#maybe its just how you chew certain food wears it down to a point

[technicalgator]

is it just me or are there times where one of your back molars get sharper on one of the points and just stabs the underside of your tongue and its annoying/borderline painful for a week before it just one day decides to not. be painful anymore??? It just straight up dissipates

and then not even two months later it happens all over again

#it happens so often to me #i thought it was like a braces thing but i dunno #maybe its just how you chew certain food wears it down to a point #its annoying af #cant let my tongue resf in my mouth without feeling my tooth prick the underside #i wanna file it down so bad #gator bellows

[jangofctts]

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.      ��

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 

You smile. “Lovely.” 

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  

                                        -=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes. 

Fuck yeah.    

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 

Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 

There we go. 

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb   @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts​

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

[seacottons]

—ateez as boyfriends [ domestic au ]

notes: swearing. suggestive dialogue. fluff. i blame a certain someone for this, not gonna say who. @kireiwoo

— hongjoong

very caring and attentive towards you

so much so, that even his friends have complained how it isn't fair he doesn't scold you like the way he does to them

he enjoys many activities with you, such as

helping him dye his hair an ungodly color every other month

he'll insist you try experimenting with your own tresses

but you only have the courage to dye the very ends of your strands

"i don't think i can pull off that color as well as you do," you'd say.

"that's a load of bull. you'll suit every hair color."

you'll just roll your eyes playfully at his biased behavior.

other activities include getting tiny matching tattoos together.

the tiny flower and butterfly on your wrists was most likely your favorite due to its simplicity in design and the meaning behind it as well.

spontaneous dates are his favorite.

behind closed doors, he loves to constantly shower you with pecks and smooches.

often gets teased by his friends from how whipped he is for you.

randomly books vacations for you two to relax and unwind every so often.

although he enjoys it, he is a big, tired baby when it comes to traveling

always wanting to lean his head against your shoulder

or cuddling you close for warmth due to the airport's air conditioners blasting frigid air.

has written many songs about you

and when he's finally ready, he'll not only ask you to listen to them, but to also spend the rest of your life with him and share his last name as well.

— seonghwa

constant pet names

"darling."

"the sun to my stars."

"the moon to my sun."

"love of my life."

you like to call him mars, mostly.

but he revels when you call him 'twinkle eyes' for some reason.

has a habit of pulling you into his lap.

you'll subconsciously play with the strands of his hair as he does so, him being too distracted bickering with his friends to realize sometimes.

will always give you pleading looks whenever wooyoung or san tease him.

sometimes, you walk in to find wooyoung settling onto your boyfriend's back while he greedily devours the bowl of popcorn entirely by himself.

or other times when both wooyoung and san constrict his limbs with their arms whenever you're near.

"y/n can't save you now, so cut the whining."

you'll only sigh and shake your head in amusement.

"what are you guys doing to my poor boyfriend?"

"he changed the movie we were watching without our permission!"

"because i have no damn clue what's going on, and harry potter is too confusing!"

coffee dates.

loves to sleep with you tucked against his chest.

always has an arm draped around your frame.

butterfly kisses on your neck.

soft touches against the small of your back and waist.

his favorite pastime with you would be stargazing.

"baby, look. it's me, mars-io," he'd say whilst pointing up to the large, bright star in the night sky.

when it's too cloudy outside, or when the weather isn't forgiving, he'll turn on the indoor star projector he bought so the two of you can stargaze in the comfort of your own bed.

— yunho

is the epitome of romantic.

is constantly smothering you in love and affection.

always has heart eyes and admiration in his eyes at whatever small task you do or say.

rant about an ancient dynasty?

heart eyes.

bombard him with useless information about a certain abandoned island.

heart eyes.

gush about the new cute bakery that recently opened up?

heart eyes.

if you had a money jar for every time he says 'i love you', you'd have enough money to buy a plane ticket or two.

always willing to drop everything to help you with whatever it is you need.

will wake up in the middle of the night when you text him to ask if he's awake or not.

willingly stays up to keep you company.

but sometimes, when he's too tired, he'll knock out accidentally and profusely apologize to you in the morning.

very supportive of your life choices.

hates seeing you cry because it makes him want to bawl his eyes out as well.

his hugs are bone-crushing.

but he is a gentle giant nonetheless.

likes to attempt to bake pastries with you.

half of the time, the goods either turn out undercooked or burnt.

"they have love in them, that's all that matters."

will always insist that you can rant to him about anything and everything.

you've never felt so valued in your life before meeting him.

is the most understanding human being you've ever gotten the pleasure of knowing.

"i wish we were vampires," he says one day.

you give him an amused look, lips outstretched into a smile, "why, silly?"

"so we can spend an eternity together."

— yeosang

his heart flutters when you notice the smallest things he does.

it makes him feel appreciated and acknowledged.

like when he changes up his hairstyle or earrings.

or when he wears a new sweater.

a big, big softie when it comes to you.

can and will want to spend all day in your arms on his days off.

quick witted and has a knack for noticing the tiniest detail.

very shy and awkward at first.

but when he gets more comfortable as time passes on, you won't be safe from his snarky little comments anymore.

will constantly bring up the thing you said or did months ago to prove a point.

"oh, you like this flavor? three months ago you told me it tasted like vomit."

"remember that time you woke up in a rush to get to work thinking you were late, only for me to drag you back inside because it was three in the fucking morning?"

you stop mid-chew and peer up from your plate of rice.

"your point, yeosang?"

"oh, nothing this time. i just wanted to tease you."

is the type to have a mid-life crisis when you can't decide on a restaurant.

"but i don't want to eat at the chicken place again," you'll whine.

"it's been thirty minutes, and you still haven't decided what you want!"

"you're rushing me!"

"y/n! just pick!"

loves to cuddle with you, especially in the colder months.

wraps a blanket around your frame and tugs you in closer against his chest.

pretends not to understand your jokes just to spite and tease you.

loves when you cling onto him.

his favorite pastime with you would be just walking around together at night and trying out different types of street food.

or even visiting any of the local beaches for a relaxing walk together.

— san

persistently keen about whenever you feel upset or down.

he reads you better than any open book.

sometimes, it scares you, but you appreciate how he's always so eagle-eyed about your behavior.

loves to hug your head.

you allow wooyoung to crash some of your dates with san sometimes.

other times, san will whine and tell him to go find his own date.

"if y/n accepted you as a boyfriend, then you should've disclosed that i'm part of the deal as well. buy one get one free."

"as what exactly?"

"the hot, clingy best friend."

will take numerous duck-faced selfies of himself because you think they're cute.

often times, he'll ask you to mirror his expression, only for him to press his lips against yours a second before his phone snaps the picture.

likes when you kiss his dimple.

"y/n! it looks like a crater from the amount of times you've kissed it."

he likes to tease you.

a lot.

touchy.

very touchy.

always has an arm around you.

rests his chin against your shoulders.

playfully smacks your rear when you're sassy with him.

or leans in to hold your jaw whilst whispering teasing words into your ear that has you becoming docile and bothered in mere seconds.

has you wrapped around his finger as much as you have him wrapped around your own.

likes to have weekly picnics with you at the park and admires all the dogs running about.

"i should bring byeol next week. maybe she'll like to play fetch too."

"i don't think that's a good idea.."

you often find him fast asleep holding onto a plushie for dear life whenever you're away.

you'll pull it away from his arms, causing him to stir awake groggily.

he'll stare in confusion as you throw the plushie aside, before pulling you in tighter as you wriggle into his arms.

