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how i think these guys would interpret 'pads with wings'.
feat. phainon, anaxagoras and ashveil with fem!reader
a/n: i have no idea if anyone's written this but the idea was too good to pass up
round 2 here!: sunday, danheng, jingyuan
PHAINON:
♡ phainon WILL get it for you, no question.
♡ he doesn't care if he has to climb mountains, go through all 33550336 cycles again or fight irontomb, he will complete this mission and get his dawnlight her pads with wings.
♡ but when he gets to the store, phainon's utterly flabbergasted by the amount of choices in stock. i mean, there's daytime, nighttime, panty liners and a whole bunch of others he's pretty sure he doesn't know the use for.
♡ but hey, since it's you, phainon will take this with the utmost seriousness. anything less is an affront to his love for you.
♡ i feel like he'd definitely ask the other ladies in the aisle with no hint of embarrassment or shame. because what's there to be ashamed about a perfectly natural cycle of life? if anything, phainon wishes he was the one to bear all your painful cramps.
♡ after phainon completes his haul, that is to say a whole year's worth of pads he proudly carries like a trophy, he skips off to buy you wings because that's what you want. and of course he needs to buy them from your favourite place!
♡ after everything is done, phainon heads straight home and presents it all to you like he's a soldier sharing the spoils of war with his queen. he's practically an excited puppy when he places everything in your lap, looking to you for approval.
"um, phai, what is all this...?"
"your pads with wings!"
♡ phainon doesn't know why you burst out in laughter all of a sudden, but eventually understands what you actually wanted after you explain.
♡ kephale above, how could he mess up something so simple?! you counted on him for this and yet he's screwed everything up! no, he simply must go out again and get the correct pads.
♡ however, you prevent him from doing so when you wrap your arms around him and pull him onto the bed, thanking him in that angelic voice of yours.
♡ ah, well, guess he's staying.
♡ the next time you ask, phainon won't make the same mistake.
ANAXAGORAS:
♡ you want pads with wings? sure, he can do that for you. just to be clear, is that pads with wings or pads with wings? why are you looking at him like that? did you truly think he was going to decline your request? how foolish.
♡ anaxa may be labelled a fool, but he is by no means ignorant. in fact, he predicted that you'd ask him this question from how your brow creased by one degree.
♡ oh, and also the fact he's been tracking your cycles. he KNOWS what's going on. anyways, pads with wings, yes?
♡ surprisingly, anaxa knows exactly where the pads are located. it causes one to wonder the how and why, but that's not the point. what is the point is the fact that he has a notebook detailing what kind of pads you use on what days and how your period is usually like.
♡ we shall not question this because there is no shame in a guy wanting to know his lover better through her periods. but yeah he has it all colour-coded, dated and charted. it's as meticulous as the experiment logs he writes.
♡ anaxa treats the selection process like he's preparing a lecture on the care of dromases. that is how important it is. he critiques based on the material, comfort, your preferences...
♡ whatever people look for in pads, anaxa's already considered it. as such, he manages to pick out a few and extras for backups. always good to be prepared, and he isn't one to be underprepared.
♡ it might be worth mentioning that anaxa stares at the packs with such intensity it makes one think he has a vengeance against them, but no he's just evaluating which one has the higher percentage of absorbency.
♡ he even buys a few painkillers, a heating pad and some chocolate for you before heading home. needless to say, you're pleasantly surprised by it all.
♡ anaxa gets to feel proud of himself, and more importantly, you are taken care of. what more could he ask for?
"anaxa, how did you even think of all this? i only asked you to get pads with wings."
"pah, that's a rather shallow assumption of me. am i not more intimately acquainted with your body than most?"
♡ an amused smirk appears on anaxa's face as he dodges the pillow you throw at him.
ASHVEIL:
♡ pads? okay hold on, let him check how many credits he has left in his bank account. no no, you are not paying for them. over his dead body.
♡ i don't believe ashveil would be as enthusiastic as phainon or meticulous like anaxa, but it's more so his 'experience' comes from time itself.
♡ ashveil performs this task based off deduction and gathering of clues, like any good detective. it may not be detailed, but he has a general idea of what you want and how he should get the job done.
♡ maybe he'd feel a little awkward while he's buying the pads. not because of the act itself, but the fact that he's a tall old man (who looks young?) wearing a fedora with his arms crossed while looking at different brands.
♡ i mean, would you not get suspicious of such a guy?
♡ ashveil definitely does do the thing all old people do, the object far away as he snaps a pic with the phone close to his face for you to review. he takes a few, waits for your input, gets the ones you want and pays for them with whatever money he has left for the month.
♡ sanitary products are expensive, but you just let him worry about that, m'kay? your comfort is more important, and ashveil was raised to be a gentleman after all.
♡ when it comes to food, ashveil is going all out. he doesn't just buy wings. he buys you a whole meal. drinks, snacks, desserts, you name it. ashveil admits, he might've gotten a bit too carried away and he's blaming it on the appetite of that thing in his arm.
♡ no worries, if you can't finish it, the rest can be kept as leftovers. or maybe he'll eat it all, who knows.
