instant powder into his mug.

“And we have real coffee,” Sam grabbed your hand and pulled you after him.

“Too tired for that shit,” Bucky brushed by Sam and sat at the table, “walls are thin in here and some of us actually work around here.”

“He needs his beauty sleep,” Sam remarked over his shoulder as he dragged you to the restroom opposite the bedroom door, “not that it can ever really help with all…” he gestured to his own face, “that.”

Bucky let out a long breath and his cup clinked on the wood. You let Sam pull you into the bathroom and close the door. You could still feel the tension through the wall. He dropped the blanket and you tried not to look at his bare ass as he reached to crank on the shower.

You kept close to the door as he pulled back the curtain and he turned to look back at you as he stepped inside. His dick was twitching and getting hard already. You tried not to show your discomfort. In your dulled mind, you didn’t think he meant together.

He raised his eyebrow and for a moment the humour in his face withered. You looked away and reluctantly pulled the shirt over your head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it all already, felt it all, explored every inch of you. You stepped in front of him and he turned you to face him.

“You really are a cutie, you know that?” he said, “since you like to take photos, I might take some of you… keep me warm when I’m not around.”

He cradled your chin as the water splashed down on your shoulders and spattered against his torso. He slid his other arm around you as he tilted your head and kissed you. You stared at the ceiling and let his tongue past your lips. The revulsion made you tremble and he purred as he mistook it for excitement.

He pushed you further back until you were against the tile and the water spilled over his shoulders. He lifted your legs as his dick pressed against your stomach. You shoved on his chest but he didn’t notice your pathetic struggles.

You gasped as you heard a click and the door opened suddenly. Sam’s lips left yours but her kept you pinned to the wall as he looked over. You followed his eyes through the space between the wall and curtain as Steve blinked at you dumbly.

“Hey, man,” Sam sneered, “you heard of knocking?”

“Sorry,” Steve cringed, “I didn’t-- I wasn’t thinking.”

“Did bozo not tell you we were in here?” Sam turned back to you and gaze down at you as he bit his lip, “we’re busy.”

The door closed with a snap and Sam bent to devour you again. The steam fogged your vision and seeped into your skin. You closed your eyes and let it lull you away from your body, away from the man against you as he used you again.

❄

You were given another tee shirt, this one a faded blue with a grey star on the chest. That was all you were allowed as you sat and watched the men. You tried to be numb to it but you could still feel Sam inside of you, his fingertips on your thighs, his mouth on your throat. You shivered and bent your legs up under the larger tee and hugged them.

“You two are on recon for the day,” Steve said as they sat at the small table around an unfolded map, “the usual. Keep your comms on and report back with anything you see.”

“And you?” Bucky challenged as he planted his feet far apart, “sounds like you’re not comin’ along.”

“I’ll stay here with…” he lifted his head and peeked over at you, “the girl. She shouldn’t be here alone.”

“She can’t go nowhere,” Bucky huffed, “she can’t get past the door without one of us and even if she did, you think she’d get that far?”

Steve cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “when did we ever need all three of us out there?”

“What’s the point in keeping comms on if you’re not gonna listen for us?” Bucky sneered.

“I’ll be listening,” Steve said staunchly, “stop being an asshole and get your butt in gear.”

Bucky stood and the chair teetered behind him. He scowled at you as he turned and disappeared into the bedroom. Sam winked as he followed and you heard a muttered conversation through the open door as Steve remained as he was.

You knotted your fingers together and rocked. Your fear mounted with each minute in the bunker. Somehow the idea of being alone there with one of them was worse than all three. You cupped your chin and tried not to fall apart entirely.

Sam and Bucky appeared again with guns strapped from shoulder and chest respectively and bags of gear. They pulled on the layers needed to brave the arctic blast and tied their boots tight. They bid goodbye, though Bucky only grumbled and Sam seemed more interested in watching you than leaving Steve.

The door closed and beeped as the mechanism whirred and then you were all alone. It was silent as Steve scratched at the wood of the table and watched his hand. You heard him breathing. He leaned back suddenly and bent his arms behind his head as he stretched.

He seemed to gather himself as he lifted his chin and exhaled.

“Can I see you naked?” he asked softly but his tone was rigid enough to make your nerves bounce off each other.

You looked at him round-eyed and he turned his chair to face you and settled back in. He pushed his shoulders back and traced his fingers along his jeans.

“I want to see you naked,” he repeated, it was no longer a question.

His eyes met yours and you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. You rose stiffly and neared him. You stopped two feet away and played with the hem of the long tee. He watched your fingers and angled his head. His gaze returned to your face as his hand trailed up his thigh and brushed over his crotch.

He nodded and you feared another order, one which might be more physical. You swiped the tee shirt over your head and hesitantly let it drop. Your hands shook as you pushed them down to your sides and you couldn’t look at Steve. Instead, you focused on the worn old carpet beneath your feet.

He let out a gristled breath and you listened as the chair creaked. A softer noise followed, that of a zipper and a muffled groan. You brought your arm over your chest to cover yourself and moved your hand in front of your vee.

“Come here,” he said.

You looked up at his hand as he pointed between his knees. You took one step and nearly tripped. You took another but it was just as tenuous. The closer you got, the worse you quaked. You stopped between his wide legs and he grabbed your waist. His thumbs rubbed along your skin and he caressed along the curve of your hips.

“Down,” he tugged on your wrist, “use your mouth.”

As you got on your knees, he reached into his jeans and pulled his dick out above his boxers. You winced and he caught your chin before you could turn your face away. His thumb ran over your lower lip and he pushed into your mouth. He pressed down on your tongue and purred.

Your teeth grazed his knuckle and you thought of biting down. He gripped your jaw painfully and his jaw squared.

“Now don’t think of doing anything stupid,” he retracted his hand and stroked himself,.

“You don’t have to do this. Steve, you can let me go or--or-- take me back--”

“No,” he said firmly, “I didn’t say I wanted to hear you, did I?”

You gaped at him in confusion and mortification. He grabbed the back of your head and forced you forward as he wiggled his cock against your lips.

“I’m gonna make you forget all about Sam,” he shoved you onto his cock and you gagged as he hit the back of your throat, “he’s too soft on you. That’s why I’m here, to show you how to obey, because if you don’t, I can’t hold off Bucky forever.”

He pushed you down completely and you braced his thighs. You couldn’t breath as his thick cock blocked your airway. You trembled and he let you up for only a second before he urged you back down. His hands stretched around your skull and he guided you up and down his length, your spit dripping from your lips as you glided over him.

“See how easy it is?” he cooed, “how good you can be? I think Bucky might come around if you-- Fuck, no, fuck Bucky. I’m keeping you to myself, sweetheart--”

He snarled and stopped you suddenly. He pushed you until he was as deep as he could go and you kicked your feet frantically. He shuddered and released you. You pulled back and cough as you fell back onto your ass.

“You almost got me there,” he stood and you scurried backward across the floor, “I almost came already.”

“Steve--” you croaked.

“Shhh,” he took off his shirt and you watched his muscles flex beneath his skin, “the only noise I want to hear from you is begging.”

“Why--”

“Don’t make this bad, sweetheart,” he pushed his pants down with his boxers and stepped out of them, “now come back here.”

He sat and rubbed his thighs, his cock twitched and you climbed to your feet. You sniffed and went to him. He grabbed your hands and drew them up to his shoulders as he guided you into his lap. He guided you down as you straddled him and reached below you to prod his tip along your entrance.

You tried to push off of him a wave of fear rolled over you and he gripped your hips tight and slammed you down. He buried himself in you so deep it hurt. You couldn’t say if he was bigger than Sam or not, both stretched you uncomfortably. He kept you still and let out a sigh as he hung his head back.

“You feel good,” he said and his hands ran up and down your sides, “tight…”

You tried to pull your hands from his shoulders and he tugged them back. He pressed them to him until you grasped the thick muscle. He grinned and reached around you to grope your ass. He moved you up then down his length.

“It’s all you, sweetheart,” he smacked your ass, “you keep it up or I’m gonna start getting mad.”

You stared at him but the light was missing from his eyes. His pupils were dilated and dull, smoky with his immediate desire. You squeezed his shoulders and repeated the motion. He groaned at it and bared his teeth. You kept on at the same pace, whimpering as your walls were already tender and battered.

“Faster,” he breathed, “please, sweetheart, more.”

You sped up and gasped as he kneaded your ass and tilted your pelvis so that your clit rubbed against his. You felt so raw and worn but the heat rose nonetheless. He bent his head and brought a hand around to cup your tit. He took your nipple in his mouth and suckled at it, his teeth tickling the hardened bud.

He purred and it sent vibrations through you. His other hand urged you fasted and you gulped for air as you grew needy for your release. The pressure was so bad it made your eyes water and your arms shake. You leaned into him and he kissed along your chest as you hugged his head.

You whined as you came. You heard how wet you were but couldn’t stop as the swell was followed shortly by another crest. You couldn’t stop, if you did, you would feel the pain. If you stopped, you would have to think, to remeber that you were trapped.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered.

He hooked his arms under your knees and his hands spread across your back. You cried out as he lifted you abruptly and kept you moving on his dick. You clung to him as you felt precarious even in his thick arms and looked down at the joining of your bodies. You bit your lip and closed your eyes.

“I’m close,” he hissed as he bounced you against him, “so… close.”

He bit back on his voice and hammered into you. His groan came muffled through his clamped lips and you felt the flood of heat inside of you. He kept fucking you, not stopping even as he shook from his climax, even as his cum dripped out around him.

He staggered blindly and turned you against the wall. He pinned you there, folding your legs further up as he planted his hands flat. He rutted into you, his fiery breath tickled your throat and his voice broke free.

“So bad, making me cum,” he growled, “bad girl.”

You moaned weakly as he crushed you to the wall and your muscles strained. Your walls clenched his dick as it was your turn to cum and you sobbed from pleasure, so pure and so deep that it hurt.

“Steve…” you uttered, “Steve, please…”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he sank to his hips and paused only to do it again, each thrust followed by a taunting lull, “tell me.”

“Steve, please,” yor slapped at his shoulder and clawed at his bicep, “stop, I can’t-- no more, I can’t, I can’t, I c--”

He crashed into you so hard you screamed and went weak against him. Your head hung on his shoulder and your arms slipped limp over his shoulders. He still didn’t stop, driven by your surrender to fuck you even faster.

“Bad girl,” he whispered and nibbled your ear lobe, “so bad-- so--” he grunted and came again, this time he sank and stilled your body against his.

He shuddered and rolled his forehead against the wall. He breathed heavily down your back.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reached between you and shoved his finger inside of you above his dick, he added another and you winced and whined against his shoulder, “you need more,” he purred, “a bad girl like you can never get enough.”

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furiosophie · 3 years

Note

maybe a little more oh the things we left behind epilogue fluff??? ;u; i know the entire epilogue was fluff but i am insatiable

yes very good thinking anon and sorry for the long wait my brain is just a heap of goo right now but here we go - some ottwlb fluff set between the Mandalorian war and the very last scene of the fic, a small compilation of how Din found the rest of their family:

oh the things we found

small TW for mentions of blood and trauma

Din doesn't in any way plan on becoming a magnet for Force-sensitive children, he really doesn't, but it happens regardless, something about his unique combination of Force-null beskar, Force-conduit darksaber, and Force-bond husband drawing them in like moths to a flame.

He finds Rey first, on a recon mission out to Jakku, casing a distress signal from a lost covert. She can't be any older than Ben, who is seven now and an absolute terror, but in comparison to him, she doesn't listen to Din one bit, her whole life just a series of defying the authority figures around her. She dangles from a rope above him, in the hollowed-out remains of an Imperial Star Destroyer, sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not coming with you!" she declares while Din tries to position himself in a way that will allow him to catch her if she slips. "I'm waiting for my family. They're coming to get me!"

He doesn't have the heart to tell her no one in their right mind would ever willingly come back to a place like Jakku. He places all his rations, most of his credits, and, just for good measure, some bacta spray on the ground below her like he's making some offering to an ancient feral god and leaves with an ache in his chest.

"She won't come with me," he complains to Luke later, pacing up and down in the living area of the Mudhorn while Luke brews tea. They don't technically live in the Mudhorn anymore, have their own quarters in the ruins of Yavin's temple, but they always end up here regardless, whenever one of them comes back from a mission, whenever they need it to be just the two of them, away from everyone's worries.

Luke hands him a steaming cup and places a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't worry," he says, in that cryptic tone of his, the one he uses to tease Din when he's being daft about something that's impossible for him to know. "She will." And that's that.

Din goes back. Once, twice, three times, until the sparse crowd of locals looks at him with pity in their eyes. She does come with him eventually, after his eighths visit, when he draws the darksaber on a dune beast and turns around to find her looking at him with the type of recognition in her eyes that he's only ever seen in the way Luke looks at Ben and Grogu.

"She's like you," he accuses when Luke greets them at the bottom of the Mudhorn's ramp, Rey perched high on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his helmet so tight it's hard for him to see. Luke just smiles and reaches out so Rey can tentatively take his hand. The change is instant - as soon as their palms touch her whole body relaxes as if something in her is finally at peace and Din has to reach up to keep her from sliding off his shoulders. And well. That's that.

Finn is next, standing tall in front of a group of terrified kids, in a backroom of the imperial laboratory they just raided, his eyes ablaze and lips turned up into a snarl. "I'll fight you," he snaps even as Din can see his hands shaking around the mop he fished out of the supply closet as a makeshift weapon. "I'm not scared, I'll fight you!" And really all Din can do in response is pull his helmet off and fall to his knees with his hands raised above his head.

It seems to work because he gets all of them into the Mudhorn eventually, Finn curled up on the copilot's seat, staring out in wonder at the endless expanse of space while the rest of the kids are rolled up into every available blanket in the captain's quarter. It's a bit of a rough start - where Rey felt turmoil because of the things swirling inside her without guidance, all Finn has ever known is supervision and people telling him to be something he's not, his connection to the Force tempered down in all the wrong places, too silent and too loud all at the same time, and in the first weeks, Din spends a lot of time hugging him close to the beskar plating of his chest, taking strolls under the quietness of Yavin's trees like he used to do with Ben. Finn quiets eventually, just as Rey did, the two of them getting on like a house on fire.

Shara is the one who brings Paige and Rose Tico, two sisters left stranded and alone by the still raging unrest of the remnants of war, and there is barely a discussion before she decides to take them in herself, the two of them glued to Poe the second they step off Shara's ship.

He finds Armitage last, standing over the dead body of an Imperial officer, blood on his hands and all across his face, just a sliver of yellow in the green of his eyes. Din has bruises on his arms for a week from how hard the kid strains against him as he tries to drag him out of the Star Destroyer before it self-destructs, but he figures, all things considered, they'll be able to handle that too.