"you're softer than shiber," he'll mumble sleepily against the crown of your head.

— mingi

mingi is sometimes self-conscious around the public eye and others, but when it comes to you, those layers of fear and insecurity get stripped away instantly.

doesn't mind being vulnerable with you.

he craves affection, adores it even, but is insecure about not being able to return it well enough for his liking.

likes when you give him attention.

easily gets jealous when someone else grabs your interest.

reassuring him 24/7.

"yes, mingi. you're the love of my life."

kissing his pouting lips for good measure.

the smallest of gestures has him a blushing mess.

even holding hands in public.

when he's not being a sentimental sap, he'll like teasing you lovingly.

"wow, you have this many photos of me in your phone?"

you'll scrutinize him in confusion.

"are you that obsessed with me, y/n?"

"mingi! you told me to take half of those photos of you!"

"oh, right. i forgot."

a silence weighs down onto the two of you.

"but would you have taken them if i never asked you to?"

constantly laughs about the things you say, although you don't think you're that funny.

always seeks your approval subconsciously.

will always shield you from the rain, playfully yelling at the droplets sometimes.

"you can't make y/n wet! only i can!"

"mingi! we are in public!"

wanted to go strawberry picking because he saw a celebrity try it out on instagram live.

accidentally steps on many berries though.

"it's okay, they'll just make another plant. i did them a favor."

brags about you like no tomorrow.

even for the tiniest, minuscule thing.

"oh, i've already tried the brand of ice cream. y/n always buys that for me."

"i don't need to pay all this money for a measly slice of cake. y/n's cakes are much better."

"no, wooyoung. i'm not jealous of your new shoes." he'll lightly pinch the boy's side, "y/n and i have already bought ourselves matching pairs."

"you two are so fucking cheesy, it hurts."

when he's not bragging about you, he's boasting about himself.

but if that's what helps him raise his confidence levels up, you'll gladly sit down hours on end listening to how he has more 'swag' and 'charisma' than all of his older friends combined.

— wooyoung

teases you like his life depends on it.

says you can't get enough of him, when in reality it's the other way around.

but you let him believe whatever he wants.

but deep down he just really gets satisfied with himself if he raises your mood and makes you smile.

especially when you're not having a great day.

uses way too many emojis when texting you.

"wooyoung, why am i saved as as 'clingy bug' on your contacts?"

he'll squawk indignantly and laugh awkwardly for a second.

"who told you this lie!?"

"seonghwa?"

always wants to show off your love in front of his friends.

"no, i don't want my early birthday gift now. wait until the others show up, and do it front of them."

"but why?"

"so everyone can see how much you love me. can you also cry for good measure?"

"absolutely not."

he enjoys the dates you have in his apartment the most.

the ones where he cooks for you and asks for your help, only for him to pester you about over-seasoning or undersalting something.

"okay, fine! we'll just order take out if it tastes that bad," you pout, flinging a small piece of onion on his face.

his head instantly snaps back to eye you judgingly, fist gripping the poor spatula.

"over my dead body."

"so, y/n. how does my plating look?"

"it's beautiful, wooyoung. you've outdone y-"

"what else is beautiful?" he demands, face leaning over the table to give you a knowing grin.

you shove a piece of meat and rice into his mouth, shrugging nonchalantly.

"me."

he deflates at your answer, spluttering pieces of rice onto your face.

"jung wooyoung, you slob!"

— jongho

is the type of boyfriend to stop you in the middle of the road to tie your shoe for you.

very charming and goofy in his own way.

takes pride in himself and his abilities to cater to your every whim and need.

even when you don't ask for his help.

aggressively opens jars for you when you struggle to pry them open.

"no one messes with my y/n."

"you're fussing at a jar of pickled radish, baby."

the type to cling close to you in public in fear of any of the bicyclists or pedestrians bumping into you and harming you in any way.

sometimes acts like you're made of glass.

while it's endearing occasionally, it is a bit suffocating at other times.

doesn't believe you when you say you're tough and don't need protection.

very selfless and willing to help you with anything you need.

never one to shy away from social gatherings with his friends, always pulling you along with him despite you being shy and clingy most of the night.

also a big tease.

when you help him hold down his legs for sit ups, he asks for a smooch.

pulls away from you when you try to kiss him.

and will laugh at your pouting face as he urges you to try once more.

"stop moving, i just want to kiss you!"

after numerous tries, he finally allows you ( you truly think you over-powered him though ) to kiss his cheeks or lips.

he then proceeds to squawk loudly in retaliation and playful disgust.

although he loves teasing you, when the game is flipped the other way, he'll be a shy mess of embarrassment.

"i don't mumble your name in my sleep."

"you always do, silly."

tucked underneath his macho exterior, you know he's prone to criticism and takes it to heart much more than he likes to show and admit.

so, whenever you get the chance, you always fulfill his need to be appreciated, loved, and taken care of.

is utterly and extremely protective of you.

"who just whistled at you?" he grumbles, "i'll break their jaw like an apple, you know i will."

#ateez headcanons #ateez x reader #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #choi san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader

[oh-for-fic-sake]

If this is too much I'm sorry. But I was recently made aware of plugs that have panties attached to them. The wearer just has a little strip of elastic that goes up around her hips. Imagine if you will, Dom Henry is very strict, good girls wear the cute underthings he gets for them. Him and his sub go out for a romantic dinner and discovers that she's been plugged for the evening.

🥵🥵🥵 oh jesus! fuck yes! (this got long and a little out of hand but fuck it, its hot🥵🥵🥵)

You eyed the new ‘toy’  with a smile, it was two plugs that were attached to a painr of panties. simple but looked effective.

You’d got them when henry was away filming and had kept them in their neat little box, henry had a strict rule, when he was away you would not play with yourself unless he was instructing you over the phone or video call.

You were going out to dinner, a little ritual you both had once he was home, you’d kiss and cuddle maybe get a spanking if you’d been naughty while he was away,much to your annoyance he kept a note in his phone the amount of times you were naughty when he was away.

But he would not have sex with you untill he woo’d you again. he was a romantic heart deep down he’d take you out, run around the garden and  arrive at the front door pretend to be a teenage sweetheart your door with a boquet of posy’s and chocolates

the night would be just like when you were dateing, dinner, danceing cute kisses and sweet caresses.

He would reaquaint himself with you romantically then bring you home and tie you to his bed and unleash as much cum in and on you as humanly possible! or if he was feeling kinky his glute drive in the gym drenching the gym in the scent of your sex so he would have a reminder for days as he worked out each day~

Normally you can wait the extra two days, but this time you were just too horny, he was away filming the witcher season two and made a point to video call you in costume as much as he could knowing what it did to you.

It was as if he wanted you to break his rules and fuck yourself on one of the ‘mysterious’ gifts he had been sending you. one of which being a suspicious ‘henry like’ dildo which you were certain had been  hand made by your dom with a ‘clone a willy’ set.

But tonight you’d just given up, you hissed quietly shimmying the undies up and placed both plugs correctly, you didnt need lube henry had been going to town teasing you all day youd changed undies twice already!

You sighed visibly shivering as everything sloted into place and rocked back and forth moaning slightly as they both shifted inside of you. you tugged your sexy open back play suit up over your body and tentativly walking down the stairs.

Henry didnt seeme to notice your heaving breathing at first, he did however notice you falter when he handed you your flowers and chocolates in his bike leathers!?