♡ all in all, ashveil knows he's done a good job when he sees the grateful smile on your face. ah, how sweet his darling is.
"ashveil, how much was it all? i'll pay you back."
"ah, no. what did i say? it's on me. now start eating or else i'm stealing all your fries."
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The first time it happened you thought it was an accident. You were sitting next to him during a briefing, thigh pressed against his on the bench and his hand dropped under the table and landed on your leg. His fingers wrapped around the meat of your thigh and squeezed once firmly. When you glanced at him his eyes were fixed on the map Venetim was fumbling through and his expression gave away nothing.
The second time was in the field. You stumbled on uneven ground and he caught you by the thigh instead of the arm, his hand gripping high and tight, denting the flesh through the fabric. He steadied you, held on for a few more seconds and walked away without a word.
The third time removed all doubt. You were alone in the barracks, sitting on the edge of his cot while he knelt in front of you digging through his supply pack. He found what he needed and moved to stand, but on the way up his hand closed around your thigh and he stayed half-standing. His thumb pressed into the inner curve of it, dragging a slow deliberate line toward your knee and back up.
"You keep doing that," you said.
"Doing what."
"My thigh. You can't keep your hands off them."
His jaw shifted but his grip didn't loosen. If anything his fingers pressed harder, sinking into the give of you and the look on his face was the one he usually reserved for targets he'd already decided to pursue.
"And?"
"And I want to know why."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he moved closer, his knee nudging between yours, his hand sliding higher on your thigh until the heel of his palm rested against the thickest part of it. He squeezed again, and watched your breath catch with open satisfaction.
"Because you fit nicely my hands," he said, low and rough. "Because every time I grab you here your whole body reacts and you don't even notice."
His thumb traced the inseam of your pants. "And because you're mine. That's why."
He squeezed once more, let go, and went back to his pack like nothing had happened.
Your face burned for an hour afterward.
Dotta Luzulas
You noticed the pattern before he did. Every time you sat next to him his hand drifted to your thigh. It wasn't a bold move or a conscious decision either for him. His fingers just... migrated over like they had their own agenda. During meals, during watch, during the long boring stretches between missions where the unit sat around doing nothing. His hand would find your leg and his fingers would curl into the flesh and squeeze, light at first, then firmer, kneading into the thick of your thigh like he couldn't help himself.
He never seemed to realize he was doing it until you pointed it out.
"Dotta."
"Hm?" He looked up from his drink, eyes unfocused, cheeks pink from the alcohol. His hand was on your thigh under the table, fingers pressed deep, thumb rubbing an absent circle into the inner curve.
"You're doing it again."
He looked down. Stared at his own hand like it belonged to someone else. The pink on his cheeks flared to full crimson.
"I-- that's not-- I wasn't--" He yanked his hand back and shoved it between his own knees. "Sorry. I don't know why I keep--"
"I didn't say stop."
His mouth hung open. His eyes darted to your face, then to your thigh, then back. You took his hand from between his knees and placed it right back where it had been. His fingers twitched against the fabric and then curled in, tentative, testing.
"It's just..." He swallowed. His voice dropped to a whisper, so only you could hear him. "You're really pre--I mean you feel really-- there's just a lot of you right here and my hand likes it a bit and I just do it without thinking... I think."
"...A little bit?"
"Okay a lot bit." His fingers tightened on your thigh and a shaky breath fell out of him. His thumb found the inner seam of your pants and traced it and his blush spread to his ears. "Can I just... keep doing this? Is that an option for me--us?"
"It was always an option, I was just waiting on you to make the first move."
His hand squeezed again, more deliberate this time, and he bit his lower lip and stared at the table with the focused intensity of a man trying very hard not to combust in a room full of his colleagues.
Norgalle Senridge
Everything Norgalle did had to be a declaration, a public act, a king exercising his right to what belonged to him.
The first time his hand closed around your thigh you were standing beside him while he addressed the unit about a mission plan.
Nobody mentioned it, so you didn't either.
It became a pattern after that. His hand on your thigh whenever you sat beside him at meals, his fingers curling over it with ease. His grip would tighten whenever someone addressed you directly, as though giving a silent territorial reminder. During briefings he'd pull your chair closer with one hand and claim your leg with the other, his broad palm covering as much ground as it could.
But the way he did it in private was different. Slower. Greedier.
You were in his quarters, seated on the low couch while he reviewed his seal work. He set the blueprints aside and his hand found your thigh and squeezed. He watched his own hand with open fascination.
"You do that constantly you know," you said.
"I am aware."
"Want to tell me why?"
He looked at you the unguarded hunger in his eyes. His hand squeezed again, harder, and he pulled your leg toward him until your thigh rested across his lap.
"Because a king must know his territory," he said softly. His fingers kneaded into the thickest part of your thigh and his breathing deepened. "Every hill. Every curve. Every border." His other hand joined the first, both palms pressing into you, mapping you.
"And because when I hold you here, you make a lovely sound, right at the back of your throat."
"I do not."
He squeezed with both hands and you gasped.