He turns out to be a menace, of course, too smart for his own good, and way too stubborn to let Ben get away with his teasing, which always seems to end up Luke and Din having to physically drag them away from each other. Din tries to do for him what he did for everyone else, to hold him close and comfort him, but he only ever succeeds in the quiet of the night when he finds him at the very top of the temple wrapped up tightly in Luke's arms, both of them holding onto each other for dear life, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, darkness hanging around them like rain clouds.

Armitage takes a shine to Bo-Katan though, amidst all of his defiance, a fact that seems to confuse her as much as it does Din, and he knows that that will probably spell disaster in the future given how fast and feral Armitage takes to swinging a lightsaber, but to his relieve the Armorer steps up to pull him to her workshop by the back of his neck and balances the murder in his eyes with ever-evolving engineering challenges.

And so it takes a bit, quite a while in fact, but they find their balance eventually, their weird ever-growing family, all of them slotting into each other in a way that sometimes makes Din wonder if this was their doing too, Luke's and his, if in bending the universe around them, and in becoming one in the Force they somehow became a beacon for all those who are lost.

He wonders about it on the nights when, even after Han settles down on Yavin more or less permanently to be closer to Ben, and even after Paz bashfully asks to officially adopt Rey who's been glued to his shoulders for months, and even after Armitage makes it very clear that he doesn't plan to ever be adopted by anyone, Luke comes back from an excursion to find Din pilled into their bed with a bunch of wayward Foundlings.

"Sorry," Din mumbles sleepily as Luke steps over a snoring Paz who's taken up guard in the hallway, "It just happened."

"Is there room for one more?"

"Unlikely," Din sighs as he always does, but Luke finds a spot anyways, shuffling the kids around until they are just awake enough to demand a story from him.

"It's late," Luke smiles as Din pulls him closer to lean their foreheads together in greeting, Grogu climbing up from where he was tucked beneath Ben's chin to settle in between his dads. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Just one!" Rey pleads from her spot at Din's side, Finn's head popping up behind her in a show of support and Luke raises a warning eyebrow as Poe and Rose scoot closer from where they were sprawled over Din's legs. "You always say we need to be curious about the world around us!"

"It will help us sleep," Armitage argues from his spot at the end of the bed, the one he takes to pretend he doesn't care about any of this, and starts scooting close too, shoving at Ben to make space.

"They make a good point," Din interjects gently and pulls Armitage out of the way and between them before Ben can get up enough to headbutt him with Din's helmet, which is a constant on his head on those nights where they all feel pulled towards each other.

"Traitor," Luke laughs, letting Armitage nestle in closer to him, but he'll tell them about his travels anyways until they are all knocked out and snoring peacefully and Din can press a quick kiss to Luke's lips without having to listen to a cascade of "ew" and "gross".

And so, in the end, he always drifts asleep knowing he doesn't fully understand it, not really, how they all manage to fit so perfectly into each other's lives, how he managed to find this, this place that is domestic in a way nothing in his life has ever been, but he figures he doesn't have to understand it, not when he also knows with absolute certainty that they are all exactly where they are supposed to be.

#dinluke #oh the things we left behind #thank you for that lovely question anon #I had this in my head for a long time I'm glad it's out there now #they all deserve some cuddles and happiness #also yes I made most of them the same age to fit my timeline poe and hux are the only ones who are slightly older #imagine all of them as children in the same place pure chaos #I have some more of their shenanigans somewhere down in my notes #maybe I'll get around to writing them out one day #but now I take a nap #soph andswers asks #soph writes

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Text

Slutty Christmas Elf

~with softness~

@electricrituals hit me with this delightful prompt : “Hey babe! <3 I have a Christmas prompt idea if you're interested... I'm thinking Geralt is a Mall Santa (unwillingly, probably because he lost a bet, most likely to Lambert) and Jaskier is one of Santa's Elves. Sparks fly and things get NSFW in a... broom closet? Bathroom? Anywhere they absolutely should NOT be ;)” and you bet your ass I sat in the corner of the living room after Thanksgiving dinner listening to Mariah Carey and Kelly Clarkson sing Christmas songs while writing some hoey Christmas smut on my phone.

Warnings: well its smutty so 18+ plz, anal fingering, anal sex, gentle dom vibes (no i currently cant write Jask any other way), trying (and failing) to keep quiet, v inappropriate use of a mall storage closet lmao, not a whole lot of up front communication but what is consent if not showing up to a closet for a booty call? A shitload of swearing - as usual

________________

"You promised, Geralt. Sit your ass down and get the fat pads on your thigh. They'll get sore if you don't." Lambert dangled the red Santa hat in front of Geralt's face with a devious grin.

Geralt snatched it out of his hands, "Technically, I didn't even lose the bet…"

Lambert had been walking away but he turned around when he caught the mutter, "Oh, I'm sorry? How many wings did you eat?"

Geralt rolled his eyes and shoved the hat over his hair.

"How many? Couldn't hear you!"

"Twelve…" Geralt sighed.

Lambert grinned, "That's RIGHT. Don't bet your Saturday on hot wings with me," he damn near skipped back behind the camera.

Geralt sat for light tests and someone slapping him with a makeup sponge full of blush before he was finally allowed to go get his coffee.

In the green room all the elves were lounging around, most on their phones, but one was hopping on one foot trying to get those stupid little booties on.

He only barely had time to set his coffee down before he had an arm full of swearing elf.

"Fuck! Shit, I'm sorry. The cunts just don't fucking fit." The elf stood himself up, using Geralt's shoulder to keep upright as he finally yanked the bootie on.

Geralt chuckled, "You know this is a kids event right?"

The elf straightened up, hand formerly gripping Geralt's shoulder now sliding down his biceps as his bright blue eyes sparkled, "Then why'd they hire such a handsome Santa?"

Geralt blushed, sure the makeup wasn't going to hide his embarrassment, "Lost a bet," he stammered.

"Good thing we both have more wholesome friends," the elf winked, nodding over to a blonde girl with a guitar on her lap, "I'm Jaskier."

"Geralt!" Lambert hollered from the hall and Geralt deflated, his eyes nearly rolling out onto the ground.

"That's me," he squeezed Jaskier’s elbow before walking away, "You gonna stay standing without me?"

Jaskier grinned, "I'm already swooning."

Geralt did his best to keep himself from giggling as he jogged back over to Lambert.

Jaskier, it turned out, was actually very good with kids, especially the ones who were scared but Geralt absolutely didn't pay close attention to him at all. He most certainly didn't look at his ass when he bent down to tie a kids shoe, and he would never glance over at him whenever he heard a particularly musical peak of laughter. Nope. Not Geralt.

Jaskier caught him looking more than he'd like to admit, winking every time. It sent a little swarm of butterflies through his insides and he'd only just met the man. Honestly who the fuck did Geralt think he was?

When lunch break was called Jaskier made an excuse to sashay up to him and lightly hip-check him, "Hey there big guy. Enjoy your show?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Geralt nearly lost his breath, "So that was intentional?"

Jaskier rested his elbow on Geralt's shoulder and lowered his voice as Geralt instinctively placed a hand at his back, "We've got an hour and forty minutes before lunch is over…"

Geralt's eyes bulged but he felt a heat shoot through his body at the suggestion, "How do you want to spend the break?"

Jaskier licked his lips and stood on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Supply closet past the bathrooms. 5 minutes."

Jaskier snagged his wallet before he jogged out of the greenroom and down the hall. Geralt was frozen in place.

Was he really gonna do this? He didn't even know Jaskier’s last name. He might not even have a condom on him. Unless there was one in his gym bag? Yep. He was definitely gonna do this... maybe.

Lambert appeared out of nowhere while he was rifling through his bag, "Hey! Wanna get lunch at the taco place? My treat."

Fuck.

"Uh… rain check? I have uh… have to let Roach out." Geralt snagged his keys and wallet, praying Lambert didn't hear the little crinkle of foil he's hastily tucked into a card slot.

Lambert quirked an eyebrow at him but shrugged it off, "Long as you're back on time."

Geralt was speed walking down the hall, internally debating just how good of an idea this was. He might just walk past to his truck and actually go let his dog out. Nope. He glanced up and down the hall before cracking the door open.

It was dark. Fuck.

Before his self esteem could take a nosedive the door next to it opened and Jaskier leaned out, "That wasn't five minutes. Get in here. If Lambert finds us that's on you."

Geralt cupped Jaskier's face and pressed their lips together, kissing him back into the dimly lit room and closing the door behind him, "He's caught me doing worse."

"Mmm! Top or bottom?" Jaskier squeaked between kisses as he unzipped Geralt from the ridiculous Santa suit.

He pulled back to step out of the onesie, left in his briefs and undershirt, "What?"

Jaskier was already peeling off his green leggings, "You wanna fuck? Or be fucked?"

Geralt's cock twitched to life as he sheepishly admitted, "Be fucked."

Jaskier groaned and bit his lip as he dug a condom out of his wallet, "Merry Christmas to me."

Geralt chuckled, tossing his condom to Jaskier, "You're getting my hopes up."

"Oh, darling," a dangerous look flashed in Jaskier's eyes, "pants off, face the door."

Geralt shivered at his tone and did as he was told, pressing his hands to the cold metal and glancing back over his shoulder. Jaskier tore open one of the packs and rolled the condom over his fingers before coming to stand behind Geralt.

"Are you going to be good and stay quiet for me?"

Oh fuck. Geralt's breath hitched at his words and his cock ached to be touched. He bit his lip and nodded vigorously.

Jaskier ran his other hand over his shoulders and back, guiding his feet back a bit so his ass was better presented, "You like that? Being told what to do? Giving up control?"

Geralt pressed his forehead on the door, his breath coming in gasps already, "Yes, just don't call me 'honey'."

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his shoulder, "Wouldn't dream of it. Ready?"

Geralt nodded and Jaskier dragged his two fingers over Geralt's hole, making use of the lube on the condom as best he could. Geralt shivered, and pushed out a breath to keep from moaning as Jaskier massaged his rim.

"That's it, just relax. Let me make you feel good." Jaskier whispered in his ear, stroking his side and kissing the back of his neck, "Do you want to touch yourself?"

Geralt hadn't even realized he was waiting for permission but fuck did he want to, "Please?"

Jaskier stepped to the side a bit, still massaging Geralt while he tipped his chin toward him and kissed him, "Do what you want, love."

Geralt gripped his cock and pumped ever so slowly, stifling another moan. Jaskier mouthed at his jaw and behind his ear as he slowly pushed one finger in, just to the first knuckle. Geralt's rhythm faltered and he gasped, "More."

Jaskier's breath was shaky as he began pumping and curling his finger, looking for that lovely little spot.

"Two," Geralt gasped, "you won't reach it without two fing-ehmm!"

Jaskier did exactly as he was told and a wave of pleasure rolled through Geralt's body, "Like…. This?" Jaskier curled his fingers again and held the pressure on Geralt's prostate for a few seconds while Geralt trembled.

He whined as he nodded, canting his hips back.

Jaskier stilled his ministrations and gathered Geralt to his chest to whisper in his ear, "I thought you said you'd be quiet for me?"

"I can," Geralt whispered, "I promise."

Jaskier hummed and pressed his palm over the center of Geralt's chest, "I'm going to add another finger. But you have to keep quiet."

Geralt's hand pressed over Jaskier's, "I will. I will." He panted.

Jaskier did as he'd said and Geralt bit down on his lip, finally feeling almost full. Jaskier began pumping again, pressing his own erection against Geralt's hip, "Good boy."

Geralt rocked back against Jaskier's bulge, fucking himself on his fingers, "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"One hundred percent."

Jaskier pressed against his prostate one more time before slipping his hand out, making Geralt shudder and bite his knuckle to suppress a groan. Jaskier had the second condom out and ready almost immediately, lining himself up at Geralt's entrance as he ran his hands over his back in long soothing strokes.

"You tell me when," Jaskier cooed, "pause for pause, stop for get out, work?"

Geralt nodded and repeated the code before leaning against the door on one elbow with his palm flat against the metal, "Go ahead."

Jaskier moaned as he slowly and steadily pushed in. Geralt twisted his hand over the head of his cock and almost forgot how to exhale he was so full. Jaskier slowly began rocking back and forth, maybe a centimeter or two at a time. As he started to thrust in earnest the bells on his costume started to jingle in time.

Geralt tried to ignore it, but it was just so ridiculous and he was going to start laugh soon, "Jask, p-pause," he chuckled.

Jaskier froze, a hand coming to Geralt's neck and jaw, asking him wordlessly to look at him, "what is it?"

"The bells. Its- fuck it's too funny."

Jaskier laughed as he peeled his shirt off and tossed it in a heap with his leggings, "Thank gods, they’re annoying."

Geralt huffed in amusement as he rocked his hips a bit but his breaths quickly turned to pants as Jaskier picked up his pace again. For as quiet as he'd told Geralt to be, Jaskier was moaning wantonly whenever Geralt clenched or hummed as he brushed his prostate.

Geralt had given up stroking his cock in favor of squeezing at the base for a while when Jaskier finally said he was close, staving off his orgasm as long as he could. The sweet slick fullness mixed with the near panic of constantly being on the edge was intoxicating and Geralt wanted to hang onto every second.

Jaskier held his hips and squeezed like he'd really wanted to dig in and Geralt wished he would, "Are you-?"

"Yes," Geralt really wasn't sure how he formed words, his whole body was pulsing and shaking.

"F-fuck! Oh, Geralt. Sonofa-hmmm." Jaskier came with rough thrusts, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of the condom as he rode out his orgasm.

Geralt gave himself three good pumps and that was all it took to send him over the edge. He barely kept his legs under him as he shook and groaned while Jaskier pulled out to dispose of the condom. He pressed his cheek against the door and sighed at the relief on his slightly sweaty skin, only mildly aware of Jaskier getting dressed behind him.

"Geralt, how do you feel?" Jaskier brushed some stray hairs out of his face.

"Hmmm."

"Good hmmm?"

Geralt nodded and pushed off the door, running a hand through his hair to pull himself together.

Jaskier didn't seem to be in a rush though, helping him get dressed and clean up in his rather hazy afterglow. He lead Geralt over to one of the benches and sat down, pulling Geralt into his lap, straddling his hips. His arms wrapped around Geralt's waist and pulled him close, one hand snaking into his hair and lightly scratching little circles on his scalp. Geralt hummed in exhausted pleasure and laid his head on Jaskier's shoulders, wrapping his arms around his ribs.

"For as scary as you look, you're a big softie," Jaskier laughed, giving him a little squeeze.

Geralt heaved a sigh as if raising his head from Jaskier's shoulder was a monumental effort, "I thought you said 'handsome'?" He teased, looking to Jaskier's lips as if to ask permission.

Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to his lips, overwhelmingly gentle for a quickie in a supply closet, "Scary good-looking," he mumbled between kisses.

Geralt let out an amused huff and before he could stop himself, asked, "Wanna go get lunch?"

Jaskier pulled back to look at him in bewilderment.

Geralt scrambled to take it back, failing miserably, "Unless- I mean. We fucked in a mall closet I'm not saying- i- fuck, I ruined it."