“I though we could take the bike today, take both my girls out for a spin” he said referring to you and the bike grinning handing you your helmet. and biker jacket.

The ride was short but had fucked you up! you had almost cum twice as he opened her up on the dual carridge way, the vibrationed from the purring bike wreaking havoc on your insides as it turned both plugs into vibrators!

Henry had laughed as you got off the bike wobblying knees knocking, he knew what it did to you but for some reason this time you could barely fucking stand straight.

You brushed off his  comments on your red face and secretly regratted not bringing a bigger bag with spare panties becuase you still had the fucking ride home!

Once inside the classy restauraunt things didnt get better for you, this was backfiring incredibly! this was supposed to tease him later on when he realised youd been sitting here full and weeping all night!

You squirmed at the table, whining every so often crossign your legs you could help it the bike fucked you up.

Henry smirked and began a small game of footsie under the table his foot hidden by the table cloth.

You mewled softly squeezing your thighs as his foot pressed at your knees threatening to slip past.

‘Open your legs love’ he ordered casually as he ate his food staring at you eye twinkling with mirth finding it cute how you were trying to refuse him.

‘H-hen please not here- wait till we’re home?’ you pleaded slowly eating your own meal slowly even though you wasnt hungry.... Well not for food. 

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and prodded harder shoving past your knees meeting your center with the tip of his shoe and rubbed harshly.

‘Oh god sir!” you moaned thumping your cutlery on the table fists threatening to snap the silver. rutting against his foot making the plugs move rubbing against on another, his shoe hit the first plug fucking you lightly. 

Thats when he felt it, the hard thick base of something, he ripped his foot away shocked that you’d ever do something like this then smirked knowingly.

‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ he teased dropping his cutlery, you just flushed looking down slowly chewing another mouthfull. 

‘fFne i will find out for myself’ he mutteredwhen you ignored him he simply got up moving around beside you crouching down next to you kissing your cheek and cupped your pussy and gasped feeling the plugs

Instantly he sat back down calling the waitier for the bill, leavign as fast as he could.

‘You nuaghty girl, i thought there was somthing off with you tonight... their better by one up here too because you know my rules~ needy girl who cant wait get their asses fucked!” he growled dragging you back on the bike ‘get ready this will be one hell of a ride, think i might go the long way~’ he teased before revving the bike making you yelp as the vibration travled up both plugs. henry laughed.

But that wasnt the worst of it he did take the long way home, darting through back roads over revving her to get the most out of this unusual torment.

Once home he didnt stop, he was determined to make you cum on his bike atleast once before dragging your sorry ass back indoord.

He parked her up resting the red bike on her stand and tore off both his and your helmets fisting a hand in your hair keeping you straddling the powerhouse mechanical marvel and revved her making the bike drown out you wails as he used it to bring you to new hieghts.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill headcanon

[lardguz]

Panic in the Pantry

So I've been really into Ze//ro Esca//pe lately, and I noticed there was like, no weight gain writing for the series, probably because the games themselves are pretty serious most of the time. But I'm gay and a loser so I wrote a thing of Si//gma trying to solve the Pantry escape room by eating everything in sight!

A tall, muscular young man stood in a hallway in front of a door flanked by two other people: another tall young guy who was much thinner and lankier than the first one and was wearing a ridiculous circus ringleader getup, and a short, skinny girl with white hair. The three of them stared at the door in front of them, which had the word “Pantry” being projected from the front of it somehow. The three of them were just one third of the people in this facility as far as they knew, and they were being forced to play something called “The Nonary Game Ambidex Edition” by someone called Zero. The tall muscular man named Sigma and the other half of his bracelet pair, the small girl named Phi, had teamed up with the blonde man in the top hat named Dio, and opened one of the chromatic doors to proceed to the next round of the game. This had led them to the hallway they were currently in, facing the door to what was apparently going to be a pantry.

Sigma turned to his two teammates and motioned towards the door. “So, this place has a pantry. You think that means there were people living here before this game started?”

Phi rolled her eyes and responded in complete deadpan. “No, I think they were just expecting us to be here for a while, Sigma. Of course people were living here. Who else would have built this place?”

“I dunno, they have an AI rabbit in the main computer, who’s to say if this place isn’t run by robots or something?” Sigma retorted. He crossed his muscular arms and glared down at the white-haired girl, who was staring right back at him, unflinching. Dio placed a hand on each of their shoulders and spoke in his usual slow, condescending voice. “All right, all right, settle down you two. We don’t have time for lover’s quarrels right now, remember? We gotta find the key cards for the Ambidex Gate. So let’s get a move on, okay?” Sigma and Phi grumbled in reluctant agreement, and Sigma moved to open the door.

What greeted the trio was a room filled with walls and walls of drawers, each one meticulously labeled with which foods it contained within. The three of them immediately set about examining each drawer. “This is… a lot of food,” Phi whispered as she checked another drawer. “Why did they stockpile so much of it, do you think?”

“Probably so they could keep building this fucked-up murder game without having to make constant trips to the grocery store or something.” Dio responded, pulling out a container of spaghetti from the drawer he was checking. He looked at it with a hint of disgust on his face. “Urgh, it’s all prepackaged food though. The kinda shit that’s loaded with preservatives and stuff to make it last forever. This shit is so unhealthy. Whoever built this place must be a total fatass after living off this for God knows how long.”

Sigma paused as he opened a drawer of udon stir fry bowls. “Wait. Maybe this food isn’t for Zero.”

Phi looked up at him, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. “What do you mean, Sigma?”

He grabbed one of the bowls of udon and ripped open the packaging. Sigma grabbed a noodle with his bare hand and dropped it into his waiting mouth, and spoke as he chewed. “Well, if th’scape room’sh a pantry, maybe th’ puzzle’sh gotta involve thish food!” He swallowed and continued explaining himself. “I mean, why else would one of the escape rooms be a pantry? We probably have to eat a certain amount of the food here to unlock the door or something!” The dark haired man reached his hand into the udon bowl again and grabbed more noodles to eat as Dio and Phi stared at him incredulously.

Phi sighed heavily and went back to searching the room herself, but Dio was laughing too hard to continue doing much of anything. “Hahahaha, holy shit, Sigma, you’re a damn genius! You got this whole game all figured out, huh?” The blonde man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Sigma didn’t care. He was convinced he was right, and so he kept eating his udon stoically. When he finished the first bowl, he reached into the drawer and grabbed another, and another, until he’d cleared it out entirely. When Sigma straightened up to open the next drawer, he felt his middle wobble slightly, and he looked down. His stomach stuck out just a little bit, a nice coating of soft fat just beginning to form over his formerly toned abs. Shaking his head, Sigma opened the drawer anyways, reasoning with himself that if this was the solution to the puzzle, he could sacrifice his muscles for now. Plus there was probably a weight loss antidote as a reward in the safe! He grabbed the packages of curry from the drawer he opened and kept eating, trying his best to ignore his gradually growing waistline.

After an hour in the pantry, Phi and Dio had turned up no hints to solving the puzzle themselves. Sigma also hadn’t encountered any hints, but what he had done was clear out six whole drawers of provisions, and it showed. His outfit, once baggy and poorly fitting, now clung to his new chubby body, accentuating every roll and fold. His blue button-up shirt rode up on his torso, no longer able to be tucked into his matching pants whatsoever. The buttons were beginning to strain against his growing gut, and the short sleeves dug into his fat upper arms. The waistband of his pants was clearly straining as well, his belly and hips oozing over the top of it to form a plush muffin top. His thickening thighs and calves caused the fabric of his pants to look like an overstuffed piping bag, and his ass, which had already been pretty round and desirable before, was starting to feel like it would burst out of his painfully tight pants at any moment.