His smile was victorious. "Do not question your king on what he knows to be right."
Venetim Leopool
The first time it happened his hand flew off your thigh so fast he knocked his drink over, stammered an apology and refused to make eye contact for twenty minutes. The second time, during a supply review, his fingers landed on your leg and stayed for a full three seconds before he realized and pulled back with a strangled cough.
By the fifth time you stopped counting and started paying attention to what triggered it. It was stress, mostly. The worse his day got, the more his hand gravitated toward your thigh. After a bad briefing he'd sit next to you and his long fingers would creep onto your leg and squeeze, like he was trying to stop himself from spiraling.
But he always caught himself, always pulled away and always pretended like it didn't happen.
Tonight you decided to end that cycle.
He was beside you on the bench outside the command tent, hair loose, eyes tired, recounting a supply disaster in a scattered way that meant he was actually frustrated with himself. His hand landed on your thigh mid-sentence and his fingers pressed in, squeezing in a rhythm that matched his breathing.
You put your hand over his and held it there.
He froze. Looked down at your hand on his. Then up at your face. The flush started at his collarbone and climbed.
"I was--I didn't mean to--"
"Yes you did."
His fingers twitched under yours, caught between the instinct to pull away and the desire to stay.
"You do this every time your stressed out," you told him. "And every time you act like you got caught stealing--Which is more Dotta's thing if we are being honest. So I'm telling you right now, you don't have to let go."
His eyes searched your face for the lie but couldn't find one and his fingers slowly relaxed under your hand and then curled back onto your thigh, tentative at first, then firmer. His thumb found the inner curve and pressed and his breath hitched.
"It helps," he admitted quietly. "I don't know why. When everything gets overwhelming and I can't find the ground, you become it."
"You should have just said so from the start." you teased with a grin, nudging his arm with yours.
His grip tightened and his head dropped onto your shoulder as his thumb kept moving against the inside of your thigh slow and steady.
"I suppose so... thank you for being patient with me." he murmured.
Tsav
He didn't have a subtle bone in his body, so when the thigh thing started there was zero ambiguity about it. You were sitting beside him while he cleaned his thunder staff and his free hand landed on your thigh, long fingers wrapping around it, and he squeezed like he was testing fruit at a market stall.
"Huh," he said out loud to no one, while staring directly at your leg.
"Huh what?"
"Nothing. Wait--Hold on." He squeezed again, slower, his fingers pressing into the give of the flesh and then releasing and then pressing again. His gap-toothed grin spread across his face. "Okay so this is going to sound weird but I need you to know that this is now my favorite thing."
"My...thigh?"
"Your thighs. Specifically this part right here." He squeezed the thickest section above your knee and his eyes lit up like he was lining up a shot. "Because there's this perfect amount of resistance, right, and when I press in it just--" He squeezed and released, as he watched your thigh bounce back to shape. "Yeah. That. I'm obsessed with that."
"You've known me for months and this is the thing that gets you obsessed with me?"
"Apparently." He didn't let go. His hand stayed on your thigh, squeezing at irregular intervals, each time followed by a small, satisfied exhale.
When you stood to leave, his hand chased your leg and caught it, pulling you back down. "Wait-wait-wait!--Where are you going?"
"To get dinner, it's been 4 hours man."
"Bring it back here--Dinner I mean, I'm hungry too," His fingers tightened. "But I'm not done with this yet either."
From that point on it was constant. Whether it was during meals or while the two of you were on watch duty, his fingers would find your leg and squeeze it like a reflex.
During a mission briefing he grabbed your thigh in front of the entire unit and Xylo stopped talking mid-sentence to tell him off.
Tsav stared back but didn't remove his hand. "Sorry sorry! I'm listening now!"
He was not listening. His thumb only continued move higher and higher on the inseam of your pants as his eyes kept darting to you to try and catch your reaction.
Least to say, you stopped wearing thin fabric around him after the third week, yet somehow it only made things worse.
Jayce Partiract
It started after a flight. You rid behind him on Neely for the first time, your thighs clamped tight around the dragon's sides with your arms locked around his waist, and when he helped you down afterward his hands had landed on your thighs to steady you, and froze. His eyes dropped to where his fingers gripped your legs, like he just discovered something about himself.
He let go and didn't mention it.
But after that, his hands found your thighs constantly. When you sat beside him his hand would drift to your leg and squeeze, while he talked about Neely's wing maintenance or complained about grounding orders.
When you sat across from him he'd hook his boot behind your calf and pull your leg closer until he could reach your thigh and rest his hand on it. Always gripping. Always kneading. Like he couldn't believe the give of it under his fingers.
You called him on it one night on the stable roof, his hand on your thigh for the fourth time that day, his thumb tracing circles into the inner section while he stared at the sky.
"Jayce."
"Mm."
"You and my thighs. What's happening there."
He looked at you for a moment before snapping his attention back to the sky, jaw clenching and unclenching until he could find his words.
"When we fly," he said, "Neely and I move together. I can feel her body shift under me, all that power and weight..." His thumb traced higher along your inseam. "Your thighs are basically the same thing. When I grab you here I can feel you and I... appreciate it."