Jaskier placed a finger over his lips and smiled, "I'd love to."

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fireinmywoods · 3 years

Note

Whenever you (gleefully) describe Jim's octopus-like sleeping preferences, we often see Bones complaining about how hard it is to escape when he has to pee. But how often is he getting up to pee in the night? Does he need to get this checked out, or is he really just an old man in body AND spirit?

I actually went back and fact-checked myself on this, wondering what exactly I’ve been communicating about poor Leonard’s urological health! It is indeed established in septenary that Leonard sometimes needs to get up to pee at night and that Jim makes this exceedingly difficult, but the phrasing leaves the frequency of these incidents rather open to interpretation, so allow me to clarify that it was intended to imply that this might happen at most once a night, and not necessarily every night.

In Leonard’s defense (and, frankly, my own), it's not abnormal to sometimes need to get up to pee once during the night, especially if you’re of a certain age and keep yourself well hydrated, and especially if, like Leonard and Jim, you're in the habit of frequently having a drink or two before bed. (Alcohol is a diuretic, meaning it makes you have to pee more, and as a health professional who works on sleep hygiene I feel obligated to advise you that it also disrupts REM sleep and overall negatively impacts your sleep quality and how rested you feel the next day.)

Now, it may not seem like getting up just once per night would be such an onerous task, but consider this:

You drift into a hazy awareness, heavy with lingering sleep, a touch overheated where the back of your neck meets the pillow and in the hundred places your lover's bare skin meets yours. His legs are twined through your own, his leaden arm is belted securely over your middle, his cheek is hot against your shoulder, and all along your side are plastered the slack skin-warm weight of chest and ribs and gently rising belly.

You're comfortable. You shouldn't be, maybe, but this is the least of the paradoxical contradictions you've had cause to reckon with since Jim Kirk came careening into your life, and all things considered you've decided it doesn't especially warrant fretting over. Jim sleeps like a boa constrictor that opted for a mid-meal nap, suffocatingly strong and entirely immovable, and you've never slept better in your life. Chalk it up as yet another mystery of the unfathomable universe.

You do kind of need to empty your bladder, though. It's nothing terribly urgent, but it's there, and you know it'll only grow more pressing by morning, when Jim will be drowsy-sweet and playful, offering and inviting the sort of languorous physical affection you find most difficult to resist. You'll want to laze around with him then, indulging in his idle touches, soaking up the easy intimacy of your bodies wound together, admiring the smoothness of his skin and the arcs of his comet trails as he hums and preens under your hands - and in order to grant your morning self that luxury, your groggy midnight self needs to take the hit and get up to use the head.

It really ought not to be such an ordeal. Unlike some other nights in recent memory, you're not obliged to step away from your campfire into the treacherous dark of a screeching alien jungle, nor to make profoundly awkward conversation with a chatty royal attendant before being admitted into the (God help you) communal relief chamber. Your own private, sanitized bathroom is only steps away, and making use of it will be a matter of less than a minute.

It would be one thing if you could slip unnoticed from the bed, the way you’ve done countless times before with past partners - if you could simply ease Jim down to the mattress and leave him resting peacefully in a heap of pale skin and fluttering eyelashes while you went and took care of business. You might even tuck a pillow into his arms to curl around in your absence, reassure him with a stroke to his lightly furrowed brow that you weren’t going far, and when you returned you'd gather him back against you with a sigh or a snuffle and drop near instantly back into the deep slumber that's still teasing at the edges of your reluctant consciousness.

Yeah, that would be nice. But, of course, nothing where Jim’s involved can ever be that easy.

You begin by levering your numb arm away from Jim's back, wincing at the stinging start of pins and needles, and even as you’re flexing your prickling fingers Jim is already registering his discontent, huddling even more tightly against your side with a low noise of distress, as though you'd thrown off a blanket to expose him to a biting winter chill.

You attempt to shift sideways, hoping against all reason and precedent that you might be able to slide free of Jim's grasp without needing to grapple with him, only to find yourself caged in still more inescapably by Jim's tensing limbs. He makes another sound, complaint and injury, the wounded cry of a man forsaken.

"Jim," you sigh, because at this point it's clear you're not getting away without verbal negotiation. You jiggle your tingling arm and shoulder under him, trying to jostle him into something resembling conscious reasoning. "Wake up."

“Mrmph.” Jim nuzzles your shoulder, obstinate and sweet, frustrating your efforts to muster up some nice productive impatience with him. Lord, how much simpler everyone’s lives would be if this recalcitrant little bastard weren’t so charming in his defiance.

“I gotta take a leak, kid. Loosen up some.”

This does seem to register. Jim grumbles another sulky noise into your shoulder, but his arm retracts slowly and grudgingly back over your belly, and his legs stir against yours in a feeble attempt at disentangling.

You take advantage of his weakened grip and ease yourself out of his clutches, rolling toward the edge of the bed and heaving your legs over to propel yourself into something resembling a seated position, and with your feet now firmly on the cool floor you think to yourself get a move on and now’s your chance and sooner you go sooner you can get back, all too aware that if you hesitate or look back now you’ll be trapped again.

So you get up and go, trudging across the short distance to the head, and when you’ve done your business and shuffled back it’s to find Jim still awake, as he always is, a familiar blurry-edged silhouette in the two percent light. As many times as you play out this scene, your fool heart still pangs a bit at the sight: the faint glint of his eyes seeking you out in the dark, the unspoken plea of his arm outstretched across your side of the bed.

“Budge over,” you say, though there’s plenty of space, because it’s the middle of the goddamn night and that’s no kind of time to allow yourself to feel any type of way about how Jim won’t sleep without you.

Jim draws his arm back some, a perfunctory concession, as much for show as your little pantomime of grievance as you pour your weary bones into bed and find yourself captured once more by the strangling embrace of the man you pray to God never stops reaching for you in the night.

#ask #anon #fireinmywoods fic #mckirk fic #mckirk #otp: bedside manner #mccoy #kirk #star trek #aos #gonna call this #palimpsest verse #while SIEL jim is equally cuddly at night he's passingly established as being a little more chill when leonard has to get up #whereas pverse jim is both obnoxiously clingy and 'always knows when bones is gone'#yes that's right i took this jokey tease of an ask and gave it Feelings #would you expect anything different from me honeslty #q

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spitpr1ncess · 3 years

Text

Can I Call You Sir? / Nanami Kento x Fem Reader

--“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”--

Fucking bullshit.

You stare at the graded paper before you and seethe from the inside out. An F? A fail?! But you’d studied relentlessly! The only thought you were having was how your mother was going to kill you when she finds out, you can practically hear her shrieking, “I’m paying heaps of money to put you through university and this is what you have to show for it?

Professor Nanami is writing something that looks vaguely recognizable on the chalk board, his tall but slim body looking oddly out of place at the front of the long classroom as you glare holes into the back of his blue shirt. There wasn’t a single person you hated more than him in this never-ending moment. You yawn and allow your head to fall heavy onto your crossed arms, hiding your shameful test results. You could listen to Professor Nanami with your eyes closed based solely on the fact that you would be failing the rest of this term if your test results were anything to go by.

The rest of the lesson passes quickly as you fall victim to maladaptive daydreams, playing out every single scenario where you approach Professor Nanami and question his harsh grading. You aren’t a stupid girl, in fact, in every other class you were smashing your target or hitting above. What was this mans problem? You imagine slamming your paper down in front of him, arms crossed and little foot tapping the floor. “Do you hate me?”, “So you have favourites?”, or just a plain “what the fuck?!” were among the favourites you’d rehearsed. His face was cold as stone as he stared back before licking his lower lip and smirking, pulling his glasses atop his head, causing a pretty ripple in his hair as he stands absolutely towering over you. A large thumb lifts your chin to look at him as his eyes bore into you. Then his lips are on yours.

Wait what?

What?

You’re roughly pulled from your daydream by your hair as a pair of polished brown shoes stand at the foot of your worn school desk and a voice beckons your name. Professor Nanami is stood less than a foot in front of you waiting for an explanation. You shoot bolt upright in the uncomfortable wooden chair as your entire body feels like its been zapped by an electric fence. You can feel the blush in your face spreading to your ears as you push the strange daydream to the back of your degenerate mind.

“Sleeping through my lectures will not help you fix that broken grade, Miss Reader. Do you understand me? Or do I need to put it more plainly? It can’t be easy with a simple mind like yours, but I’m sure we could find a way to help you absorb what I’m saying.” His eyes are cold as steel and boring into your soul, he doesn’t even blink, he’s like a robot. You hold his gaze before risking a look around the classroom revealing that it is completely empty, not a soul to be seen, brilliant. So not only had you failed your test but you’d also voluntarily agreed to extracurricular activities whilst daydreaming about kissing your Professor, it sure was a great day to be you.

You panic, how were you going to salvage this? You needed to think quickly, but nothing was springing to mind.

Clearing your throat and calming your nerves you begin, “sorry Professor I didn’t get much sleep last night, I have a lot going on at home so am finding it difficult to participate in classes at the moment.”

You are?

He lets out a small snort as he sits at the edge of your desk, peering down at you through his glasses, a look of judgement plasters his incredibly chiselled facial features, he is beautiful, and you’re happy to admit that, whether or not it could get you in trouble.

What?

“Your lies won’t cut it here, you’re excelling in all your other classes, algebra, languages and biology. These are not easy subjects and geography is a breeze in comparison, so why are you failing? Are you doing it on purpose?” Your attention is drawn to his strong throat and his Adams apple lifts and falls again as he swallows and you wonder if he is anxious about approaching you, not that he has any reason to be.

You feel anger bubble in your throat as you argue back, “I’m not a liar. I’m having trouble concentrating here. Your teaching, the class size, the fact the class is the last of the day, maybe you’re grading me too harshly! Have you considered that? Nobody else failed, so why did I?!” Your voice is shaking now and your knuckles are white as you push your nails into your palms, drawing blood. Professor Nanami looks at you for a moment before standing and heading back to his desk at the front of the class where he picks up a piece of chalk and some papers and begins to write.

“Question one is on plate tectonics, lets begin there. Would you care to explain the theory to me?” He turns and gives you a weirdly friendly smile, you calm your nerves and take a breath, opening your paper and looking at your answer, you read out the sentences you had written and cringe as you allow Professor Nanami to correct you, taking notes on his tutoring. Your personal four o’clock class finishes at just past seven as you both wrap up the test paper and Nanami wipes the board clean.

“In future Miss Reader, you come to me when you need help. You’re a smart young lady really, you know that, so put your brain to use. You’re going to do great things after your course is up so don’t discredit yourself over one failed paper.” He sits at his desk and waves his hand to dismiss you. “You’d better go now, I’m sure you have a worried boyfriend wondering where you’ve gotten to so late in the evening.” He pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, much like in your daydream, and you appreciate how good he looks for a moment. He’s aged yes, around thirty yes, but still gorgeous. You know the girls at University fawn over him, fighting to get even a slither of attention, and here you were, in a private tutoring session of your own, and without even meaning to.

You ponder the boyfriend comment before packing up and heading for the exit, deciding to test the waters you address him, “I don’t have a boyfriend Professor you see I simply don’t have time, and anyway, none of the boys here are mature enough to interest me.” You turn and give him a smile as you catch his gaze flitting up from where your stockings meet the fat of your thighs, you roll your eyes at him and shake your head as you sigh and leave for the night.

This was an interesting development.

Sleep washes over you as you awaken in your dream. Professor Nanami is sitting before you, he beckons for you to sit on his lap, you oblige and as you nestle against his chest, his fingers find the edge of your stocking, he traces lazy patterns on your thigh, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from you. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek and plants a soft kiss against your neck, he pushes your soft hair behind your ear and begins to litter kisses on your sensitive lobe.

“Sweet thing, you smell heavenly, I just want to devour you.” He whispers. You throw your head back and invite him to suck and nip at your exposed throat, completely vulnerable in his arms you entrust him with your entirety. He groans as you manoeuvre your little waist to create friction with the fat of your ass and you’re met with the impossible hardness between his legs, this moment between the two of you feels like fireworks, everything is at a standstill and there is nothing but your two bodies, completely entwined, obsessed with each other’s perfect anatomy. You continue to explore each other physically as you mewl and sigh rhythmically, nothing has ever felt better than your Professors loving touch on your absolute innocence. You’d been with boys yes, but never a man like Nanami.

“Nanamin,” you cry out as he finds the hotness between your legs.

“Sweet girl, I’ll take the best care of you, just relax.” he speaks like sweet poetry from his mouth that tastes like the most expensive organic honey. Your breath hitches as he starts to disappear, you reach out but he is no longer there.

You jolt awake as you feel wetness pooling between your legs, the hotness and lack of friction so unbearable you are torn from the dream of all dreams.

Fuck, this is weird now.

Daydreaming about your Professor wouldn’t be the worst thing if you weren’t now absolutely sopping wet and grinding against your own mattress. You dare to slip a tiny hand under the waistband of your pants and give a little release to yourself, it felt unreal, and without realizing you were picturing him as you drive yourself to the edge and jump off head first. You’re picturing his pretty features and strong hands, his soft lips and authoritarian stare. In your head he’s praising you, “sweet thing, sweet girl” he says. You shudder as you come down from the satiating high and allow shame to encase you completely, rolling over, you stare at the screen of your phone.

5:38. A notification flashes from last night.

baby nobara: maps said you left uni at 7! wtf were u doing?? ps, shopping tmorrow?

You open the notification and type a quick reply.

you: was just studying, nothing important hahahah. sure! meet me at 11?

With that, you roll back over and let sleep nestle you gently between her arms.

It’s twenty minutes after your planned meet time that Nobara turns up, and holding a Krispy Kreme bag full of donuts and a doc marten tote housing at least one new pair of shoes, she’d obviously done a pre-shop, not that it was particularly out of character for her. Her gentle face is plastered with a mischievous grin as she runs and embraces you like two sisters might embrace after a long time away from each other’s presence

“I had to warm up before we got started!” she laughs at you, and all is forgiven in a matter of seconds. You’re both giggling as she opens the bag and makes you a peace offering of a strawberry donut, you eagerly accept as you discuss what shops you want to hit up today. You both spend hours browsing, trying on and chatting about everything, you don’t get to see Nobara often as you have alternating days on campus and your schedules clash horribly so the times you do spend together are cram packed full of mischief.

You’re walking past a load of stores as you approach Victoria's Secret and you immediately flash back to Professor Nanamis eyes on your stockings last night and his comment about your supposed boyfriend. Cogs are turning in your mind but before you have time to make the connection, you’re being dragged in, you have no objections and are pleasantly surprised by the variety of lingerie this particular chain of store holds. You pick out a few different numbers including a black corset body suit and a matching garter with stockings, you knew the reason for picking it out was completely inappropriate but it didn’t stop you from taking it to the counter and paying nearly 100 dollars for it. You grinned as you schemed yet another daydream waiting for your friend to decide on the bits she wanted.