Sigma had to sit down for a moment to rest, all this ravenous eating tiring out the young man immensely. He sat with his belly in his lap, rubbing it slowly to try and ease off some of the discomfort from his ever-tightening clothes, when suddenly he felt a hard slap on his fat ass from behind. He yelped in surprise and whipped around to see Dio grinning mischievously.

“Now, now, Sigma, c’mon! We don’t have time for you to be resting on your fat ass!” The blonde man chuckled as he tipped the rim of his top hat towards the pantry drawers. “After all, you said so yourself! The solution is probably related to aaaaaall that food! So you gotta get back to eating as fast as possible, so all of us can get the hell outta here!”

“But, my clothes—” Sigma tried to whine, but he was cut off, this time by a disgruntled Phi. “Ah ah ah, no. Shut up, Sigma. You committed to this stupid plan, and we’re gonna make sure you see it through to the end whether you like it or not.” The girl prodded him in the side with a slim finger, which sunk a couple inches into his flab. “Understand?”

Sigma sighed heavily and hoisted himself back up, almost falling over from his sudden shifting weight. After catching himself with one of the drawers, he opened it and began clearing it of its contents. After another few drawers of food were emptied into his stomach, Sigma heard a snapping noise and felt cool air on his gut suddenly. The release of the building pressure of his lower gut straining against the bottommost button of his shirt was enough for him to realize said button had finally come flying off, which meant the rest were probably soon to follow. The sweet release of his painfully tight cloth prison within sight now, Sigma sped up his consumption considerably, shoveling down packaged pizzas and burgers with ease. Two more buttons went soaring off as he feasted, and his massive gut surged forth like a tidal wave of lard. It flopped over the waistband of his pants and reached almost down to his thighs, his crotch still visible for now. The remaining three buttons at the top of his shirt held strong, but his shirt was being stretched across his chest much further than it was meant to, looking more like an oversized bikini top than a button-up. His chest had fattened up considerably, transforming his huge pecs into even more huge breasts, larger than even Alice’s. With the shirt holding them in place for now, like a bra, they didn’t sag to the sides of his growing gut yet. The seams of the short sleeves were starting to creak and groan from how tight there were against his flabby bingo wings, little diamonds of his arm fat starting to ooze through in small rips. His thighs were starting to do the same to his overburdened pants, seams popping every time he moved his legs even slightly. When he bent down to open a drawer that was closer to the floor, a loud ripping sound came from behind Sigma, and Dio started cackling mockingly. Sigma realized with a cold start that the seat of his pants must have been ripped by his growing ass. His chubby cheeks flushing pink, Sigma’s round face, now accompanied by a full double chin, was hot with embarrassment. He looked down at the drawer he had just opened, filled with packaged cupcakes, and wondered if this was even worth the embarrassment at this point.

Before he could make a decision, though, Phi appeared in front of him and leaned down to grab a package of the cupcakes. She tore it open and popped one into Sigma’s unsuspecting mouth, stifling an exclamation of surprise. She held the package out to him as he chewed on the pastry. “You’re not giving up on your plan already, are you, Sigma. What if this really is the solution? You’re so far into solving it already, may as well see it through to the end, right?” She gave Sigma a reassuring smile, and he immediately felt at ease again despite Dio’s laughing still ringing in his ears. Sigma took the package of cupcakes from Phi and smiled, his chubby cheeks causing his eyes to squint. “Thanks, Phi. It’s nice to know at least one of you believes in me.” She mumbled a response that Sigma didn’t catch, but he was already shoving the rest of the cupcakes in his fat face, so it didn’t matter to him.

Another half an hour had passed, and Dio and Phi had decided to make themselves busy with helping Sigma with his plan instead of exploring the rest of the room. The college student was having some issues reaching the lower drawers now, and walking was getting to be a little bit of a problem too, so they were helping bring him more of the provisions for him to eat. The obese man currently stood with one open drawer at chest level, shoveling the food from it directly into his mouth. His double chin had grown into a triple chin, and his neck was slowly being replaced by rolls of soft fat instead. His chubby chipmunk cheeks had begun drooping, looking more like the jowls of an oversized dog instead. The sleeves of his shirt had ripped open a few minutes ago, setting his wobbling arm fat free. His jiggly biceps slapped against his chest every time he lifted more food up to his mouth. His shirt’s one remaining button strained against his growing moobs, massive tears beginning to form in the fabric stretching across his squishy breasts. His stomach rolls had folded over themselves, forming a three tiered flabby apron that went down to his thighs. The button on his pants had burst off a while ago, and his pants seams were all but gone, just a few threads managing to keep his overfed thighs and beanbag sized ass cheeks from bursting out of them entirely. After finishing the drawer directly in front of his face, Sigma turned his bulk towards the pile of food Phi and Dio had gathered for him, and began waddling towards it. He had to spread his legs uncomfortably far apart to keep his thighs from rubbing together, and even then they still did. He also couldn’t bend his legs anymore, his knees buried under rolls of fat from his jiggly thighs. His oversized ass cheeks, each roughly the size of a couch cushion, drooped down about the same distance as his massive gut, and had lost all semblance of shape and tone, now just two squarish blobs of pure lard. The lowest roll of his apron of a stomach slapped against his thighs with every slow, deliberate step forward, sending his entire body wobbling with each one. It took him three minutes to walk ten feet across the room, and the already massive young man was wheezing for breath by the time he stopped. After catching his breath, Sigma grabbed a package of spaghetti and meatballs off the top of the pile, tore it open, and poured it directly into his fat mouth. Then he did the same for a pizza, a meatloaf, a plate of fish and chips, any and everything in the pile was unceremoniously devoured. The last button of his shirt ripped off its overburdened thread and went flying, narrowly missing Dio’s head. The button pinging off the wall seemed to be the signal the rest of Sigma’s clothing had been waiting for, as every remaining seam burst one after another, sending his massive body surging forth.

Dio turned to Phi as Sigma continued stuffing his face without pause, a look of disgust plastered on his face. “He’s still going! The guy is buck-ass-naked in front of us with only his little boxers on, fat as a whale, and still keeps eating!” The blonde tssked loudly as Sigma began shoving crepes into his mouth. “What’re we gonna do about this lardass?”

Phi cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Well, he’s clearly not going to stop til either all the food is gone, or he can’t reach it anymore, and I kinda want to see how far he ends up taking his stupid idea.” She looked straight at Dio, a smug smirk plastered on her face. “Let’s just help Sigma finish his little job and then we can figure out the room ourselves, without his whining.”