"You're comparing me...to your dragon." you side-eyed him with a laugh.
"I'm comparing you to the thing I love most in the world.--Just take the compliment!" He squeezed again, hard enough to make you inhale, and his grin came back, sharp and unapologetic. "Besides. Neely doesn't make that face when I hold on tight."
"What face?"
He squeezed harder, watched your expression, and grinned wider.
"That one."
Rhyno
The first time it happened he looked genuinely puzzled by his own hand. You were seated beside him on the supply crates after a mission, close enough that your legs touched, and his broad hand had drifted to your thigh and squeezed. Not hard, more like... exploratory. His eyebrows lifted and he looked down at his own fingers with pleasant curiosity.
"Fascinating," he said.
"What is?"
"The way you feel under my hand." He squeezed again, slower, his pale fingers pressing into the give of your thigh through the fabric with his ever-present smile. "Huma--You are so remarkably dense. In a physical sense. All this muscle and tissue layered over bone, and when I press here--" Another squeeze, deeper. "--it gives, but only to a point. And then there's resistance."
"Are you... studying my anatomy right now?"
"Thoroughly." His thumb found the thickest part of your outer thigh and kneaded into it. His eyes found yours and the curiosity in them had darkened into something a tad...hungrier. "I find I don't want to let go."
He didn't.
His hand became a permanent fixture on your thigh whenever you were near him. Always gripping, always kneading, always seeking out that same territory with a focus that bordered on obsession.
The strange part was what it did to the rest of him.
Xylo noticed it first. Rhyno stopped disappearing after missions, stopped deviating from as many orders and reduced the destructive tendencies that landed him in solitary confinement every other week.
So they started pairing you with him. For every mission, every patrol and every assignment. Xylo never explained why. Didn't need to. The results spoke for themselves. Rhyno with you beside him was focused, contained and effective, whereas Rhyno without you was well, expensive.
One night after a clean mission that had zero incidents and collateral, you sat with him on the crates again and his hand found your thigh immediately.
"You know why they keep putting us together, don't you?" you asked.
"Because I behave when you're around." His fingers squeezed slowly, moving up and down your leg. "And I'll keep behaving, so long as you keep letting me hold onto you."
a/n. consider this my petition for you to check this series out.
You waited until the others filed out of the room, grabbed Xylo by the strap across his chest, and hauled him through the storage door.
His back hit the wall when you kicked the door shut and kissed him.
His hands instantly clamped on your hips as his mouth opened against yours, teeth dragging your lower lip before his tongue followed.
You grabbed the fur lining of his collar with both fists and pulled him as close as physically possible to you.
One of his hands slid up your back while the other dug into your hip. You pushed harder into him and his head knocked against the wall. He just tilted his jaw and went deeper, messier, breathing hard through his nose.
"Door's thin," he muttered against your mouth.
"Don't care."
"Didn't say I cared. Said it was thin." He kissed you harder.
You were a mess. Spit-slick and gasping, his armor dug into your chest while you combed your hands in his hair and pulled. He groaned against you as his hips rolled forward off the wall into yours.
You bit his lip and the sound he made was barely human.
His earrings caught the light when his head tipped. His hair fell across his eyes but he didn't push it back because both of his hands were too busy dragging you closer.
His fingers found the hem of your shirt and pressed against your bare skin.
"Xylo."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
His eyes snapped to yours, furious in a way that had nothing to do with anger. His skin was flushed down his throat, his own mouth swollen and slick. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you so deep you stopped breathing, his back bracing hard against the wall, his arm banding around your waist.
Footsteps in the corridor. Once. Twice. His mouth never left yours. His grip never loosened. You grabbed his armor straps again and pulled and he groaned into you and gave you everything he had.
You broke apart gasping. He stared at you. His thumb traced your jaw, unsteady.
"Get back here," he said, sounding more wrecked than he intended.
You did, ignoring the door that rattled behind the two of you. Neither of you cared from the second this started, and you weren't going to start caring now.
Dotta Luzulas
The second the patrol rounded the corner you grabbed Dotta's wrist and yanked him behind the nearest door.
He yelped, tripped, and you caught him by the jacket, slammed the door shut, and kissed him.
His eyes went huge. Then they closed and he grabbed your arms and kissed you back clumsy and frantic, nose bumping yours.
He tasted like the candied fruit he stole off a merchant cart that morning. He was eager and uncoordinated, making small choked sounds every time you changed the angle, his pink hair crushed against your forehead.
You walked him into the wall. He went willingly, hauling you with him by fistfuls of fabric.
"W-Wait--" He broke the kiss, panting. "Is the door locked?"
"Nope."
"Shouldn't we--"
You kissed him again and he forgot the question as his hand tangled in your hair, the other grabbing your waist.
The kiss this time slower, deeper, with a focus that hadn't existed ten seconds ago. He licked into your mouth and you made a noise and felt him grin against your lips. You bit his bottom lip and the grin collapsed into a whimper.