You both decide on a little sushi place for lunch and as you fill your mouth with miso Nobara asks, “Who are you fucking? It has to be someone at university, that’s why you stayed so late, right?” The question completely winds you as you try not to choke on your food. Your eyes are watering as you try to explain that it was just extra-curricular studies. Nobara nods and rolls her eyes, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’ll find out sure enough.” She laughs as you pray she lets this go, shovelling some nigiri into her mouth she waves you off. “Chill,” she says as you allow your heart to slow in your chest.

You give her a hug as you finally part ways and she ruffles your hair, “See you around”, and with that she’s gone. You begin the walk home as you reflect on the events of today, you reel as you come to the realization you spent 100 dollars on a lingerie set for a man over ten years your senior who would less than likely ever find out you’d bought it. Unless.

No.

You shake the thought of trying to bait your own Professor after barely scraping by the last term, expulsion for indecent behaviour seems somewhat worse, at least you think. It also doesn’t seem good for Nobara to now suspect you have something going on with somebody, she has to know all the top gossip and you don’t doubt she will find a way. Now that you think about it, you should turn your phone location off. You know your friend would stalk you for the sake of some scandalous news she can tease you about. You giggle to yourself, you and Professor Nanami, what a thought.

The bell rings as you finish washing your hands, you stopped to use the bathroom before your final class of the day, Geography. You’d been anticipating this class, having chosen the black corset body suit with stockings to match, you’d paired it with a mid-length black satin skirt and an oversized cardigan, it was enough to feel comfortable in, and not break any regulations but enough for Professor Nanami to notice, which was just perfect. You wanted to test the waters after his comment and wandering eyes, you’d had time to stew over your awful test results and were wondering if maybe he was a little harsh with the grading. Either way, today would tell.

You hurry up the stairs and down the long corridor to the classroom where he lectures, there were around 30 students already settled in class and you could see your Professor writing on the board. You slip in quietly and take your seat at the back of the class, you shed your cardigan, giving a frontal view of your chest and begin to take notes. You ensure you pay full attention to todays class, not taking your eyes off the man at the front of your lecture room. You meet his gaze a few times and you sense him trying really hard to not allow his eager eyes to flit downwards, you wish for him to give you anything more than a feeling to go off of but he’s stone cold and hard as steel. As the class draws to an end Nanami dismisses the students and you wait until the room has emptied before you walk towards his desk. You wait for him to address you.

“Miss Reader, can I help you with something?” he doesn’t meet your gaze and instead continues typing something on his keyboard, you’re frustrated with how nonchalant he’s being, how you’ve probably misread the entire encounter, how you’ve created a whole reality from nothing.

“I, I was hoping maybe you would assist me with some questions I have from the class today Sir, if you have time of course.” If he wanted to play games, he would get games, you might be younger than him but you’re not stupid.

“That’s okay, you’ll have to give me ten minutes whilst I finish this email, then I’m all yours. Feel free to take a seat.” He motions for the first desk in the front row and you roll your eyes as you decide to make a stand. You pull a chair from the side of the room to Nanamis desk and sit directly opposite him, you take out your textbooks and begin to lay them out on the space behind his computer, sitting down you cross your legs, brushing his shin with your shoe. You’re sure you see his jaw tighten, but he plays it off by cracking his neck, the loud crunch distracts from the tension filled silence and you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

He finishes with his email and pushes the computer screen to the side of his desk then leans back in his chair and loosens his tie slightly, he catches you watching the space above where his shirt is buttoned and smirks, “So what questions do you have sweet girl?”, it’s an innocent enough question but you’re walking a fine line and need to be careful. You make idle small talk about today’s class for an hour or so before asking your Professor to quiz you, it’s a shot in the dark but you’re hoping he will catch on.

“I’ve been revising, ask me any twenty questions, if I get them right you can pass me for that test!” you grin, proud of the compromise you’d come up with.

“It’s a good idea, but what if you get questions wrong? Does the fail still stand?” he laughs quietly, like he made a personal joke that only he understood, he allowed his eyes to trail down to the black floral lace encasing your chest, it wasn’t overly provocative (you were in university after all) but it was enough to make his mind wander. You test the waters again, trailing a finger over the top of the hem, outlining the soft of your breasts, Nanami shuffles in his seat and adjusts his legs, brilliant.

You allow your Professor to test you, answering all questions and waiting for each correct answer like a patient puppy, sitting for its master. At the end of the test you grin, over the moon with yourself for showing him you deserve a passing mark.

“I told you! I told you I shouldn’t have failed. You were definitely marking me too harshly!” You brush your leg against his again, and he doesn’t make an effort to move himself, he drinks you in through the round frames of his glasses that are sitting pretty on the top of his nose.

“Sweet girl, I never thought you were stupid, in fact, I think you’re rather smart. So tell me, why are you really here right now?” He sits forward in his chair and leans across his desk, towards you. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm and tempting breath on your lips, your eyes close of their own accord and you lean in. He teases you with soft pecks and you fight back, bringing a hand to his chin but he beats you to it. Your hand completely drowned by his own, the sheer size difference a shock to your system, he holds your hand against his desk where your forgotten papers sit. With his other hand he brings his thumb just below your chin and lifts your face so your eyes can meet his, “Is this what you wanted all along? To kiss your Professor? Is this what your little get up today is about? You thought I wouldn’t notice the pretty lace? Do you know how good you look?” His rhetoric questions causing your heart to beat a hole in your chest you inhale sharply, trying to take control of your breathing once again.

“You failed me on purpose.” It’s slipped out before you have time to consider what you’re saying.

What?!

“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”

A grown man, your professor nonetheless, sits before you in what feels like a dream, asking for you to stop this.

So stop it.

You take your free hand and pull his face into yours, you’re kissing again, this time with more desperation. It was like you were parched, and Nanami was a stream of fresh water, you couldn’t get enough, and it was like your entire life depended on it. His desk was the only thing stopping you from jumping across and allowing him to devour you whole, you thought about straddling his lap and allowing him to grab the soft fat of your ass. Not yet.

You pull away from the kiss and stand, looking at the man before you, his tie completely loose, a few strands of hair falling on his forehead allowing him to look dishevelled, his glasses slightly steamed up. He was a sight to behold and your heart was beating to within an inch of your life with the idea that you had caused it. Internally you were screaming, DON’T FUCKING STOP. But you had to, had to make sure this wouldn’t be a mistake. You leaned across the desk and picked his glasses off of his nose, placing them on your own and pulling them up, to push the hair off of your face. He looked puzzled and opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him.

“It seems I have forgotten something, looks like I’ll have to come back to get it tomorrow, what a shame.” And with that, you shot him a grin, turned on your heels, and left. Nanami sat staring at the door in utter shock and awe as you stalked out. He quickly fixed himself up sans glasses and packed up for the day, he muttered something about teaching you a lesson, and spare frames before he left, allowing the leftover tension to dissolve.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #Nanamin #nanami fanfic #archive of our own #spitprincess #spitty #my own work #original content #nanami x femme reader #kento #kento nanami x redaer

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minniepetals · 4 years

Text

Rose & Thorns: 05

— summary: a lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other. and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

— pairing: dragon!namjoon x reader / future!bts x reader

— genre: angst / poly!au / fantasy!au / dragon!au

— word count: 7.3k

— warnings: orphan reader, injuries, reader keeps blaming herslef, hurt and comfort

╰ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10

The two of you fell a long way but luckily (or unluckily) Namjoon dropped into the river of a waterfall that carried you both further away from where you had landed.

You stayed awake, crying aloud as the water surrounded the two of you, hurting your injured shoulder even more. But you knew that you couldn't give up, not when Namjoon was unconscious and couldn't do anything. So with great might and struggles here and there, you grabbed onto a rock from the rushing waters. Namjoon, who transformed into a human again since falling into the river, in one of your hand while the arm with your injured shoulder held onto the rock very tightly.

You pulled yourself up with great difficulty as cries escaped your lips from how hard it was and how much it was hurting your shoulder even more.

But you did it for Namjoon's sake. He saved you from getting hurt even further, saved you from falling down alone, and held onto you tightly so that you'd be less injured than he was. Once you finally dragged him out of the waters and onto land, your energy ran out completely and you found yourself sprawled beside where he laid.

A few minutes passed by as you just laid there trying to catch your breath, the sky just above the two of you, a bright twilight sky that looked so pretty, contrary to the situation you were in. You hissed as you sat up, looking around for some sort of shelter the two of you could somehow sleep in just for the night because you were sure Seokjin and the others wouldn't be able to find you soon. That was, if Seokjin managed to escape the other dragons.

You shook your head at the thought and looked back at Namjoon who showed no sign of waking up any time soon and a couple of tears fell from your eyes at just the sight of how broken he looked.

"Come on Y/N," you urged yourself as you wiped away the tears, "you can't give up. For prince Namjoon's sake."

It took a while but eventually you were able to find a cave for both you and Namjoon to settle in. He was quite the weight and with the fact that you yourself was also injured, the journey was a little harder than you had ever experienced.

Once you sat him down with the cave's wall supporting him up, you got up, only to have his hand grab you from leaving.

"Where are you going?" He asked, voice the weakest you had ever heard. Once a mighty dragon who held the highest respect of his clan, you never knew you'd ever see him in such a state. But then again, it was your fault for him getting hurt in the first place and you let out a soft sigh as you blinked away the tears that were waiting to fall.

"The ground is hard and dirty, I'm getting us some dry leaves for us to lay on and I have to find a way to make fire," you told him, giving the dragon a light squeeze on his hand yet careful you wouldn't provoke any more pains leaving from his lips.

All Namjoon did was let go of your hand to have you understand that it was okay to leave.

He stared out towards the outdoors where you left, stumbling a little from your weakness yet still holding on for both your sakes. The world looked hazy in his eyes but he knew that you had brought the two of you inside a cave, sheltering from the dark to come and for a long while as you still hadn't returned, Namjoon began worrying.

He was so exhausted, his consciousness trying to slip away once more but he knew he had to stay awake. How else would you make a fire without him? If only he had been stronger with facing the enemy dragon but because of his short waver of moment, the two of you were dragged down upon a high cliff.

Namjoon thought of Seokjin, worried for his mate. But a part of him was sure that the hunting patrol had probably come to the healer's rescue since he knew they had been just a mile away from the disaster. Maybe they'd be able to find him and Y/N too?

Yet he doubted so.

You came back later than expected, carrying a few tree leaves along with branches and other thick woods for the fire. He could hear your little grunts, the sounds of hissing as you tried not to whimper in pain from your shoulder injury. He wanted to say something, anything, but the awkward tension lingered while you busied yourself placing the leaves into a large pile that would fit the two of you in and then quickly moving onto the woods.

Once the pile was made, you looked around unsure, not knowing exactly how to start a fire. "Use my fire," Namjoon finally uttered and you looked at him. For the first time, though his vision was still a bit of a blur, he could see how exhausted you looked and for a moment the clan's leader heart fell as he realized you were only trying so hard because of him.

"Your fire?" You asked him, voice frail. "I'm a dragon," the man reminded you.

"Right." You cleared your throat with a little bit of embarrassment. "Then, if you don't mind, prince Namjoon." You went forth to grab him gently, allowing him to lean against you so that you could lead him towards the pile of wood where he, with some bit of difficulty, blew out a heap of fire that caught onto the wood almost instantly, creating your very own campfire.

By the time you had woken up the next day, the fire had already burned out and Namjoon was still fast asleep on your other side. It was a struggle trying to get up due to your injured shoulder but you made the effort knowing you had to stay strong for the dragon that had saved your life.

The sky was clearer with the bright morning sun greeting you with its blinding rays of light and you got up to go in search for some source of water or any food you could try and find.

Namjoon was asleep for another hour but by the time he had awakened, you had just returned with the supplies you had gone in search of.

"You're awake," you said a little breathlessly as you took your seat in front of him. "I brought back some fruits from the trees and the river's water is clear enough to drink from" you told the dragon, dropping down a few fruits you had cleaned from the river onto the clean leaves. It wasn't much but it was something. "We have to clean up your wounds and secure them before you get infected."

He took a bite into a mango hungrily and with just the sight of it, you were reminded of that first moment you had seen Jungkook biting into a mango back in your old village.

"You too," the dragon said, indicating to your shoulder and you looked away, eyes cast to the ground with a light nod.

"Are you familiar with these grounds?"

He looked up, eyeing his surroundings before returning to his feast on the mango. "I was once very familiar with every land that surrounded our mountains until I was chosen to be an apprentice of the last leader, but now there are some features I'm not able to recognize." He paused, then added a little more softly. "Especially on low grounds."

"Your wings..." you trailed off, looking at the high prince distraught with the incident that had occurred, "Are they..alright?"

The way his eyes fell into a moment loss of hope, your heart fell for the once mighty dragon that ruled all of the dragons and you were reminded once again of your moment with Jungkook. You've told him once that even the biggest and strongest dragons would get hurt, but never once had you actually thought for you to ever witness such a moment.

The two of you left for the river a few minutes later after you watched Namjoon eat and he forced you to take an apple. It was a little difficult with having just one arm that worked but eventually, you were able to patch the dragon up. At least for a little while.

Namjoon took over for your injury, insisting that you needed the treatment just as much as he did and though you wanted to hold back your tears from the searing pain, you weren't actually able to. Bit by bit, little by little, your whimpers grew a little more audible for him to hear and Namjoon's hands steadied around your shoulder.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered, voice one of the softest and gentlest you had ever heard them. "Just hold on a little longer, you're going to be alright."

"It's my fault."

"What are you blaming yourself for?"

"If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't have gotten hurt and you wouldn't had have to save me from that fall," you said so in a whisper with head falling down in shame. Your shoulder was hurting pretty badly but you could only imagine how painful Namjoon's wounds were. He took a bigger hit, actually falling upon the rocks of the cliffs because he was so determined on saving you while you stayed safe under the wings that were now a bit useless to him.

"No one would have predicted those dragons would come after us during that time," Namjoon said after a short moment of silence, "don't get your mind too racked up in that position of fault." You didn't say much so after he finished tying up the piece of your clothing you ripped up for both him and yourself, he turned you around gently so that you could face him once more. "I'm serious," the high prince declared. "Those dragons have never attacked when the sun is that high up, that was why Seokjin wasn't too careful about that little moment when he went out."

"What'll happen to him?" You asked, voice cracked at just the imaginations that formed in your head but Namjoon was there to squeeze your hands.

"The others should have came to the rescue, he shouldn't be in danger."

Your brows furrowed with a bit of doubt. "How do you know for sure?"

Namjoon shared a small little smirk. "When a dragon like me lets out a loud roar, none of our warriors would be deaf to my cry."

Staring at him, shirtless and all with your once perfect clothes wrapped around his body acting like bandages, you bit against your lower lip. "What about now?" You asked him. "If you cried out now, won't they hear you?"

"They will." He nodded but then looked away as his hands fell away from your body. "But I cannot transform. Not in this state."