Dio chuckled and gave Phi a conspiratorial wink. “Say no more, little miss. That is fuckin’ devious. I like your style!” He sauntered over to the massive food pile he and Phi had made and began handing dishes directly to Sigma’s greedy hands, his fat sausage fingers immediately grasping anything placed near them and emptying it into his mouth. Sigma’s arms were now so fat that his wrists were starting to sink into his own arm fat, and his pillow-sized arm rolls were constantly squished between his multiple layers of love handles and his massive breasts, thus forcing them to rest at an angle at all times, and making it steadily harder for him to reach his face with his food-filled hands. His face looked like it was slowly being absorbed into his fat body, chubby neck rolls and multiple chins surrounding his drooping jowls which were starting to block his vision somewhat. His chins and neck rolls blended together, flowing down his front like a river of flab, nestled between the valley that was his moobs. Shreds of his blue shirt still clung to his breasts, some stuck underneath the pillow-sized bags of fat which sagged horribly to the sides of his gut now that they were free from their cloth prison. His plush side rolls and back fat were fully on display now, showing clearly how his arms were never going to be able to rest at his sides ever again, and that even if he were to try and lay down, he wouldn’t be able to get flatter than a sitting position with all his multitudes of back rolls propping him up and pooling around his body. The topmost layer of his stomach was wide enough to be used as a bed for a medium sized dog, and was too heavy for anyone to lift even on its own. The middle layer folded over on top of where Sigma’s belly button once was, creating a cavity underneath that was probably almost a foot deep now. The middle and bottom rolls of his enormous stomach were pure lard, soft and jiggly, and very, very heavy. The bottom of the lowest roll reached past his knees now, dangling just a foot off the ground. His legs were as thick as tree trunks now, every inch of his adipose-stuffed thighs and calves touching no matter how far apart he spread his legs. Even his toes were fat now, though they could barely be seen with the mass of flab that was his lower calves slowly starting to engulf his ankles. His misshapen, flabby rear end was almost touching the floor as well, each overstuffed bean bag chair of an ass cheek protruding well over a few feet from his morbidly obese body. His boxers hadn’t been destroyed by their mass yet, but the overburdened underwear looked more like the world’s skimpiest thong, with Sigma’s boulder-sized butt cheeks swallowing the stretched fabric of the garment between their bulbous forms. Phi perched herself on top of one of his massive moobs and started dumping food from the pile directly into Sigma’s waiting mouth, his heavy fat-swaddled arms too tired to lift anything more himself. Dio, being much taller than Phi, merely had to lean against Sigma’s increasingly more squishy side to place more food into his pile of chins, which doubled his rate of consumption considerably. Dio and Phi shared a conspiratorial wink. This was the final stretch of Sigma’s stupid plan!

One more hour passed in the pantry before Phi shoved the last prepacked pie into Sigma’s greedy mouth. She sighed in relief and hopped down off the man’s oversized chest, and stepped back to take in the enormity of her bracelet pair mate. Somehow, despite his incredible size and weight, Sigma was still standing on his own two feet. Whether he could still walk remained to be seen, and Phi didn’t have her hopes up very high for that. The young man was ridiculously obese, probably pushing close to half a ton weight-wise now. A loud belch erupted from Sigma’s mouth, his face a bloated parody of what it used to be mere hours ago. His neck rolls pushed his jowls up around his face, making it look like he was sinking and using a life preserver to keep only his fat face afloat. His arms were so swollen they were barely recognizable, the only hint to their existence as arms being the sausage-shaped fingers poking out from the ends. His massively saggy moobs slumped to either side of his stomach, wobbling with every wheezing breath the mountain of a man took. His love handles bunched up underneath the flab-filled bingo wings of his arms, multiple side rolls forming above his hips that were wide enough to fill an entire sofa by himself. His overstuffed gut now reached the floor, the lowest roll pressing firmly into it even when standing upright. His legs looked like a bursting overfilled sausage casing, his thighs' dimpled fat pressing each other so far apart it was utterly insane that he hadn’t fallen over on his fat ass yet. Especially when you considered Sigma’s ass was so stuffed and loaded with squishy fat that it, too, now almost touched the floor even when he was just standing, and his boxers looked like a few pieces of string stretched across the wide expanse of his cheeks. His feet couldn’t be seen behind his wobbling apron of a stomach, but if they weren’t obscured by that mass of pure flab, they would still not be visible; the fat from his calves had collapsed over top of his ankles, hiding his feet entirely. Overall, Sigma had grown to nearly four times his size in just a few hours of clearing out the entire pantry.

Sigma gazed blearily past his enormous chest and stomach at his teammates, letting out another loud burp. He spoke in a voice that sounded unfamiliar to him, the amount of fat coating his vocal chords causing him to sound huskier, with a deeper voice, and his jowls and chins affecting his speech somewhat. “Did… haah… th’ dooh ohpen? Haah… shohl…ve… th’ puzzshle?” he wheezed. Phi groaned. “Of course you didn’t, you moron! We told you that stuffing yourself wasn’t going to be the solution!”

Dio chuckled and clapped a hand to Sigma’s flabby lovehandle. “Yeah, but we knew you’d never shut up if we didn’t let you try it, so we decided to just let you do your thing, and now here we are!” The blonde man pinched the soft side rolls, forcibly wobbling them back and forth, causing a cacophony of Sigma’s rolls and flaps to slap into each other loudly. The man moaned in discomfort, but Dio continued his torment, delighting in watching the helpless Sigma jiggling all over.

Raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the shockwaves rippling all over his half-ton of flab, Sigma spoke in a husky whine. “Sho then… haah… whuh ah we… haah… gunna do to… haah… eshcape?” Phi patted the lowest roll of his stomach sympathetically before speaking. “Well, Dio and I are gonna figure out how to actually escape this room now. Together. Without you, Sigma.”

The blubbery man burped again before speaking. “But… haah… whuh am I… haah… how do I… haah… help you guysh… haah… sholve it?” He looked upset, like he’d failed both Phi and Dio with his stupid plan by becoming useless to them both. Phi turned her back to him, ignoring his question entirely. Dio stopped jiggling Sigma’s soft side rolls and followed the short woman to see how he could help. Sigma was left standing in the middle of the pantry, the weight of his failure pressing down on his conscience just about as much as the weight of his fat was pressing down on his body. He’d never eaten so much in his life, not even when he was partying constantly in his freshman year of college. How did he think this was a smart idea? He was so stupid! No wonder Phi and Dio let him do this to himself just to get him out of their way. Just before Sigma’s self-pity party was going to get too sad, Phi shouted from across the room. “Hah! Got it! Told you I could handle it, Dio!” She strutted triumphantly back across the pantry towards Sigma’s weighty form, Dio following at a distance, grumbling. “Well, I figured you’d be fine, but I also thought maybe you could use a man’s help. A smart man. Not like big ol’ land whale over there.”

Phi stood in front of Sigma’s stationary form, waving up at his bloated face. “Hey, Sigma! I got the key to get out of here from the safe. There’s some other stuff too but none of it’s of much use to us right now.” The near-immobile man breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of them had managed to solve the escape room. “Thash grea’, Phi!” he said aloud, still surprised at how different his voice was now, “Sho are we leaving now?” He tried to look down at the girl directly in front of him, but couldn’t see her past his enormous gut, moobs, and chins. Phi must have realized this, as suddenly she was jumping in the air and landed directly on his flabby chest, standing in front of his face. She looked him up and down before speaking. “Sigma, do you think you can still walk?”