His hips shifted against yours and he gasped, startled by himself.
"I'm supposed to be on rotation--" he managed. "Xylo's going to kill me."
"Xylo doesn't need to know."
"Xylo always knows. If not now, then later."
"Dotta."
"Yeah?"
"Stop talking about Xylo while I'm kissing you."
His ears went scarlet. "Right. Valid point."
He pulled you in by the collar and kissed you again, open-mouthed. You cupped his face and tilted his head and he whined against your tongue, his back arching off the wall into you. His hands slid down to your waist and gripped hard to keep himself steady.
You broke apart and his eyes were glazed. His mouth was red and wet. His stolen coin had fallen out of his pocket at some point and was on the floor between your feet.
"I should get that," he whispered.
"Leave it."
"I can't leave a coin, what if someone else tries to ste--"
You kissed the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then his mouth again, slow. He shuddered and subtly shifted the coin under a barrel with his foot.
"O-Okay it can stay there."
Norgalle Senridge
You caught his eye during one of his hallway addresses about the proper decorum, and you tilted your head toward the side rooms. He hurriedly wrapped up his speech and none of the knights there believed for a second it was natural when they saw the two of you rush into a room.
The door barely closed before he started.
"You summoned your king most unexpect--"
You grabbed his cape and kissed him and his sentence evaporated in his throat. His eyes widened for half a beat before his broad hands landed on your hips, firm and assured, and he kissed you back thorough and unhurriedly.
You tried to push into him but he didn't budge. He pulled you flush against his chest instead, one hand flat between your shoulder blades, and opened his mouth against yours.
His mustache brushed your upper lip and his tongue slid against yours while he kissed you like this was a ceremony of some sort.
You grabbed the front of his military coat and finally managed to yank him closer. He made a low sound in his throat and his composure cracked, just slightly. His fingers dug into your back. He kissed you harder, wetter, his breathing picking up.
"Been thinking about this all day," you said against his mouth.
"As is your right. A king's beloved should never have to suppress such urges."
He walked you backward into the door and caged you there, his arms braced on either side of your head. He kissed you again, his tongue doing something that made your brain go white as he growled against your teeth and pressed you further into the wood.
You bit his lower lip and his hips jerked forward and he exhaled sharp through his nose and pulled back just enough to look at you.
His face was flushed and he was breathing hard.
"More?" he asked as the composure in his gaze began to crack.
"More." you confirmed as he cupped your face with both hands to tilt your head and kiss you so deep your knees gave out.
He made a sound against your mouth that was barely dignified and you grinned into the kiss, but he felt it and pulled back.
"Do you mock your king?"
"Never." You pulled him back in. "I just like making him lose his sense of self."
"Impossible." He kissed you again, messy and undone, though the word had never been less convincing in his entire delusional life.
Venetim Leopool
You caught him ducking out of a briefing, grabbed his arm, steered him through the nearest doorway, and shut the door. His back hit the wall and he blinked.
"What--oh." He processed. "Oh. Here? Now? With Xylo approximately forty steps--"
You kissed him and his hands flew up and landed on your arms, then your shoulders, then the sides of your face, cycling over your frame without committing.
Then his mouth softened against yours and he kissed you back with practiced ease, one hand finally settling on the back of your neck, the other curling into your shirt. The desperate sound he made between breaths nearly took your legs out from under you.
You pressed him harder into the wall. He went easily, his thin frame flattening against the stone. You bit his lower lip and whatever composure he been maintaining left the room.
"You're going to get us caught," he hissed.
Then he grabbed your collar and kissed you so hard your vision went fuzzy.
His hands were everywhere, greedy and restless, pulling at your clothes, dragging down your back, gripping your hips. Nothing at all like the meek commander everyone else got to deal with.
"You don't seem worried," you managed.
"I am extremely worried." He kissed your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, before coming back to your lips frantic and breathless. "I am also not stopping. These two facts can coexist."
"Venetim."
"Yes dear?"
"Stop talking."
He kissed you again and you grabbed his braid and tugged his head back and he moaned, eyes flying open. His throat was exposed and his chest was heaving. He stared at you from under his lashes and his expression was completely stripped.
"Do that again," he said, barely masking his begging tone.
You wrapped his braid around your fist and pulled harder as you kissed his throat. He shuddered against the wall and his hands locked on your waist and held.
"If we get caught," he breathed, "I am blaming you entirely."
Jayce Partiract
He had been in a foul mood all afternoon because some knight from the Fifth Order had looked at Neely wrong. You listened to twenty minutes of ranting about the disrespect shown to dragonkind and decided direct intervention was required.
You grabbed his scarf and pulled him into the empty storage room.
"What the hell are you--"
You pushed him again the door, slamming it shut, and kissed him. He made a sharp noise against your mouth, his hands flying to your waist on reflex. For about two seconds he stood there rigid, his eyes open as his brain tried to catch up.
Once it did, he flipped the two of you around so that you were against the door before kissing you back hard, all teeth and temper as his fingers pulled up the fabric at your hips.