Suddenly you felt bad all of a sudden but just as you were about to open your mouth, Namjoon was quick to serve his head back around to place his forefinger in front of your lips.

"You are not allowed to apologize," he demanded though his voice remained soft. "That is an order." You wanted to protest, he could tell, but he could also tell that since he made that an order and because he was the high prince of the dragons, you remained quiet to obey his order. A small smile appeared at the corner of Namjoon's lips and suddenly he was aware of how close the two of you were and Namjoon cleared his throat, backing away as his finger left your lips. He could still feel how soft they were.

"Wipe the tears away," he ordered again as he stood up on his feet, "a true warrior never lets her comrades see her tears."

You looked up at the man that had once been so frightful to you. But with his hand held out as an offering to help you up, suddenly you were aware of what Jungkook saw in the dragon; soft and kind though a little awkward. But that was okay, it made him look cute in a way.

"We're comrades?" You asked, scoffing lightly as you took his hand for him to help you up.

"Everyone who lives in my clan is a comrade, little human." He paused. "Except my mates, because they are my lovers."

"Then..." you trailed off, hesitating, "am I no longer your prisoner?"

Part of you still couldn't believe it, that you were finally out of that dungeon that once only held light with the tip of a candle. But you also knew that the only reason why you had miraculously gotten out in the first place was because of your sickness and as crazy as it had sounded, you were thankful for catching that fever. Jungkook was a fretful dragon who was determined and stubborn but even the little prince was not enough to lead his older mates to believe you to be innocent.

"You're already out, aren't you?"

And with that, you watched the back of the high prince walking away and for a few long seconds, you stood there unsure of what to think. Maybe if Seokjin had deemed that you were back in full health, Namjoon would have put you back into the dungeons. Where you belonged. Maybe if you hadn't gone out on that little adventure with Seokjin and the enemy dragons hadn't attacked, you wouldn't have gotten the chance to ever see the world in any type of way ever again.

So as you stared at the blood that seeped through Namjoon's body and the shoulder that was still giving you an aching pain, you wondered if you'd rather the attack never happening or letting you take your freedom in this way.

Even if it was for a small moment with you and him out there, waiting and hoping to arrive back to the clan.

A little sigh of uneasiness left your lips before you ran to catch up to the man.

"Your highness, you shouldn't be putting too much weight on your legs. It isn't healed and it certainly isn't in good conditions. I don't think-"

"I have to walk on my own, little human," he said, refusing to let you help him out but you could see him limping despite the fact that he was trying hard to conceal it. "My wings are useless, I can't have my legs useless either."

"But-"

"Then what'll we do?" He asked, stopping abruptly as he looked back at you while you almost stumbled into him. "If I can't walk, what'll happen to us? You're weak, I can't lean on you forever. The clan doesn't know where we are and we certainly have no idea where we are."

"I..." your eyes fell. "I know."

You hated being useless, being of no worth but a burden for something he certainly had no need of. Maybe that was why you were such an easy target to be hated on.

You were useless to everyone around you.

And as Namjoon walked on again, you could only trail after him with your head hanging in shame.

He got worse a few walks later and Namjoon found himself stumbling onto the ground as he let out a strangled curse, teeth clenching while letting out hisses.

"Prince-"

"Don't." He showed you his palm, refusing your helping hand as his brows furrowed with his breathing shortening. If only he could allow you to help, if only he wasn't such a stubborn dragon. "I can do this," he muttered though mostly to himself and not for you. "I have to do this, we have to get back to the clan in one piece."

"If you want to get back to the clan in one piece, please, let me help you," you pled but he was too stubborn. You didn't know whether it was his pride he was trying to keep or not wanting to be a burden to you but either way, he needed the help no matter how much he was refusing it.

You looked away from him with a small sigh as you stared at the far away land from above you. They sky was clear, no signs of clouds but the trees everywhere around you were the things that told you that you were nowhere near where that small battle had taken place at. You saw the views from above, sitting on top of Seokjin's back, saw some clear lands without much trees surrounding the area.

"It's going to take a while to return," you told the prince although he already knew of that fact. It was going to be a greater and longer journey with both of your injuries slowing you down. "We have to work together if we want to get back at a faster pace." You turned back to look at him who was still sat on the ground. "Whether you like it or not, you're going to have to rely on me since I'm the only one out of the two of us who can walk without much difficulties."

You held out your hand for him. "Please." It came out into a soft whisper, much like how the soft passing of the wind, a zephyr, calm and soothing. It reminded him of an unsteady heart beating out of worry. Your expression was enough to tell him that you were sincere upon helping him, that you had no other intention behind those furrowed brows and eyes of uneasiness.

Namjoon had never met a human like you. The ones he had seen and faced were vicious and cruel. Some even pretended to be on his side only to betray him afterwards. He had been a drake so naïve for the world that awaited for him on the other side of the mountain he was born in. Namjoon always thought that everyone was kind, that they had good intentions. After all, he was born a prince so everyone treated him right.

The first time he fell into a human trap, someone he once claimed to be his friend, Namjoon was left broken. But he picked up the pieces of his heart because he told himself that not everyone was as cruel.

Yet the second time he met and liked a human, the same thing happened. All they cared was that he was a dragon, a dragon the humans were always so crazy for because in the human world, being able to tame a dragon meant they held the most power of all the lands. And if they were to tame a prince, one would be rewarded as the keeper of the dragon.

That was the last time he tried to befriend a human.

They only cared for titles and gold after all. It was never about the precious relationship and smiles and laughter shared between two different creatures.

He was still scared, afraid of whom you would come out as when you finally revealed your true self. But perhaps your kindness was your actual true self?

Namjoon shook his head to wake himself from the daze. He couldn't let his guard down. So what if you saved his little mate's life? You were still a human capable of rebellion and betrayal. He couldn't trust someone like you.

"For the last time, little human," he looked away from your gaze, swiping his tongue at his cheek as the little human part of his sentence came out as a bitter distaste, "I don't need help from someone like you," he uttered and you were left watching from the sideline as the dragon struggled to get back on his feet and continue moving.

Barefoot.

The two of you walked a long way following the river that laid just beside your left.

Namjoon hadn't worn shoes. He was a dragon first before a human after all. And you had lost your shoes during the fall down that high cliff.

What was hurting most wasn't the fact that you were hurting physically with your injured shoulder and the ground pinching your bare feet. It was the fact that you could only watch helplessly as the dragon in front of you carried on and on, knowing he was hurting far worse than you.

Namjoon was a strong dragon, you knew from the moment you had first seen him. He stood tall and firm with an intimidating gaze. The biggest of the dragons in the clan.

But as you recalled the conversation you made with Jungkook again, even the biggest and strongest dragons would get hurt despite how much they tried to hide it.

Eventually as the morning sun rose on the fourth day, you couldn't bare it no longer.

So you woke up with sun that morning, stared at Namjoon for a short moment as you recalled yourself hearing his soft whimpers and cries due to his wounds the night before, and stood up in search for...anything that could help him.

You knew he wouldn't wake for another hour so you had only a short moment of time.

You sped off, exhaustion still weighing your body down but you paid no mind to the health of your body. After all, Namjoon needed help and this time, even though he was a stubborn dragon, you were sure you would be able to help him.

It took about half an hour as you searched the grounds, still looking back to recall your steps and memorize your surroundings in order to return to Namjoon in a safe and fast timing. And then, you saw it; a small hint of smoke which told you that someone was near.

Without hesitation, your legs led you towards the smoke as fast as you could go until you found yourself stumbling upon a small home hidden in a small clearing of the forest.

Please let them have a kind heart, you prayed silently for a few seconds before bravely walking up to the door. You had no time to waste. Namjoon was still sleeping and if he woke up, he'd definitely grow mad if he couldn't find you anywhere. You couldn't let him think you had betrayed him, that wasn't the kind of person you were.

"Pardon me!" You let your voice cry out, louder than the sound you were used to. "Please, I am in need of aid!"

One, two, three seconds later, the door swung open and you almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of two old man and woman in front of you.

Part of you wanted to cry at that very second. You couldn't believe that you were finally seeing someone after four days of going without contact with anyone except the person you were lost with.

"What is it, dear one?" The grandmother asked until her breath hitched at the sight of your disheavel self and the blood that remained and continued spilling from your shoulder. "Oh my."

"What happened?" The grandfather asked.

But you couldn't waste any time. "I am so sorry for intruding but do you happen to have any bandages with you? I need lots of them. And possibly any warm blankets you can spare?"

They could see that you were in a hurry with eyes that held onto tears, waiting to fall at any moment and the grandmother was quick to rush back into her home while you stood back, foot impatiently tapping at the ground below you.

She came back minutes later and you almost cried tears of joy when she handed you a basket of bandages and two warm blankets.

"Thank you so, so much," you cried, voice cracking a little because you still couldn't believe a miracle had finally came.

"That basket has some food and medicine too, my dear."

"I will use it well. Thank you again." Many thanks left your lips as you bowed a few times, not knowing what else to do because you had nothing to offer in exchange for their kindness.

"Will you be alright going off like that? Do you want to come in and-"

"I cannot," you quickly shook your head. "My friend is waiting for me and I can't stall any longer. We've ended up in a bit of trouble but we'll be alright." You paused. "Hopefully."

"Be safe, child," the old man worried, "the forest can be a little dangerous."

"Thank you again." You turned around to leave, until something walked into your mind and you paused just to turn back again. "By any chance, do you have a wagon? A large one."

"Where have you-" Namjoon halted at the sight he was seeing in front of him as you returned his questioning gaze with a sheepish expression.

"We need to clean your wounds," you told him while beckoning your head at the rushing water. "And I brought some food and medicine. For you."

He let you take off his old dressings as he sat in front of you while you washed off the old clothes from the river, placing it back onto his back to clean the blood stains and applying medicine before replacing them with clean dressings. It was a long moment of silence as he sat there, snacking on whatever you had brought back.

And when you were done with the basics of dressing his wounds (since that was all you could do at the moment), Namjoon took his turn to clean yours out, commanding you to eat as well.

"Are you...going to tell me how you got those things?" The dragon asked as he beckoned his head over towards the large wagon that held two blankets.

"I wanted to help," you said, voice soft as if you were afraid of telling him because you feared of being scolded by the prince. "So I woke up before you in search of something, anything, to help you ease from your pain, so that you won't hurt yourself as much anymore."

"You-"

You cut him off. "And I know that you think it isn't my place to help but I did this to you so it's my responsibility to take care of you." The cold cloth on your shoulder was a harsh stinging sensation but you tried to ignore it. "They were kind. The old lady and man I met," you told him as you fiddled about with your fingers. "There's possibly a town nearby their lone home but I know you aren't too fond of humans so I knew not to stay for longer than necessary."

"Blankets?" He asked.

"To keep you warm."

"And the wagon? Why did you asked for a wagon?"

"So that you can take a break from walking."

He scoffed, almost laughed at how bizzar you sounded. "You can't possibly mean you'd wheel that on your own towards our destination while I sit in there...right?"

"That's exactly-"

"Are you out of your mind?" He exclaimed with disbelief. "I weigh a ton and you've only got one good arm to pull that thing on your own. I won't-"

"And your foot will only worsen if you keep walking like this, prince Namjoon."

"So what?" He rebuttled, not caring one bit about his aching pains.

"I'm telling you to rely on me!" You bellowed and that was the first time Namjoon had ever heard a soft voice such as yours ever rose that loud. "I know you're a prince who leads a clan of dragons, that you have many responsibilities weighing on your shoulders. Which is why you're even more insistent on returning as soon as possible. But you're forgetting one important factor."

Forgetting? Forgetting what?

"A leader isn't a leader without his people," you stated. "It's okay to rely on others, to show weakness, to not always be a big and strong dragon who can do it all because I know under all this facade, you're hurting and you want to take a break, but it's killing you inside at just the thought of doing that. A leader isn't a leader because of his title, a leader is a leader because of his ability to empower others."

"You care for your clans, I've seen it. Your mind and visions expands away from more than just a daydream. Your visions are a reality, you inspire others to be something more than just themselves. You're selfless, but it's because of that selflessness that keeps you from being a better leader than you are now. You forget to care for your own self, prince Namjoon. You forget that it's okay to fail at times, that you don't need an answer for everything, that you don't need to carry the responsibilities all by yourself."

His mates have often told him such things. They've always watched out for him when he's forgotten that it was okay for him to take a break from time to time.

Namjoon was a perfectionist, he hated when things didn't go his way, hated just the thought of failing his clan. If he had gotten back quicker and stronger from the enemy dragon's attack, maybe he would have saved the both of you from falling down that cliff. His mates often reminded him to relax, that they were there for him for whatever and that if he wasn't the perfect dragon, they would still love him no matter what.

They were the only ones he was willing to show his weakness to. The only ones he was brave enough to show his flaws. Others saw him as the greatest leader in all of the Clan's history, Prince Kim Namjoon who could rule all of the lands if he wanted to.

And his mates? They saw him as Namjoon. No title, no nothing. Just Namjoon, a dragon who loved and cared and made mistakes just like everyone else.

Which brought another reason as to why Namjoon didn't wanted to accept you. Because of your close bond with Jungkook.

He loved Jungkook. So much.

But he could see that his youngest mate was slowly falling in love with you. He couldn't have that happen. If Jungkook liked you, it meant that he would also have to accept you, a stranger, someone he could never show his weakness to.

Yet there you were right in front of him telling him that it was okay to rely on you, that he didn't have to do everything by himself. It wasn't right to give in that easily, but something about your eyes since the moment he actually took some time to look into them, something about them, he sensed nothing but sincerity.

Yet Namjoon was still scared.

But what other choices did he have? He wasn't as strong as he was and he knew just as much as you did that if he were to go on any longer with the way that he wanted, he'd only collapse and that was something that absolutely could not happen.

But then what about you?

"I know I don't look like it but I'm strong, I promise you," you declared tp him, a look of determination set upon your face, something he would have deemed as cute if he hadn't resented you as much. "I'm not as strong as you but I'm strong."

"You..." he trailed off, voice almost softer than the wind. Your shoulder was finally dressed so he let his hands fall down to his side. "You have to tell me when you get tired, alright?"

For the first time since he had seen you, you jumped with joy and a bright beam, brighter than the sun, replaced your face. "Yes! Thank you!"

Who would have ever thought someone could smile so brightly at just the idea of helping someone else.

You were...precious.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It was harder than you could have ever imagined. But you knew not to give up nor show Namjoon that you were in pain yourself from the past few days and the weight hurting your injured shoulder even more.

The water continued rushing beside you while Namjoon had fallen asleep on the wagon, a ride and the break he needed ever since the two of you had fallen from the cliff. It was about time he had given in and let you help him.

Which was why you knew you couldn't rest. It was going to take a long time, the two of you had fallen a long way and not just down the cliff but also traveling down the river. Also added with the fact that you both weren't exactly in the position to walk as fast as you could. But you did tried your best and you could only hope for some sort of sign to show you that a dragon of Namjoon's clan was nearby.