Sigma wiggled his toes experimentally, nodding decisively as he felt he could still move his feet at least. “I c’n proba’ly walk, yeah. Migh' take me shome time though. Shorry.” Phi patted his jowls reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Sigma. I’ll make sure Dio doesn’t leave without us. Just take your time, okay?” The agile young woman hopped back down, running ahead to keep Dio busy, leaving Sigma to begin his most arduous task of his life: walking a few hundred feet across a room and getting through the door. Slowly he began moving his right leg, the fat coating it shifting past his left leg and slapping against the bottom of his drooping stomach. He moved his left leg forward slowly, essentially walking in a very slow, heavy, exaggerated waddle. His gut touched the floor and the front of his legs the entire way, slapping into his gelatinous thighs every waddling step, sending its entire expanse of rolls wobbling like a pendulum. His shapeless ass cheeks balloon out behind him, jiggling like jello every time he moved even a little. Sigma’s fat face felt like it was on fire, his cheeks bright red and sweaty from the effort of moving around a thousand pounds of fatty flesh across a room. His breath was coming in rasps, mouth agape and panting, his multiple chins wobbling as his chest heaved from the exertion. After something like ten minutes of waddling his fat ass towards the door to escape the pantry, Sigma finally stopped to catch his breath. Taking big wheezing gulps of air, his massive breasts shaking from any slight movement of his chest, Sigma spent another five minutes just preparing to leave the door. Finally, his breathing about as stable as it could be with his lungs being crushed under a half ton of body fat at all times, the enormously overfed man began taking small, waddling steps towards the door. Three.. his thigh slapped loudly against his lowest gut roll. Two… he grasped the door frame with his pudgy sausage fingers. One… he slowly inched his wide body through the door, until suddenly, he stopped. Why am I not moving anymore? He thought to himself, before trying to pull himself forward again. Still nothing. What the fuck was stopping him? He couldn’t turn around to look because his neck was so encased in fat that he couldn’t rotate his head at all, but Sigma didn’t really have to look to guess that the cold metal digging into his soft hips was the door frame, and that his ass was too wide to fit through the door. Well, fuck. That’s not good. Sigma swore internally, before calling out for help. “Hey, Phi… haah… Dio? Haah… haah… there'sh a… haaaaaaah… pro’lem! Pleashe… haah… haah… help?” After a few seconds, Phi returned from further down the hall, Dio not far behind, both taking stock of the situation in front of them. Sigma was fully wedged in the doorway, his massive gut and chest hanging in front of him slightly as his hips, thighs, and couch-sized ass were clearly jammed in the other side of the door. Dio sighed. “All right, big guy. We’re gonna need to get extra help for this. Hold tight.” Sigma whined as the left, calling after their retreating forms, “Guysh, don’… haah… leave me… haaah… behind… haah… buh pleashe… bring… haah… haah… bring… shnacksh… hungry…” Phi stared at Dio incredulously as they ran to find the others. “He just asked for snacks. After all that, he’s still hungry. Unbelievable. Maybe he really will end up the size of a whale before this is all over.”

#my writing #fat!zero escape #fat!sigma klim #male weight gain #ssbhm

[alyasgf]

Reveals?

Part 5 of Everything’s Gonna Be Okay || Masterlist

Word Count- 2615

AO3

Notes- Crazy how I’ve had this chapter drafted for the longest. I went through a spout of hating all of my writing so I wasn’t really motivated. I pretty much just wrote Alyanette until I felt confident enough to continue this so,, yay here we are a couple months later, sorry for the wait.

Begin

She’d never say it aloud, but she adored her partner. She admired him for his optimism, loyalty, and how stupidly brave he could be during battles.

As she detransformed on her bed her mind also wandered to Adrien. It did that a lot recently, flipping back and forth between both blonde boys. It confused her heart, but still she knew it belonged to Adrien, as it always had, as it always would. With his soft laughs and softer smiles, Marinette couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have him.

She laid there, staring up dreamily toward the night sky and holding her hands to her heart until a shadow obscured her view.

She heard a small knock and smiled. Did this stray ever go home?

She opened her sky light and stuck her head out.

“To what do I owe the pleasure savior of Paris?”

In the dim moonlight she could see Chat’s eyes crinkle as he smiled.

“I request your company, and perhaps some sustenance?” He said in an overly formal tone as he kneeled before her.

She laughed before inviting him in.

As he climbed down into her room she could see the glow in his eyes. Something about him was different, he seemed happier.

Most of the times that he would come Marinette could see a lonely sad look break through when he thought she wasn’t looking. It’s not that she minded of course, if she could be a form of comfort for Chat like he was for her she’d take it in a heartbeat.

“I have some chocolate pastries here, although they aren’t too fresh.” She offered him as he crossed the room over to her desktop. She didn’t normally make a habit of keeping food in her room, but Tikki had been snacking. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind too much if Chat stole a few.

“Sounds great Marinette.” He called over his shoulder as he sat in her desk chair and sat in front of her computer.

“What do you say we find some two player game on here and- oh.” Chat stopped mid-sentence and Marinette turned around from grabbing a pastry to see what had happened.

Apparently she forgot to close out the folder of Adrien’s ad photos she had saved on her computer.

She turned bright red as she ran over to the computer and quickly closed it out.

“That’s uh... research! Yeah research on some Gabriel designs!” She lied, facing her back towards Chat so he wouldn’t notice the blush now spreading down her neck.

“Right, well if it were research on Gabriel designs, why only have pictures of Adrien? Other models wear Gabriel brand clothes.” She could practically hear the teasing smirk on his face.

She turned to wack him softly on the shoulder. “Keep on this topic and I’ll make you watch me eat the pastries right here!” She threatened.

Chat held his hands up in mock surrender. “Woah so sorry Adrien Agreste fan #1.” He teased again.

In response Marinette took a large bite out of the pastry she had planned to give him. She made sure to make a show of it, with accompanying sound effects and an exaggerated sigh after she finished chewing.

“Marinette you wound me!” Chat whined, crossing his arms in a dramatic childlike fashion.

Marinette stopped to think about how adorable his pout was before she laughed and went to grab the second pastry.

“Test me again and there will be no more sweets when you come over.” She bluffed.

Chat practically snatched the snack from her hands.

“Then I’d have no reason to come back.” He said through a stuffed mouth.

“No, I think you enjoy my company too much.” She gloated before pulling up a chair beside him. “Now what game did you want to play?”

They spent the next two hours playing fireboy and watergirl, where Marinette was shocked to find they made an incredible team.

——————————————

The akuma was hard, there was no denying that. The akuma called itself Obedience. Anyone struck with its ray was forced to do what ever it said, as though playing a game of simon says with dire stakes.

Marinette regretted staying up so late with Chat the night before. How he managed to have the amount of energy he did was astounding.

Chat had already used his cataclysm and Ladybug had used her lucky charm to set up a trap, all they had to do was lead Obedience into it.

Unfortunately, they needed to charge up before that, seeing as the beeping of their miraculous was giving its final warning before it was going to give up.

They landed on a distant building and de-transformed behind opposite sides of a pillar.

“M’lady do you have any extra snacks? Plagg ate up all his cheese before the battle and I didn’t have time to restock.” Chat called from the other side of the stone divider.

Ladybug giggled. “Looks like you need to learn how to control your friend Chaton. Here.” She reached out with a macaroon for Chat to take.

Her curiosity got the best of her and she couldn’t help but admire his hand as he reached over to take the sweet.

Soft and flawless, other than the messy blue nail polish that glowed in the sunlight. At first she didn’t think anything of it.

“Going for a new look kitty?” She asked lightheartedly as Tikki refueled.

“What? Oh you mean my nails. Well, I had someone paint them for me yesterday and I guess I distracted them too much and they made a mess.” He replied absentmindedly.

Wheels began to turn in Marinette’s brain, but unsure as to why, she didn’t try to make them stop.

“Oh, someone painted them? They look cute, did someone finally take in this alley cat?”