You bit his bottom lip and he hissed and pressed closer, one hand bracing on the door behind you, the other sliding up your side possessive and impatient.
"You could've just said something," he muttered against your mouth.
"You were busy defending Neely's honour."
"Don't bring up Neely right now."
"You bring her up every five sec--"
He kissed you again to shut you up and it worked. His tongue slid past your lips and his hand gripped the back of your neck and he pulled you in with a force that didn't match his size at all.
His scarf was bunched between your bodies and his goggles had gotten knocked sideways on his head and he couldn't have cared less about any of it. Especially not when you grabbed him by the belt and hauled him closer.
"For the record," he panted, pulling back enough that you could see his blown pupils and his bitten-red mouth, "I'm still mad about the Neely thing."
"For the record, I don't care." you replied before yanking him back into another kiss.
Tsav
You didn't even have to trick him into the room. You just opened the door and said "come here" and Tsav walked in grinning with that gap-toothed smile already going, already talking.
"Oh, are we doing something secret? I love secret things. One time in the order they made us practice moving through rooms without making any noise and I was actually terrible at it because I kept--"
You shut the door and pushed him against it and kissed him. He laughed into your mouth and then his hands landed on you, palms warm against your back, pulling you in without a shred of hesitation.
Tsav kissed you back messily but enthusiastically with absolutely no technique to speak of. He just went for it, mouth open and grinning even while his lips were on yours, his fingers drumming restlessly against your spine.
You pulled back half an inch. "You're still smiling?"
"Yeah, cause this is great. Why wouldn't I be smiling?--You just grabbed me and kissed me. That's the best thing that's happened today. Possibly this week. Possibly since I got out of solitary, which--"
You kissed him again and he hummed happily against you, tilting his head as he started to move with more intent. His mouth slowed down as his hand slid up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced your cheekbone and for a brief, startling moment, Tsav was completely quiet.
Then you nipped his bottom lip and the quiet was over.
"Okay I loved that."
"Which part?"
"All of it. From start to finish."
"Tsav."
"What?"
"Shut up and kiss me, we're not done yet."
"See, people keep telling me to shut up but I physically can't, it's like a medical--"
You grabbed a fistful of his jacket and kissed him hard enough to actually stop his words this time. His back hit the door and he melted into it as his hands pulling you flush against him. When you finally broke apart his eyes were half-lidded and dazed, his mouth was red and his hair was a wrecked.
He was quiet for three full seconds.
"... Tsav sweetie? Are you alright?"
He pulled you back in for another kiss without a word.
Rhyno
He was waiting for you when you opened the door, already inside the room, standing in the middle of it with that easy smile of his, his gloved hands folded behind his back.
You hadn't told him to meet you here yet.
"How did you know I--"
"I had a feeling." His blonde hair fell across his forehead and his eyes tracked you as you shut the door. "You've been looking at me all day, waiting to pounce."
"I have not--"
"Oh but you have. During the briefing. During combat. During the celebration dinner..." He counted each one off with visible delight. "I noticed."
You crossed the room and grabbed the front of his black uniform and kissed him. He received it with perfect composure and an unsettling amount of pleasure.
His hands settled on your hips and he pulled you against him slow and controlled, his mouth curving into a smile against yours before he opened up and kissed you properly.
You bit his lip and his fingers flexed hard on your hips. His eyes opened. Still smiling.
"Someone's fiesty today," he muttered lowly.
You slammed your lips on his again and he made let out pleased sigh as he walked you backward, your shoulders meeting the wall. His frame blocked out the rest of the room while he kissed you deeper, one gloved hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing flat against the wall beside you.
"Mm, you might just be the best part of this whole operation..." he murmured against your mouth. "All of you. Everything... I mean that."
Something hungry yet adoring flickered behind his eyes when he said that before kissing you again, gentle and devouring all at once.
He broke the kiss sooner than he'd like to give you a chance to catch your breath, tightening his arms around you to hide the devious curl of his lips.
"My favorite comrade~" he cooed against your ear.
a/n. This one is jus purely self-indulgent tbh Hope you enjoyed!
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tags: Yami Sukehiro x reader, sfw, intimate, oneshot, captain x subordinate
summary: putting bandages on his ridiculously bulked up body isn't the easiest task
The mission you received from the Wizard King himself turned out to be treacherous and harrowing. Nevertheless it wasn't possible to fail an assigned task with Yami himself in your two member party. It wasn't your first mission with your captain but it certainly was the first time you've seen him so beaten up and bleeding.
His face betrayed no pain, just his usual calm expression standing in contrast to the wounds on his chest. He walked his steady usual pace in front of you complaining about how much of a drag this mission is and how he's gonna kick Julius' butt after you come back to the capital. Yet you couldn't help but worry despite him answering to your question that he's totally fine.
He stopped by his room and turned your way unbothered scratching the back of his head.
"Well, I guess I need someone to treat all of that after all"
You nodded approvingly, glad he's taking it a bit more seriously. He opened the door and gestured with his head to come in.
"In captain's room...?" You asked carefully.
"Where else, idiot" he gruffed letting you in.