There were no signs, however, and you were beginning to worry that perhaps the two of you were walking around in circles or taken the wrong way. But it had to be right. You had travled far away from just one river and your memory was clear upon that river being the one.

Yet having no shoes also meant another obstacle that slowed you down apart from the injured shoulder and the wagon being heavy.

But you couldn't complain. After all, the person who laid in the wagon was the one who saved your life. If it wasn't for him, you would have possibly not made the fall from that high cliff.

It was scary thinking back on it. You hid under Namjoon's wings with almost no light to see where you were falling down towards. His wings were tucked in to hold both of you together and as a result, you were sure his wings were in a far worse position than his actual body. But because Namjoon was in a way, part human, he couldn't transform into a dragon with an injury as big as his.

And it was all your fault. So you knew you couldn't give up or take a break even though you made him a promise that you'd tell him when you got tired.

The wagon wasn't going to walk itself and Namjoon certainly couldn't walk any more than he had already done, hurting himself.

You'd get there, back to the clan, in one way or another. But before that, you'd have to walk and drag along the wagon with you.

Night prevailed and it was probably one of the coldest nights you had ever encountered. Worse than the night back in the dungeons. Because at least in the dungeon you were safe from the night breeze keeping you cold at night.

"I'm sorry," the dragon coughed a few times, "I'm sorry for not being able to make a fire," he told you.

Through forcing himself for the past few days, he grew even more sick with a fever coming down upon him.

You wanted to cry at how hard it was, that you still couldn't help him, but you decided you couldn't cry. Crying would do nothing and it'd only burden the dragon even further.

"Where will you sleep?"

"The ground of course. I-"

"No, the ground is too cold." Another cough. "And your injury got worse."

"I'm fine-"

"Come here."

You froze. Come here as in...where exactly did he mean? There was no way you would be able to fit inside that wagon, not unless Namjoon meant snuggling up against one another but you were very sure that he'd never mean-

"I'll keep you warm," he said and under the moonlight, you could see one of his arms opening up for you.

Namjoon was sick, there was no way someone like him would ever invite you to join him in a tight space if he was actually sober. After all, he hated you.

"I'm serious, little human. I don't want you catching a cold. After all, you're my ride back home."

Valid reason. Of course that was the reason, why did you have other hopes in your head? He didn't want you getting in a worse condition because he knew he couldn't walk anymore and you were the only one that could.

You let yourself fall into his arms and Namjoon was quick to wrap his arms around you.

"Warm?" He asked. He sure was warm. Warmer than the fire he had made the past nights. You gave him a light nod and a soft sigh escaped him. "Goodnight Y/N."

Y/N.

Not little human.

Y/N.

You smiled. "Goodnight, prince Namjoon."

He didn't sleep even after you had fallen asleep not long after you bid him goodnight. He knew you had been tired, exhausted from the days before because you felt the need to help him since he saved your life. But Namjoon was still worried. Your shoulder was only getting worse and he certainly wasn't helping.

He asked himself under the moonlight as the stars above him twinkled upon the night sky, why did you have to try so hard just for him? Why couldn't you just care about your own self instead of worrying about others?

The words you told him echoed into his mind but he could only scoff.

Namjoon knew his selflessness could sometimes get in the way of things, but it was you who had to take your own words into heart.

The way you felt against him, head on his chest, arm wrapped around his torso from the chilly breeze, everything felt just...right for some reason. As if you were meant to be there, as if you were another key in his life.

But was it right? He was the one who was so insistent upon letting you leave the clan from the first moment he saw the way Jungkook looked at you.

Yet perhaps the maknae had been much wiser than him. Perhaps the maknae was right. And perhaps...perhaps he'd let you stay in the clan for as long as you needed. For as long as you wanted. Even if that meant forever.

"It hurts...doesn't it?"

"Hm?" You went on, continuing your pace while still pulling the wagon with you.

"I know it hurts, Y/N. I know you're tired."

You fell silent, something that told him you finally realized he had known all along. "Even if I am, why does it matter?" You asked, a little shrug lifting your shoulders before dropping again. "You're too weak to walk, your highness, and I'm okay with carrying this weight for you."

"Why?" He stressed the word, brows furrowing and although he wanted to moved to try and stop you to rest for at least a moment, he couldn't. "Why are you doing this to yourself? I treated you horribly from the moment we met. I dragged you into the dungeons without clear evidence, acted as if you were the villian when all you hoped was to find a home for yourself. Why, Y/N, are you being so kind to someone who hated you?"

He couldn't get it. How someone could be so kind despite everything they had gone through. You were someone who still smiled even when someone spoke badly of her, even when others hated her guts, and could still find it in themselves to sincerely try to help the one who treated her poorly.

He could see it, he could see what Jungkook had meant. You were selfless, the most selfless person he had ever met in his entire life. You saved Jungkook's life, left the village you were born into, betrayed them just for Jungkook to have his freedom. And then you walked into his clan and was once again treated like an outsider.

Namjoon had never once considered your side of the story. All he saw was the jealousy and his ill feelings towards you. And he missed the fact that you were so willing to give your strength and everything all up just to help him.

"There is no reason to hate, prince Namjoon," you answered him with a soft voice yet clear as a musical note. "Hate only leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. It makes one angry, turns the good guys into a bad guy. Which is why I had never seen you nor the other dragons as the bad guys, because I know that somewhere in there, you are sweet and kind, loving and precious. I have no reason to hate you, your highness."

How were you so, so kind?

"And besides, who cares about carrying a little bit of weight? You're worth the pain."

"I..." Namjoon trailed off. His heart fell for you, for his ill ways towards you, a human who had meant no harm. It was his fear that blinded him from seeing the truth. "No..I-I am not worth your pain."

"Of course you are." He saw your smile for the first time, precious as the prettiest rose. "You're worth all the pain."

A roar.

A loud roar.

And the two of you were quick to shoot your head up towards the sky where a dragon and three others followed his lead.

Namjoon knew that roar anywhere.

"Yoongi! It's Yoongi!"

You gasped, quick to grab the wagon's handle with both your hands this time. Yet as you pulled using both your arms, the injured shoulder began aching more than ever.

But you couldn't give up, not now, you couldn't lose your strength right at that moment.

"Forget about me for now! Run!" Namjoon shouted as a few tears left your eyes from the pain you felt trying to pull the wagon harder so that the two of you could both reach Yoongi.

You were so, so stupid.

After hearing Namjoon's demands, you ran straight towards the dragons that were flying further away. Back east, opposite of where you remembered the sun setting. Back to the clan.

And who knew how far the clan was.

"Prince Yoongi!" You shouted as loud as you could, stumbling a few times. You were exhausted. So, so exhausted. "Prince Yoongi!!"

For a moment you almost fell straight upon your face as black dots flashed your vision.

No, Y/N, come on!

"Prince Yoongi! Please!"

Yet the harder you tried to run, the worse your vision became as the world began to spin around you and the haze had clouded your eyes.

"Yoongi...Yoon.."

"Y/N!"

Namjoon could see you from afar, the dragon that had left his wagon after forcing himself up. Your knees had fallen onto the ground and Yoongi was only flying further and further away.

You're worth all the pain. You're worth all the pain. The words repeated over and over in his head and Namjoon began to cry.

No way, you couldn't. He couldn't lose you. As much as he wanted to months ago, you suffered through all the pains just for him. He could not lose you.

Gathering his strength, the man mustered up all he had and as quickly as he could, transformed into the dragon he was.

He let out a weak grunt just as he transformed and Namjoon's eyes clouded at the sight of his wings torn and wounded all over. It was hurting him from just being a dragon but at the sight of your unconsious self on the ground, he let out one of the loudest roar he could muster.

The cry of help.

The cry of pain.

The cry of regret.

At the third and final roar, the dragon was soon to transform back into a man. The pain had lessen but he was still aching all over.

"Namjoon!" Someone cried and tears left the leader's eyes as he ignored his mate to crawl over to you.

"Save her first, Yoongi. You have to save Y/N first."

You're worth all the pain, your voice echoed again and again and the last thing he saw was your beautiful face smiling down upon him. Namjoon worried that would be the first and final time he could see your smile.

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wilhelmjfink · 3 years

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Felt downright bad that you were kind of disappointed for not getting a lot of feedback, because you definitely deserve to. Characters are solid (and great at swearing) and most of all you have an on point sense for rhythm of language, it's a really good read. That being said, I throw #32 and #44 in the ring and am sitting here giggling pleasantly in anticipation.

You’re amazing. You’re an angel and I love you. Thank you so much. Also I love to swear. I’d imagine if TWD wasn’t on television, Daryl would too. Also thank you for your patience!

This is long but I legit struggled with a scenario for this one lmaooooo so here’s a one shot

PS sorry I still haven’t figured out how to page break and “read more” on mobile fml

You were having horrible flashbacks to running the mile in high school gym class. Freshman year, you faked an injury and smugly allowed the school nurse to push you off the track in a wheelchair while you flipped your friends off and stick your tongue out, showing up on crutches the next day to write your essay on fitness instead. Sophomore year, you pretended to have a mental breakdown, screaming and crying when they herded you outside, babbling incoherently about your how mortified you were that you had to put on the stale, boxy uniform and make a fool of yourself in front of your peers. Junior year, they caught on, and the coach ran next to you the entire mile.

Only right now, it wasn’t Coach J running beside you with a snide expression looking down at you, it was Daryl who, admittedly, wasn’t much happier than Coach had been.

Your lungs burnt while you struggled to keep up with him, running on pure adrenaline now, straining to hear any sign of the strangers still keeping pace behind you over the incessant thumping of your heartbeat in your eardrums.

But you followed him, because that’s what you did, and what you would always do. Rounded every corner, jumped every log, crossed every creek without question because Daryl had never let you down before and you were sure he wouldn’t start today.

“C‘mon,” he ushered you beside him as you started to slow, not allowing you to stop for fear that you wouldn’t be able to start back up. “I dunno if they’re still followin’ us, but I don’t hear ‘em anymore.”

How long had you been running? Those men chased you guys for miles. They weren’t familiar — you were positive they didn’t have a vendetta, but who knew? Daryl would lay down and die before he ever let you get caught up with the wrong group; especially without him.

Risking a quick, nervous glance over your shoulder, you didn’t spot anymore company; an extremely welcome relief to your pounding heart and crippling anxiety that intertwined somewhere inside of you with the piercing adrenaline that created some combination of mental and physical exhaustion and a deep sense of dread.

Whether your knees finally gave out or you stepped awkwardly into a pothole, you suddenly fell forward onto the concrete with a grunt. The respite was heavenly; and you opted to bask in the stillness just for a second, hoping maybe Daryl wouldn’t push you to get back up just yet and let you try and catch your breath. And by the looks of him, you figured he could use the break as well; he was coated in sweat, head to toe, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, his breathing heavy not unlike yours, and you briefly wondered if he was as miserable as you were.

You’d followed him to some sort of industrial plaza, with large warehouses looming over you in each direction, abandoned semi trucks strewn across the parking lots, billboards on the horizon and train tracks weaving behind it all. A tall chain link fence separated you from the main lot; a minor barrier that you prayed held up strong between you and the dozens of walkers meandering aimlessly on the other side.

But that realization was nothing compared to the fear that took back over when you heard it: whistling, hooting, hollering. Distant, but prevalent.

Desperately, you looked to Daryl for an answer: what do we do? Where do we go? You prayed your tired expression could still manage to convey all of these things to him, the years of silent companionship and wordless communication stronger than the debilitating exhaustion you were sure managed to disguise the other underlying emotions.

But he didn’t even have to double take at you — in fact, before you could think twice, he hoisted you back up back onto your feet from beneath your arms, and was dragging you behind him towards the gates.

“We gotta go through,” was all he said as you approached and got a good view of just how many walkers there really were on the opposite side. A straggler both noticed you and alerted you to a hole cut through the fence, which didn’t help the panic you were fighting off that tried to set in when Daryl’s words finally registered.

“What?” You still weren’t sure you heard him correctly. “Are you insane? We can’t go in there!”

But he hardly responded to you, lodging his Bowie knife until the side of the nearby walker’s skull with a sickening squelch. And yet, it still seemed so practiced, so technically mastered to you as he removed it and caught the body before it fell dead weight against the fence and rattled it, alerting all of its friends that luckily had yet to notice you.

Daryl immediately set to work, skilled and precise as he always was in anything he did, cutting down the center of the corpse as if performing an autopsy. You knew instantly what would follow, and you swallowed nervously, your stomach already churning at the thought and the sounds that followed certainly didn’t help.

And he stood up, a heaping pile of red rotten guts and intestines and coagulated blood in the palm of his hand. “Do ya trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate, the words tumbling from your mouth before your brain could consider any other answer: “Of course.”

Maybe it was the certainty in your voice, or how quickly and confidently you’d answered, but he seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, his normally bright, icy blue eyes fleetingly finding yours, now a dark and almost angry shade of slate. He nodded stiffly in response — you hated the thought that he might have been trying to convince himself at the same time.

“Alright.” He stepped forward, his free hand that wasn’t currently holding a softball-sized glob of decomposed flesh and old, rotted blood, grabbing one of your own hands that hung limply at your side, still stinging from the bits of gravel that pierced the skin of your palm. It was almost as if the second his touch met yours, none of that even mattered — why were you running? But then, in a swift motion that screamed at you that he was fighting the urge to hold back, the gross, wet sensation you’d been dreading was slathered against the front of your chest, instantly soaking through your t-shirt. “I ain’t gonna let anything happen to ya, alright? Nothin’. I promise ya that.”

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #norman reedus #twd imagine #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine

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raendown · 3 years

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Just crawling out of my hole real quick to say that no one else used that stupid prompt generator they apparently wanted for @madatobiweek so I did it myself. The one I pulled was “blood”.

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2500 Rated: T+ Summary: If he thought really hard about it Madara still wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember what it felt like to live.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

And All That I Loved, I Loved Alone

If he thought really hard about it Madara still wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember what it felt like to live. The freedom to run, the touch of grass under his feet, the taste of anything that wasn’t plain gruel with its minimum basic nutrients, it was strange how easily the memories faded. Then again, he couldn’t even remember how long he’d been here so who was he to say how quickly memories of his previous life should fade? All he knew and all he cared about was that Tobirama had been gone for three winters now.

This would mark the fourth when it came. Standing in line to receive his morning bowl of slop, Madara cast his eyes to what little sky he was allowed to glimpse and tried to remember the color of the eyes that used to watch him in the night. Red, of course, but what shade? What forgotten fruits and gems had he compared them to when they danced in the glow of torchlight? The air was growing cold again, frost gathering on the manacles that held him in place to sleep at night, and already Madara couldn’t recall the feeling of warm fingers pulling him close. Precious memories and they too were fading. Like so many of the others here liked to say, there wasn’t anything this place would not take from you. Some of the men who’d been worked until their fingers were little more than bone had even forgotten their own names. Madara once vowed to never let himself fall in to that state but without Tobirama everything here was so much harder and after waiting for so long he’d begun to wonder if maybe it hadn’t all been a fantastical dream.