“For someone who hates puns, you really do use a lot of cat related metaphors toward me bug. And as a matter of fact I do, and she’s my girlfriend.” He bragged. “Plagg claws out!”

Ladybug transformed as well and was going to make a joke before a few dot connected before her. Messy blue nails. A girlfriend who painted them the day before. That nail polish looked all too familiar. She tried to push it down, but the dots were already connected.

Suddenly she flashed back to Chat Noir seeing her folder of Adrien photos last night and she felt sick to her stomach.

“Hey bug? You ready to kick this akuma Chat style?”

Ladybug snapped out of her trance. Even if everything that she just thought of was true, there was still an enemy to defeat. She could fully panic later.

“I think you mean Ladybug style. Now let’s go.”

They only just managed to get to the Eiffel Tower before they heard her again.

“Where are you Ladybug and Chat Noir? Don’t you know good children come when they’re called?” Obedience sang from a few streets over.

Chat strode over to lure her to the trap.

“Well maybe this kitty needs to be put in time out.” He replied leaning on his baton juvenilely.

“Oh no sweet boy, bad children must be taught better!” She pointed cane at him and an array of vegetables began to shoot out at him.

“Oh no! I’m afraid already perfectly healthy ma’am!” He leapt and dodged as he lead her straight to Ladybug.

As he turned the corner, there she stood, hands defiantly on her hips a couple of feet away. He scampered around a very large pool of a certain substance that was hardly noticeable unless you knew what you were looking for.

He took his side beside his lady as Obedience followed behind him.

“I’ve got you now tomcat!” Obedience turned the corner too fast and slipped straight into the street filled with a ridiculous amount of oil.

She screamed as she slid, and in her fall her cane flew from her fingers. It’s momentum led it straight toward them. Ladybug stopped it with the bottom of her shoe, and stomped on it with a satisfied grin.

Once she let the akuma go and threw the now empty bottle of oil to reverse the effects of the akuma, she turned to Chat.

“Pound it!” She said it with her usual confidence, but Chat could see something else lingering in her eyes.

But he was supposed to be practicing piano at the moment so he didn’t exactly have too much time to question her about it.

“Pound it.” He replied, touching his fist to hers.

————————-

“Tikki spots off.”

Ladybug de-transformed in her room and immediately began pacing.

“Crap crap crap crap! Tikki I accidentally figured out his identity! How could I be so careless as to look at his hands? Why did I care that much.”

Tikki sighed as she sat on Marinette’s desk. Sometimes it was best to let her get it all out.

“Well obviously I cared that much because Chat Noir is my recently established boyfriend! God he’s going to get such an ego boost when he finds out we’re dating.” Marinette threw herself face first into her chaise.

“So you’re going to tell him?” Tikki zipped over to hove beside her holder’s head.

There was a muffled response from the chair.

“What was that Marinette?”

“No, not yet. First I want to see how much he knows, if he knows anything at all.” Marinette rolled over on the chaise, laying as though she were at a therapists appointment.

“Tikki do you think this will effect our relationship? Will it put us in danger?”

Tikki’s little heart warmed.

“Marinette, you guys will be fine. If anything I think this would bring you closer together. If it puts you in any more danger you’ll handle it together, like you always do.” Tikki flew closer to hug Marinette’s cheek and Marinette let out a deep sigh as she brought a hand up to hug Tikki back.

“Thanks Tikki. You’re the best kwamii anyone could ask for.” Marinette said as the stress melted off of her.

“And you’re the best Ladybug I’ve ever known.” She replied warmly.

Of course things would work out. This was Chat she was talking about, Adrien. There wasn’t a problem he couldn’t help her solve, with or without the masks.

————————-

After going over Tikki’s advice for what felt like hours, Marinette came to a conclusion.

She would tell Chat Noir (Adrien?) who she was. It was only fair, considering she knew his identity. She wouldn’t have came to this on her own, so for the millionth time in her life she thanked Tikki.

But first, she needed to have a little fun. She noticed how Adrien would tease her lately for how flustered she got around him, so she figured the least she could do was use this moment to get revenge.

Too excited to sit still, she transformed to confront her boyfriend.

———————

Adrien was laying in bed reading manga when he heard a tapping at his window. He looked over in shock to see his lady waiting outside.

“Ladybug?” He nearly stuttered out.

She was glowing in the moonlight, backlit in all her glory. She had a playful grin in her lips that made Adrien uneasy.

“Hey pretty boy, mind if I pop in?” She asked casually, as if it were totally normal for Adrien Agreste to have a spotted heroine outside of his window.

He calmed his heart, remembering this was his dorky girlfriend and invited her in. He had to remember to act friendly, not like he would with Marinette, nor like he would as Chat Noir. This wouldn’t be easy.

“Your nails look cute.” She offered casually as she sauntered over to sit in his desk chair.

Adrien froze. Ladybug had noticed Chat Noir’s earlier too.

He quickly pushed that thought away. Marinette had been oblivious of his identity up until this point, even after the thousands of clues he’d managed to drop. He wasn’t exactly concerned anymore.

He decided to take advantage of the chance to compliment his girlfriend without her being able to completely reject it.

“Yeah my girlfriend painted them! She’s so cute and sweet and pretty.” He replied dreamily.

He could see Ladybug’s eyes widen and her blush grow. This was going great.

“Did you need something?” He asked innocently.

“I- uh-“ Adrien laughed, his girlfriend really wasn’t too different outside of the suit. Flustered and flushed, she was still Marinette.

Suddenly something in her eyes changed. One second they were wide and almost panicked, the next they were full of suspicion.

“You know don’t you!” She accused more than asked. She stalked over and jabbed a finger lightly into his chest.

Now it was Adrien’s turn to panic.

“Know what?” He asked, hoping to play dumb.

“You do!”

So much for feigning innocence. Instead he opted for begging for forgiveness.

“Marinette, i’m so sorry! It’s just I knew you’d panic if I told you when I found out and it’s not like I tried to figure out your identity! It’s just that you put so much effort into the whole kwamiibuster scheme-“

“You’ve known since kwamiibuster?!” She practically shouted.

“-and you looked so cute.” Adrien added still trying to lighten the blow. “I didn’t tell anyone and I’ve known for a while and nothing bad happened so I figured-“

Ladybug cut off his rambling with a kiss.

Adrien was stunned at first but then ultimately sighed into the kiss as he leaned into her touch. His arms looped around her waist as he pulled her close, hands tracing patterns into her spandex covered back.

He pulled pack slightly, noses still touching. He could feel her breath ghost his lips.

“So we’re okay?” He asked hopefully, eyes looking deep into hers as they caught their breath.

“Of course, minou. I just wish you would’ve told me before you saw that embarrassing folder on my computer.” She blushed.

“Oh? But then I wouldn’t be able to tease you about it. Tell me, which one was your favorite? Do you think the greens really brought out my eyes?”

“You’re the worst!” She exclaimed, attempting to pull from his embrace. Adrien’s arms held her fast in place.

“You love me!” He announced proudly as he pulled her into a tight hug. “Ladybug is dating Chat Noir!”

“Would you be quiet! I don’t want to have to explain to Nathalie why Paris’ superhero is standing in your room.” She giggled into Adrien’s shoulder.

“Ladybug is dating Chat Noir” He whispered, this time softer as he nuzzled her neck.

“Yes she is.” Ladybug sighed, resigning to Adrien’s touch.