The rooms of some falling into ruin inn you two were staying in were crapmed and narrow, lacking space to move freely. Decision to stay in such was driven by Black Bulls limited budget and, well, the fact that Yami spent most of it on gambling.
"Sit down, please" you asked him and kneeled down beside the bag where basic medical kit was packed in.
With a quiet grunt he lowered himself on the bed that creaked under his weight, while his eyes lazily tracked your movements. You prepared a bucket with water and a damp towel approaching him.
"I'll first clean it for you. Is that alright...?" You asked for permission to get closer, not wanting to cross any line.
"Yeah, go ahead" he responded nonchalantly, his attention more focused on your pink tinted cheeks and slightly trembling hands rather than your words.
You gulped realizing you need to lift his shirt up first. With hesitation you cautiously lifted his shirt enough to expose bruises on his abdomen. With every last shred of will you possessed you tried to keep your face steady not to reveal your embarrassment. You had to stay professional.
"Captain... I'll need you to take it off completely" you asked him shyly.
Yami raised his eyebrows, as if it was something obvious from the start and he was just waiting for you to say it.
You could see a playful glint in his eyes which made you acknowledge that he won't make it easy for you.
"Ah... But I'm so tired and injured I don't know if I can do it myself" he teased in a mocking tone.
You gave him a pleading look but the man wouldn't give in easily. Exhaling softly to calm yourself down you pulled his shirt up and up through his arms which turned out to be more difficult to imagine due to size of his body. You stumbled and if you didn't regain your balance in time, you'd surely land right on his chest. Slight smirk tugged on his face seeing your adorable struggles.
You stepped back to scan the revealed view with your eyes. Exposed skin marked by battle, bruises along his ribs, a shallow cut near his hip and dried blood smeared across his abdomen. And perfectly toned body as if he was some ancient god.
No deep wounds but enough damage to make any normal person wince. Yet Yami seemed completely unbothered.
You took the damp cloth and attentively wiped the remaining blood from his skin. Warm water, soft pressureand your careful hands moving with quiet focus, cleaning each wound like he was something fragile. Something Yami wasn't much used to.
A muscle in his jaw twitched while observing you. It felt oddly comforting and soothing, enough to make him lay back against the pillows. He seemed to be relaxing while you struggled hard to focus just on the job.
With each swipe of the towel, the dirt disappeared and reveal more of his toned skin and muscles. Your palm repeatedly met his abs under it, feeling it up through the cloth. Sharp contours seemed to be almost stretching his skin.
Your heart began to thump so loudly you were afraid he could hear it.
A relieved sigh espaced your mouth when you were done with the first part. But so far it was the easiest one.
Now the tricky part – bandages. You pulled them out of the kit unfolding some while trying to estimate how much of it would be needed to wrap around his ridiculously broad chest.
You proceeded to put the white cloth over him and Yami noticed immediately.
The way your hands fumbled slightly trying to stretch the bandage over his chest, but it kept riding up or slipping sideways because of how his size. You were physically unable to reach both from one point to another nor hold it steady in one place and your patient wasn't eager to help. Quite the opposite, he was really enjoying himself while teasing the poor you. Whenever you were close to tying the two ends together he purposely flexed his absurdly huge muscles. You tried to play it cool focusing on the task but your cheeks burned, breath unwillingly quickened, eyes tracing his twitching muscles like hypnotized.
You exhaled in frustration and annoyance and stopped holding back, moving even closer to finally get it done. Your arms widely spread, your cheek almost pressed to his pecs as you shut your eyes and worked your fingers behind his back to tie a knot.
"This a part of the treatment too? Getting hugs?" He huffed in playful, low tone that sent a tiny shiver down your spine. You were practically hugging him in this position.
"Stupid thing isn't long enough" you mumbled avoiding his gaze as you pulled back.
Without a word, he slowly lifted one massive arm and rested it behind his head, shifting just enough to give you better access and less bulk to work around. He finally had some mercy.
"How can one be even built like this" you continued your little complaints while working, which Yami found utterly endearing.
His shoulder were so wide and thick that beneath his skin you could clearly feel every subtle tension of flexing muscle twitching against your fingers as you wrapped the white cloth over there.
"Ridiculously bulked up shoulders... how is it possible" once again you muttered more to yourself with a voice barely above a whisper, laced with that quiet annoyance and awe.
He finally exhaled, a low, rumbling sound, and turned his head slightly toward yours when you finished tying it off. Your faces were inches apart now, close enough to see every fleck in your eyes under candlelight.
"You complainin’?" He teased with smirk that lingered with lazy amusement.
"You could say so" you retorted, trying to hide the fact that you enjoyed the views.
"Should be happy your captain ain't built like a stick. You seen Jack?" He snorted mockingly recalling the image of his rival.
A small chuckle escaped your lips at his dissing tone and pride he held for his muscles.
"You're right, I should be appreciating you more, captain."
"Yeah, that's right" he nodded in approval "You still haven't seen the real thing, though" he said as his biceps tightened in obvious demonstration of effects of his work outs and battles. The bandages held onto their dear life eventually strained against the tension of his body just to finally slip loose.