Had he imagined the soft touches, the hoarsely whispered promises? To ask would be to risk knowing.

Several spaces ahead in line, a woman fell, body sagging and crumbling to the side. Her bowl clattered as it rolled away across the rocky ground. Madara stepped around her with everyone else as the line continued onwards, implacable, undeniable. Eventually someone would come to take the body away; he could only hope they got around to it before she bloated and filled the whole area with the stench of rot. Their unwashed bodies were stench enough - or so he’d been told by the latest additions to his work team. Madara couldn’t remember what the world smelled like away from unwashed bodies and the scent of burning metal.

They were building something, that much he knew, but asking questions generally resulted in losing blood and if there was one thing Madara had kept of himself it was that he was a very fast learner. He watched and he learned to keep his mouth shut. He observed and he learned that the guards were unkind to those who met their eyes. He listened and he learned that there really was no way out of this place.

Maybe he’d imagined it after all. No one had ever escaped this prison, that’s what everyone said. And if no one ever escaped then either his dying mind had crafted the illusion of Tobirama to keep him sane or the man had indeed once been real only to die in making his attempt at the impossible. Madara closed his eyes, shuffling along with the slowly moving line. He supposed it didn’t matter what the truth was. Whatever the case, Tobirama was not here and Madara felt the lack of him in every cell of his body. The few memories of imagining that were left to him were precious, hoarded like secrets to be remembered in the night and soothe him to sleep, dreaming of places his waking mind could never conceive of. Giving up on those little bits of himself were all that kept him from becoming like the wraiths that gibbered in their cells at night and cackled as their bloody hands worked the mines day after day, rattling the air around them with insanity like a siren calls a sailor to their doom. No, Madara was hopeless but he was not quite ready to give in to that.

Eventually. Some day. He knew his fate just as everyone here learned at some point. If they didn’t die from the lack of sun where their prison was sunk just below the earth’s surface then the exhaustion of their daily labors would do it. Madara couldn’t say what they were building, that wasn’t for someone like him to question, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. They could be constructing absolutely nothing just for the sake of punishment and it would all be the same to them, collapsing at the end of every day covered in sweat and dirt and their own filth. Endless cycles that began the day they arrived and ended long after forgetting that they had not always been here. Madara himself struggled to so much as envision a world outside of this place, let alone recall who he might have been, all the places he might have seen. Was Madara even his true name? Only the past would ever know.

Shouting from one of the farther encampments rose suddenly and Madara ducked his head low in time with everyone else. Any show of interest in whatever was causing such a commotion would be taken as a desire to get involved, something that would no doubt lead to punishment. Everything led to punishment here. It took breaking and reforging in to a shell of shattered pieces to go even one full day without punishment and that was only if you didn’t count their daily labors as a punishment unto itself. The entire line of prisoners before and after him bowed their heads, eyes on their own filthy toes, watching the cold dust rise as they shuffled along in search of food.

When the noise drew closer Madara wasn’t the only one to squeeze his eyes shut as though hoping he could disappear in to the shadows until whatever nonsense was happening had passed over them. The line moved and he moved with it. Foreign sounds echoed off the rough hewn walls around them but the only thoughts in his mind were reserved for prayers that Cell Block Fourteen would not be denied their morning meal for someone else’s stupidity.

A flash of light made him flinch away on instinct. Long burns scars on his back had taught him years before to be wary of anyone bearing torchlight. Then it flashed again and he realized it wasn’t dancing the way a flame should. The anomaly was enough to light a spark of curiosity in him that should not still have the energy to live, canting his head in time to watch something rise and fall, catching the light as it did, something long and shining. Not creating light but reflecting it. Madara watched it rise again and the curiosity was there, if dull, to wonder at the dark substance that sprayed from its tip. Strange, he could have sworn there was nothing to dull that shine the first time it raised. The prisoner in front of him stepped forward and Madara drew his eyes away. Not his business. He knew better than to look, he scolded himself.

Tobirama would have looked.

It was this thought that left him open and vulnerable to a scream that shook him down to his core, different from the others because this one was close enough to reverberate through his skull, real in a way he couldn’t escape when he looked round a second time just fast enough to watch a long blade slide through flesh and bone to come out stained on the other side, cold steel parting the crest of the guards’ uniform. He wasn’t the only one who looked. Suddenly the screaming was all around him as the line scattered and Madara was just slow enough to get knocked to the ground, nearly trampled in the stampede of terrified prisoners.

Somehow it was even more frightening from here where the constant thunder of flight knocked him back again and again, unable to regain his feet and unwilling to let his head be crushed. Madara rolled back and forth, dodging the flying limbs as best he could, and counted the new bruises on his legs out of sheer habit. At least these came without the price of blood. He’d had worse. Still, he was glad when there finally came a break in the rush, just enough space for him to roll his feet underneath him and stand. He stood to see a new world descending on the one that had subsumed him more years ago than he knew how to count.

Flashes of steel drew the eyes in too many directions at once. Blood sprayed through the air, stained the dirt and the walls and the heavy armor that marched inexorably forward. Prison guards lay dead and dying in broken heaps. One of them had been pinned to a wall by a long polearm weapon and Madara was morbidly fascinated to see the body thrashing against its own will. Good, he thought distantly, now they will know the pain we felt at their hands.

And then. Oh and then.

There he was.

Limned in golden torchlight with a face as implacable as the tides themselves he came, sword in hand, steel in his eyes. Madara knew those eyes. Had looked for them when his world was darkest and dreamed of them when all hope had left him. Had clung to the memories even as they warped and faded. Oh but he knew those eyes and the voice that roared beneath them. Three years apart had put muscle and flesh upon his bones, filled out the body now cased in metal, but Madara would have known him by the corner of an elbow glanced around a corner.

Tobirama had come. Promises whispered in the dark made real.

For all the chaos around him and the occasional body that tossed him from side to side Madara could do nothing but stand utterly still and watch as Tobirama cut a path through the bodies in front of him like they were nothing but chaff and shadows, white skin stained as red as his eyes and entirely unbothered by the death he wrought. The sword he carried rose and fell, swooped and slashed, death in the form of a dance, and Madara could not imagine that anything more beautiful could exist in any world. If there were a god then surely they had chosen this man as their avatar on earth, the instrument of their will. In every direction prisoners panicked and guards called out the alarm but in those moments as he watched the rebirth of his own dreams Madara knew safety for the very first time.

He realized that he might by his very refusal to move stand out from the writhing chaos around them only when he felt a hand close around his throat and a fire he hadn’t known was still there inside him flickered to life. Embers long buried coughing away the dust of imprisonment, both hands coming up to pull at the fingers choking him in a protest he would not have had the strength for only an hour before. Now was different. Now when his eyes fell closed against the fading air in his lungs he knew there was something to fight for, scrabbling and kicking with withered limbs, gnashing teeth when a second hand came around to cover his mouth. The taste of blood was a triumph he hadn’t known in so long he nearly stopped moving just to savor it.

As the world turned hazy it occurred to him that this might be the end and the thought was not a terrible one despite his instincts to fight. The awakening desire to live. So long he had spent in the darkness, so much time alone and uncertain, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that an end like this would be anything but a victory. Did he not have vindication? Proof that Tobirama was real, alive, that everything they shared had been as true as he remembered in the dreams that gave him warmth through the frosted nights? At least he would die with a kernal of happiness fluttering in his belly like something forbidden. One last grand rebellion to the ones that had made him so miserable for who even knew how many years.

Oxygen rushed back down his throat so fast he nearly choked on that as well when the hands upon him fell away. Madara coughed through the taste of dust and blood, stumbling back until his eyes could focus again and then struggling to clear his mind, to understand what he was seeing. Shining silver and dripping red. Fear and shock and some instinctual plea for mercy all twisted together in an ugly grimace as the guard who dared to touch him spent his death throes on the point of a steady blade. When the body fell it was gone from his mind as easily as that. What could ever possibly hope to hold his attention with a face like that staring back at him with such adoration?

“You came,” Madara croaked, voice hoarse with disuse and thick with emotion.

“Did I not promise?” Ah but Tobirama’s voice had always been a honeyed rumble, a caress upon the ear like nothing else. Time and distance had only made his tones all the sweeter.

His fingers were gentle, even encased in steel as they were, but even if he had been rough and unthinking Madara would have fallen in to his arms just as easily. Because he had indeed promised and he was here now keeping that vow. Keeping the dreams they had spun together alive, weaving new possibilities with nothing but his steady and undeniable presence.

Trust was not something easily come by in this place where only pain existed. It had been three long years since Madara knew what trust could feel like, the taste of absolute certainty that he could rely on anything but his own efforts. He knew it again now, after three long and endless years, resting his weight fully against Tobirama’s chest and closing his eyes. Chaos strained and flowed around them. Death rang out in echoes that flickered back against themselves over and over and over. Madara knew none of it. His world had been darkness, despair, and desperation, had been struggle, sorrow, and strife, and all of it had been worth it now to feel the arms that circled his waist and pulled him in close, the hand that cradled his neck like something so very, very precious. Tobirama had come. Whatever came after they would face it together again as they had before and that was all Madara could ever - would ever - need.

In the darkness where once he expected to die Madara learned again what it was to live.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #medeival au #sort of??#fanfiction

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darkisrising · 3 years

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Bobadinluke, 37?

Ooooooooooh, Anon. Dear, sweet sweet Anon. You have NO idea how overboard I went on this, lolol. Thank you for the prompt, I hope when you read this next 4k+ words you won't regret it too much. Disclaimer: All I know about prison I learned by watching Oz back in the day. Full whump in this one, and threats of sexual assault though none actually occur. Some character death, some mentions of transactional sex... lottttttta cursing. Yeah, just, if you decide to read this one please proceed with caution. 37. meeting in prison au, BobaDinLuke

“First thing you do when you get to prison,” Anakin Skywalker whispered into his son’s ear as he held him so tightly Luke couldn’t draw in a deep enough breath, though maybe that was just the panic setting in. “You find the leader of the Sith in there and tell him Darth Vader said to take care of you. He goes by Maul. He’ll keep you safe.”

In answer, Luke hissed “Fuck you, you fucking bastard” and sincerely meant every word of it. When the guards pulled them apart to lead Luke away—the irons around his ankles clattering ominously—it was a relief. For a father that had thrown him and his sister by the wayside as they were growing up, leaving them to be raised by distant and dubiously-related relations, he sure had decided to make himself suspiciously present in the courtroom ever since he’d framed his only son for murder.

“Don’t be proud, Luke,” Anakin called out, his voice cutting through the courtroom’s chatter. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Luke’s tempted to throw another “fuck you” over his shoulder but then he caught sight of Leia, clutching her tiny lump of a newborn son in her lap. Her eyes were as close to crying as he’d ever seen his sister get and that’s when it all came crashing down on him. That this moment, which some stupid, fragile part of him had thought would never really come to pass, had happened. He’d held on to hope that someone—some jurist— would listen to all the damning witness testimonies and look at all the gruesome crime scene photos and then look at Luke—pacifist, Prius-driving, yoga teacher Luke—and think “No, it couldn’t possibly have been him.” He had a rescue dog, for fuck’s sake. He’d gotten Artoo from the no-kill shelter that he volunteered at between shifts at the local food pantry.

How the fuck could they ever believe him guilty of murder?

But Anakin Skywalker, leader of the Sith crime syndicate—second only to the so-called Emperor whose identity was a mystery to all but his most trusted underling—was good at what he did. If he wanted to kill a district attorney, he killed a district attorney. If he wanted to pin it on his son to keep his own ass out of prison, then that’s what he did. And then if he showed up every single goddamn day to Luke’s trial, sitting there just behind his son so that no one could help but notice the resemblance between the two of them—couldn’t help but speculate at how close they must be for his father to be taking such a personal interest in his son’s trial—until a person decided that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the rotten, mafia-laden tree?

Well, then; he did that, too.

Guilty on all counts. Seven life sentences to be served consecutively. One hundred and five years without the possibility of parole, and Luke knows as soon as the van pulls up to the prison gates and he’s shuffled out along with all his fellow offenders deemed too dangerous to society for anything but the most maximum of maximum security prisons, that he is going to die here.

As it turns out he doesn’t have to go looking for the Sith. Word of his arrival has preceded him and he turns from placing the blanket and pillow he’s been assigned onto the bunk he’s been assigned to see he’s been followed.

“Hey, you Vader’s kid?”

There are two men lingering by his cell’s opening and Luke doesn’t need to ask who they are to know what they are. They have that same glint in their eyes, rabid fanaticism and zero fucks to give, that mark all the Sith that Luke has had the displeasure of knowing in his life.

“No,” Luke says as mildly as he can manage before turning his back on them to pluck at his blanket under the guise of making his bed. His hands are shaking, his anger at his father is like runoff from a melting mountain snow, and he takes deep, careful breaths to try to staunch the torrent. He’d kill for a yoga mat and a dim room right about now, but he doubts that’s in the cards for him anytime soon.

“Aren’t you Skywalker?”

“I am,” Luke allows. “But I’m afraid my father’s name is Anakin. Not Vader.”

“Oh, come on,” one says, standing close enough that Luke can smell that his clothes are fresh from the dryer. It’s an industrial smell and utterly impersonal. “We both know who Anakin Skywalker really is. Maul wants to see you.”

“I’m afraid Maul is just going to have to be disappointed, then, because I don’t want to see him.”

“I think you’re going to want to,” the other one says, flanking Luke’s other side and he’s suddenly very aware of how small this cell is, especially with three bodies in it. “Pretty blond kid like you? Lots of ways you can end up hurt, you know what I’m saying? You’re going to need someone to protect you while you’re here.”

“I can protect myself.”

They only laugh, like they both know things that he doesn’t, but they don’t press the matter any further. Luke finds out the next day they were right to laugh. Maybe Luke had taken enough martial arts classes as a kid—from a sensei teaching out of a strip mall that was so wizened and stooped that he wasn't much taller than the children he instructed— to think he knows something about something. As he lays on the floor of the prison’s basketball court with the taste of his own blood leaking through his clenched teeth, a bribed guard smirking near the closed door as six men pummel him with fists and feet, Luke quickly learns how little he knows about anything. When one stomps on his wrist Luke doesn’t even scream, the pain is so white hot he can only cling to consciousness for one bright, all-encompassing moment before everything fades to black. The last words he hears before he’s gone are “Tell Darth Vader that the Tuskens send their regards,” and then: nothingness.

When he wakes up in the medical ward there is a cast on his arm and a man staring down at him. He's wearing the khaki pants and button up shirt of a prisoner. Tattoos spill across his face, down his neck, and continue again along his exposed forearms and for a moment Luke wonders if he’s the only one that can see this fearsome creature of a man for all that the nurses and guards and other prisoners are ignoring him.