"Captain!" You exclaimed dramatically, shoulders slumped helplessly.
"Whoops" he snorted in a tone indicating it was pretty much intentional.
"Stop doing it on purpose! At this point you can treat yourself!"
"Oh come on, admit you like looking."
You blushed intensely with a loud gulp. So he noticed after all.
"See?" Told ya."
A wide grin bloomed on his face at your reaction. After relentless teasing and inconveniences Yami caused you, you managed to pull the bandages again properly into their place.
You exhaled glad the work is done and admired it from the distance. Then your eyes came across a slightly deeper wound right under his collarbone.
"That one will need sewing..."
"Tch, leave it alone. It's fine"
"Yeah, right, I suppose big unhealed wounds are so manly and appealing" you rolled your eyes showing him a slight attitude.
Yami let out an exasperated sigh scratching the back of his head.
"Alright, ma'am, do what you need"
You reached for necessary tools from the medical kit, soon noticing that the injury is in a rather hard to access spot.
Yami watched you struggle with a quiet intensity, your brow furrowing, shifting from one awkward position to another as you tried to find the good angle.
Sitting beside him? You'd need to twist too much. Between his legs? Impossibl, you’d have to practically crawl over him, besides that's inappropriate. Kneeling in front? Not quite right either.
The spot on his collarbone was tricky, a sloped curve of bone and muscle, hard to reach unless you were at just the right height and had full access.
He stayed silent, not helping yet, not wanting to make it worse, but something in his gut twisted seeing how frustrated you looked trying so hard for him. Yami exhaled through his nose in half sigh, half decision. Without warning, he carefully fixed his position to sit more properly. Then he slowly spread his legs in relaxed manner and patted the space right in front of him – the mattress between their legs. "Sit here." His voice was low and calm, no teasing this time.
"There...?" You blink flustered. "Is that okay?"
Yami nodded once firmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Yeah. That's okay."
He kept his face neutral, but his eyes held something steady and patient. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.
So he just waited, back straight despite injuries, shoulder slightly turned toward you. You slowly and carefully sat between his spread legs, your eyes wandering nervously not sure where to linger. You sat on your heels.
"Good like this...?"
Yami didn’t move a muscle when she settled between. The tension radiating off you in quiet little waves, the way those eyes darted everywhere but at him.
He stayed perfectly still, shoulders relaxed, hands resting on his thigh giving slow nod.*
"Good."
The candlelight cast long shadows across the room, softening the hard lines of his face. Just a quiet focus on the girl in front of him. Making sure she felt safe enough to do what was needed.
With hyperfocus you started putting stitches around the injury with such skillful precision Yami didn't even feel any pain.
You were almost done, just one more to finish up but it was difficult to reach. You shifted slightly, side brushing against his thigh making you flinch and move away not wanting him to get a wrong idea of you.
"Forgive me captain. Just one more..." you lifted yourself a bit reaching there, pressing slightly against him.
The moment you did that, pressing slightly against his chest, shoulder nudging his as you stretched to reach the final spot, the warmth of her, the proximity, it suddenly hit even a man like Yami, how intimate it was.
He swallowed hard, silent motion in a throat suddenly dry.
"Its fine," he murmured, barely above a whisper. You still weren't fully satisfied. To perfect it to getting even closer was needed but that'd mean pracitally sitting in his lap.
And Yami seemed to read exactly that thought in your mind. Saw the conflict in your eyes and the quiet frustration of wanting to do it perfectly, but knowing that meant crossing a line. His hands slowly slid from his thighs and hovered slightly at his sides, waiting.
You noticed the move immediately and looked him in the eyes searching for answer, maybe permission.
Yami held your gaze, no smirk nor teasing glint. His dark brown eyes, usually lazy with sarcasm, were now gently roaming over you in a way he rarely let anyone see. His expression said everything, giving you a silent invitation.
You nodded and with hesitation drapped your leg over his thigh, hips slowly and lightly resting against it as you began to finish the job.
The second you settled Yami’s breath hitched just slightly.
So close that he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest with each tiny exhale, the faint pressure of the weight on him
His hands still hovering at first, slowly lowered onto the mattress behind for balance. Not touching you, respecting space. But he couldn't deny, he enjoyed having you like this. To the point he almost regretted not getting beaten up worse just to make a moment like this last longer.
The moment the needle slipped through for the final stitch, Yami noticed how much of an amazing job you've done
And when you exhaled that soft sigh of relief,shoulders relaxing, breath finally steadying, he almost smiled. But he didn’t move yet. Not wanting to scare you away or make things awkward after you just been so close and trusting sitting in his lap like it was nothing while fixing him up with delicate hands.
So he stayed still observing the tiny pride in your eyes.
"Feeling all good now, captain?"
"Mmm, yeah" he hummed lowly "there's one more thing I need to feel even better, though."
You tilted your head at him.
"What would that be?"
"Stay in my lap a bit longer"
And this time you didn't need to think twice to follow your captain's order. Remaining in this intimate position for a bit longer.
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