“Still think you don’t need my protection, young Skywalker?”

Maul. It has to be.

Luke has to clear his throat before it’s any use to him but eventually he’s able to get out “Dunno why I’d need it. ‘M doing great.”

Maul grins and a mouthful of sharp teeth glint in the stale, fluorescent light. “Yeah? Well let’s see how long that lasts. Your daddy says I’m not supposed to raise a finger to help you until you pledge loyalty to the Sith.”

Luke’s heart kicks over as a chill spreads across his skin. So that’s what all of this has been about. For years his father had tried to get Luke to join him, to serve the Emperor just as he did, and now—what?—Anakin thought he could force Luke’s hand? That he could manipulate him into a situation where he’d have no choice but to swear his allegiance to the darkness Luke has tried so hard to exorcise from his life?

“That’s never going to happen,” Luke says and Maul only pats Luke’s ankle, a parody of comfort.

“Oh, it will, young Skywalker. The only question is how much pain are you willing to bear before you do? There are a lot of men in here that hate your father. I’m sure one of them will convince you that you need our protection.”

Maul isn’t wrong. In his first month in prison Luke becomes intimately aware of the intricacies of his cell block’s various factions and all the ways that Darth Vader has, one way or another, fucked over each and every one of them. He learns it in the cafeteria, where he’s jumped in line to get his food, and in the gym, where he’s pinned down by steel between the weight racks, and in the library, where he’s caught somewhere between the dictionary and the encyclopedias. He almost learns it in the showers when the leader of the Hutts has him dragged to his knees but that was blessedly interrupted by a CO actually doing his job for once.

Jabba watches him go, thick tongue licking across even thicker lips, and Luke knows his time is running out. He’s going to need to find a protector and quick.

***

The one respite he's found in this hellish existence are to be found at night. His cellmate, an old man with a white beard that everyone else calls “Crazy Old Ben,” is a lifer who is less interested in Luke’s body and more concerned with his soul. Together they meditate, sitting on the cold concrete floor and tuning their breaths until Luke can pretend not to hear the sounds of quiet violence and even quieter pleasure in the almost-dark prison.

Old Ben takes Luke under his wing until the day Luke comes back from a shower to find no trace of Ben save for the ratty old bathrobe he always wears. It’s crumpled into a heap on the otherwise pristine cell floor, like he had been in it and then, suddenly, was gone.

When the blaring sirens and red flashing lights and screaming of the guards call for a lockdown, Luke knows, he knows, he knows whose body has been discovered. And when, from across the hall through bars of his own, Maul catches his eye and smirks, Luke knows who ordered the hit on the only friend Luke had found in this God forsaken place.

***

Somehow the warden talks Luke into leading a yoga class for his fellow inmates. It's bullshit, of course; no one ever shows up. But it is nice to have space enough to move the way he wants to without risking someone stepping on his throat while he's down in Shavasana or taking his downward facing dog as an invitation for something he’s not interested in offering.

One day he’s startled to find a man he's never noticed before waiting for his arrival. He’s flanked by two that Luke has had plenty of run-ins with already to know they run with the Mando gang and Luke balks when he catches sight of Vizsla but for once there’s no smirking taunts to be had from him. He stares sightlessly ahead, chin raised, as if at attention and that more than anything makes Luke look back at the unknown man again.

He’s handsome: with sad, dark eyes and a scruffy appearance that somewhat distracts from the fact that his prison uniform is wrapped tight around a body that’s been whittled lean with muscles. He has a smattering of scars, remnants of violence that cut across his arms and hands, and if he’s there to beat Luke up he certainly doesn’t act like it when he extends his hand politely.

"I'm Din," he says in a careful, unassuming voice and Luke warily takes his hand, giving his name in return. “I understand you’re running a yoga class here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke says, glancing at Vizsla again and wetting his lips. “But, um, if you need the room it’s yours. No one ever shows and so I can clear out—”

“I’m here to take the class.”

“Oh,” Luke says, mouth running before his mind has caught up but what else if new? “Oh, well, that’s great. Let me get you set up with a mat. Are your, your—” he casts about for the right words. “—friends? Going to be joining us?”

Vizsla snorts. “Hell no, Skywalker. We’re just here to make sure nothing happens to the Manda’lor.”

It takes everything in Luke to simply nod and turn to the pile of mats to find one that isn't reeking of sweat and mold from being shoved into storage dirty. To not gawk at the doe-eyed man who even Luke, who prides himself on knowing nothing about his father's world, knows rules over all the Mandalorians, both inside and outside the prison. The one man that not even Anakin Skywalker will fuck with.

"I have a son," Din explains with a shrug when the class is over and Luke has been rendered suitably impressed with the fluid grace with which the fearsome Mandalorian gang leader had moved through every pose, his body made for movement and honed by battle. "The people that are watching him for me say there's this lady on YouTube that teaches kids yoga that he’s gotten really into. I just thought if I tried it it could almost be like we were, well," he shrugs again like whatever he's about to say is too unbearably personal and despite himself Luke finds it utterly charming.

Luke smiles, asking "How old is he?"

"Five."

"Well, if he’s anything like his dad then he must be a natural at yoga, too."

Din's lips quirk in a smile and something complicated in Luke’s belly curls at the sight. Or maybe it's not so complicated, Luke considers as he watched the Mand’alor leave with his guards. Luke can recognize a burgeoning crush when he feels it. He floats through his shift in the kitchen, contentedly lost in his memory of the other man, until he's brought back to reality when he takes a punch to the side of his head.

"Watch what you're doing, Skywalker. Hate for you to get hurt when you've got your head in the clouds, " the inmate supervisor calls out and Luke can only nod as he ignores the pain from his jostled skull and gets back to work.

Luke keeps his crush to himself, and would avoid Din completely if not for the fact that folks are remarkably less inclined to punch him in the face whenever he’s in the Manda’lor’s company and so he tries to be as close to him as often as he can. It’s strategic, Luke tells himself, as he asks Din if he has any pictures of his son and coos over a kid with giant eyes who is triumphantly holding up two bright pink Easter eggs. The more Din likes him, the better his chances when he finally works up the courage to officially ask for his protection. He knows he doesn’t have much to offer in return, but by now Luke knows the transactional nature of prison. His body is a hot commodity and he’s perfectly willing to give Din exclusive use of his ass and mouth if it keeps him alive.

He ignores the thrill of excitement that the thought of sex with Din inevitably brings.

So Luke flirts, flickering little touches here and leaning in closer there, hoping that eventually things will progress naturally. They don’t, but that’s okay because Luke is nothing if not persistent. He has full faith in his ability to work the cute twink angle. Lord knows he did it enough when he was on the outside and had far less to lose.

And it works. Sort of. Din doesn’t seem to notice that Luke drifts along in his orbit after morning yoga classes, sometimes well into the evening and as close to lights out as he dares. The reason why he doesn’t make a move on Luke becomes painfully, achingly, mortifyingly clear the morning Luke enters the meeting-come-yoga room to find Din in a passionate kiss with someone Luke’s never seen before.

He should have known something was different when there had been no Mandalorians posted by the door but this. This. This is. It’s—

The man whose mouth Din is trying to crawl into is built like a shit brick house, all thick muscles and big dick energy as he holds Din by the jaw and their teeth clack so hard that Luke can feel the echo in his own mouth. When he tears away to fix Luke with a stare, he can see that this man’s been so scuffed by life that even his scars have scars and when he speaks it is with a deep, gravel voice that shivers across Luke’s skin.

“You must be Luke,” he says, as if he hadn’t just been caught making out in a dark room. Like Luke can’t see his raging hard-on through his prison-issued pants.

With a calming breath Luke grasps desperately for his most enlightened and peaceful tone as he replies. “I am. Will you be joining us for class, Mister….”

“Fett. Boba Fett. And no fucking way. I’m just here to stand in the corner and enjoy the view.” He smirks at Din who answers with a smile that’s absolutely smitten and Luke can feel his heart jump into his throat before plummeting into his stomach.

“Of course. Make yourself comfortable.”

When the class is over Luke lingers in the room, taking his sweet time rolling up the mats. As he follows Boba out, Din turns to look back at Luke with a confused expression. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, no, you go on ahead. I’ve got things to do.” Din’s eyebrow raises and Luke can concede that maybe his voice was a little high, a little pinched, but Din doesn’t press the issue. He only shrugs and tells Luke “Well, you know where to find me” before he’s out into the hall.

Luke doesn’t need to go in search of information on Boba Fett. It’s drifting through the filtered prison air wherever he goes. His re-incarceration is all anyone can talk about, starting from his offense—knocked over a grocery store and killed the clerk, if you can believe that stupid shit—and wild guesses as to why he would have gotten caught doing something so petty when he’d finally been paroled—probably just missed his husband, you know how stupid those two are for each other.

“Guess you got tossed to the curb, huh, Skywalker?” Jabba says when they are working the food service line and Luke is very carefully keeping his eyes from looking at where Din is sitting, trying to eat between laughs as Boba crowds so close he’s practically in the Manda’lor’s lap. “Tough break. You know the offer still stands if you want a new cock to suck.”

Telling the Hutt what exactly he can do with his cock and precisely how his mother might like it might give him a surge of soaring adrenaline for the moment but he quickly sees the error of his ways when it’s time to clean up and he’s shoved into the industrial freezer next to all the rows of Hoth Farms Vegetables.

By the time he’s found he’s pretty much stopped shivering which doesn’t seem like a good sign. The doctors in the medical ward seem to agree, at least as far as Luke can tell by all their scrambling activity when he’s wheeled in, barely clinging to consciousness.

***

“That was remarkably stupid,” a melodious voice says a week later.

Luke has been able to cling to lucidity well enough that he’s been sent back to gen pop, for all that he keeps to his bunk and can’t seem to stay awake for longer than a few hours. Shockingly no one has been by to harass him in his weakened state but his luck has finally run out. There is a mountain of a man leaning in his cell’s doorway, and Luke can’t even find the energy to be nervous by the way Boba Fett’s dark eyes are narrowly assessing him.

“I excel at stupid.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that from what I’ve been hearing about you. Son to one of the scariest sons of bitches around and yet you refuse to join up with your old man’s gang. Instead you prefer to get the shit kicked out of you like you're just another prison bitch.”

“Yep, that’s me alright,” Luke says with false cheer as he struggles to sit up.

“Word also has it that you’ve been following my husband around like a bitch in heat.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Listen, Fett—”

“Now I don’t begrudge you a little schoolboy crush. Din is a hot piece of ass. And I haven’t exactly been around so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here that you didn’t know that he was otherwise engaged.”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

“Okay. Good. That’s that.” Fett nods at him, but he doesn’t move from where he stands, still watching Luke. Still taking his measure.

“Does, uh,” Luke’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, a nervous gesture that Fett’s eyes watch sharp as knives. “Does Din know that I—” and he can’t bring himself to say anything more about it.

Fett snorts a laugh. “Din is clueless about just about everything but fighting and fucking. He doesn’t even know whose kid you are. I’d be very surprised to hear he was able to figure out for himself that you’re in love with him.”

“Ah. Okay, well that’s,” Luke stops when the ache in his chest tightens so abruptly he can hardly breathe. Still, he forces out a bleak: “That’s good.”

“It is. Take care of yourself, Skywalker.”

***

There seems little point in fighting against the inevitable after that. If his father thought prison was going to break him, then he’d thought right. He takes a month of beatings without so much as lifting a finger to protect himself. His face is in a perpetual state of bruises but he hardly notices for all that it feels like he’s floating, like he’s becoming one with some great higher power and one day he might just fade away entirely.

Fett is usually there in the periphery—watching, always watching—and Din’s eyebrows furrow every morning when he catches sight of some new mark, some swollen finger, some hastily bandaged scape.

“What’s going on?” he asks and it seems like Fett was right, Din really is that unobservant if he doesn’t see how often Luke is made to bear marks in answer for the sins of his father.

Luke plants a sunny smile on his aching face while Fett watches them from the corner of the room, arms crossed and face twisted in a scowl. “Not much. Same old same old. Shall we begin with our Ohms?”

***

He’s spitting blood down the drain after another ambush that leaves him splayed on the slippery communal shower floor when Fett finally confronts him.

“What the fuck are you playing at? You’re a dead man walking, Skywalker. Quit being stupid and go to Maul. Get his protection.”

“Never,” Luke grinds out with more vehemence than he’s felt in a long time. “I’ll never join the Sith.”

“Why not?”

“Like you care,” he says, reaching for a washcloth to finish the shower that had been unavoidably interrupted. Fett gets to it first and he holds it aloft and out of Luke’s reach unless he wants to strain his ribs that have seen better days.

“You got some kind of Daddy issues or something? That why you won’t become a Sith?”

“Hey, fuck you, Fett,” Luke says and he waits for Fett’s first punch but it never comes.

“Come here,” he says instead, his head tilting curiously. Luke doesn’t move and Fett rolls his eyes. “Come here, don’t look at me like I’m about to eat you.”

A washcloth wielded by a surprisingly gentle hand dabs at Luke’s face. He holds perfectly still under the ministrations while Boba leans in closer. “You’ve got gett'se, that’s for sure.”

“Like I know what that means.” Luke’s tone is bratty and rather than take offense, Fett smiles.

“Gett'se. Guts. Courage. Going to need to learn Mando’a if you’re going to be joining me and Din for the foreseeable future.”

“What?” Luke asks, eyes wide, and Fett doesn’t answer. Not in words.

The distance between them disappears as Fett presses his plush lips to Luke’s bleeding ones. He’s careful, so careful in his kiss and it shatters something vital in Luke. Tears are burning his eyes, biting at his nose, by the time Fett pulls away. “You’re breaking Din’s heart, the way you’ve been carrying on, cyar'ika. And that’s been breaking mine. So why don’t you do us all a favor and come be ours for a little while. If you hate it, we can set you up with someone else, but I have the feeling you’re going to like it just fine. What do you say?”

Luke can’t speak through the tightness of his throat, through the spilling of his tears of relief, and when Fett kisses him again, and again, and again, each time it’s like he’s someone worth caring about. Someone that matters.

Fett—Boba—turns on the shower and leads him under the spray, washing his hair and his skin. “Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” Luke asks quietly and Boba laughs.

“Sure. Soon as you can lift your arms higher than your shoulders you're free to do anything you want to my body. Until then let me wash your fucking hair, alright? Gotta make you pretty for Din, yeah?"

He rests his forehead against the immense, solid expanse of Boba’s wet chest and for the first time in a long time he feels safe enough to close his eyes somewhere that isn’t his locked cell.

When the guards— who had fucked off to wherever the hell they’d been bribed to go while Luke took maybe his last beating ever—finally show up and yell at them to break it up, Luke isn’t even mad about it because Boba is tossing him a towel and telling him to hurry up and dry off. Din is waiting for them.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #tumblr prompt #ask game #ask box

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