“Now,” He released the girl as he turned and clasped his hands together. “de-transform. We’ve had plenty of date night in your room-“

“Those weren’t technically dates” She interjected.

“-And not enough in mine.” He gave her a pointed look as he continued. “Of course, since it’s my room, I have full say in what we watch.” He could hear Marinette’s pout as she de-transformed. “But I’ll take suggestions.”

Marinette crossed over to where Adrien was pacing in anticipation and threw her arms around his shoulders from behind. She placed a quick kiss on the base of his neck.

“New Girl again!” She said excitedly.

“No.”

#adrien and marinette #miraculous marinette #adrien agreste #ladybug and chat noir #marichat #miraculous adrien #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #miraculous lb #mlb marinette #mlb identity reveal #mlb fic #miraculous fanworks #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 7

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker

Chapter Warnings: Mention of injury, mentions of bullying

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 7: On the Mend

It was a full week before Crosshair saw Joan again. She canceled his check-ups, so he could use the time to rest instead, and Tech served as the messenger to report on his healing progress. And he was progressing, thankfully. The pain eventually subsided and by the end of the week, he didn't have to actively think about breathing anymore. As long as he was careful with his stretching and other movements, he was almost good as new.

In addition, their ship had finally arrived, and much to everyone's relief, Hunter stopped the simulation runs in favor of working on the craft instead. They outfitted it with all the tools and weapons they could get their hands on, and each took turns piloting through the storms of Kamino. They weren't allowed to break the atmosphere, but it would only be a couple short weeks before they were officially deployed anyway.

Crosshair found himself at a mental crossroad. They were getting ever closer to the moment he'd been waiting for his whole life, the day he finally got to leave this forsaken place. To say he'd hated his time here would be an understatement. The experimenting and the bullying and even the way it smelled.... He couldn't wait to finally be free of it. To be on real missions, not simulations. To see real trees and feel real dirt. To use his marksman skills, the only thing he was good for, to do something important.

But then there was Joan. There was hardly a moment he didn't think about her. He couldn't help it. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known and he couldn't get enough. Her voice, her smile, her gentleness, her confidence. Going a week without seeing her had been hard; he wasn't sure what he'd do the day he'd have to leave, and probably never see her again....

A sudden snapping noise came by his ear, forcing him to shake away his confused thoughts and turn with a scowl. Tech was scowling back.

"You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?"

Crosshair hadn't even noticed him approach. They were in the hangar, Hunter and Wrecker arguing nearby about what to name their ship. Hunter wanted The Marauder because it sounded "slick." Wrecker wanted The Havoc because it sounded "badass." Crosshair was staying out of it. And Tech had been gone for most of the day.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

Tech readjusted the pack he had slung over his shoulder with a huff. "If you'd been listening... I was doing some research on Felucian Gelagrubs in the library."

Crosshair almost started tuning him out again, until his brother looked up with a playful smirk.

"And then I ran into Doctor Joan. She was wondering if you were well enough to take her up on that deal yet?"

"What deal?" came Wrecker's voice, muffled by some food he was chewing on. Apparently he and Hunter had finished their argument and were more interested in this new conversation.

"Cross promised to teach Joan how to shoot once he felt better. I told her you were feeling much better, and she said she'll have a few free hours tonight if you're interested."

Crosshair wished he could smack the smug grin off Tech's face. And shove that turkey leg down Wrecker's throat to stop his howling laughter. Only Hunter wasn't making fun. If anything, he looked confused.

"But she knows how to shoot," he said with a frown. "She's told me...."

Tech shrugged, starting to walk toward the ship's ramp. "Maybe she wants a refresher?"

"Or she wants to cozy up to Crosshaaaair," teased Wrecker.

Crosshair felt his face growing flushed. He was about to snap at them for being idiots, but Hunter intervened.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm sure Joan didn't mean anything by it..." Hunter paused with another frown. He didn't sound convinced; in fact, he sounded concerned. But then he shook himself and gave Crosshair a nod. "If you want to help her practice, fine by me. Just make sure you help us with the paint job before you go."

Hunter gave the ship a fond tap on its hull.

"What name are we going with?" asked Tech.

"The Havoc Marauder."

* * *

Crosshair made it to the simulation room before Joan. He programmed it to Felucia, inspired by Tech's mention of it earlier. It was another green planet, but with stranger-looking flora and a mist that hung low in the air.

"This your favorite?" came her low voice. It was a little raspier than usual; maybe she'd been talking a lot that day.

Crosshair swallowed down a wave of nerves that threatened to overcome him. It was so nice to see her again after so long apart.

"It's a good challenge," he shrugged. "Decreased visibility. Uneven terrain. Hostile flora and fauna."

Joan stood beside him, looking around. She was wearing the same outfit as last time and had her hair braided back. A standard-issue DC-15A blaster rifle was strapped across her back.

"Did you steal that from a reg?"

She didn't laugh like he'd hoped, but she did have a faint smile. She swung the rifle around and held it firmly, confidently. "It's mine. Most medics were only given pistols, but my troop let me have this one."

"So you do know how to shoot," he said.

Joan lifted the rifle to her shoulder and aimed up at one of the simulation targets on a tree. She fired and made the hit.

"A straight shot with no stress or pressure, I'm not bad..." She then grimaced. "But I was never good in an actual firefight. They only gave me a gun for self-protection. The rest of the time I just focused on tending wounds, let my brothers take care of the cover fire."

Her use of the term "brothers" did not go unnoticed to Crosshair, but he didn't comment on it. He nodded his head and brought out his own gun. It was a much superior model than hers, but he wouldn't show off. Not too much, anyway.

He led her to some higher ground and got to work, teaching her what he knew, just like she had taught him the week before. He went over posture and breathing. He threw in some facts about angles and trajectories. He had her find an "anchor" for herself, a way that she would always hold the gun and her body, so no matter the situation, she could fall into that comfortable position. And he took any opportunity he could find to place his hand or his arm around her.

This was his life, things he'd engaged with for years and years. And even though he only had mere hours with her, he wanted to share as much as he could.

Joan was a good student. She wasn't the best shooter, but by the end of the night, she had made some improvement. She was no longer hesitating with the trigger and managed to take down a simulated Acklay despite being scared of it. That was a win in Crosshair's eyes.

When she finally showed signs of fatigue, he turned off the sim and sat with her on one of the benches along the walls. They sat in silence for a brief time, and Crosshair was grateful she didn't seem uncomfortable by it. He let his head rest against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Is Tech okay?" she eventually asked.

His eyes reopened, only so he could furrow them in confusion. "Yeah, why?"

She shrugged and stifled a yawn. "There were some... uh, clones bothering him in the library earlier. Wasn't sure if it upset him."

"He didn't mention it," Crosshair said with a clenched jaw. He really hated when the regs messed with his brothers, especially Tech.

Joan shifted to better face him. "He's a hard one to read. Most of his visits, I'm answering his millions of questions about human anatomy. He only puts stats on his chart. Like that assignment I had, to write things about yourselves? He drew a diagram of his body with arrows pointing out his height, eye color, body fat percentage...."

She chuckled softly and Crosshair found himself joining in. That sounded like Tech, alright.

"I don't know. I just want to make sure he's not really hurting inside. You were the one I thought I had to worry about. Wrecker wears his emotions on his sleeve. Hunter's guided by duty, so it's easy to predict what he feels."

"And me?"

"You put up walls. Which I get. It's hard to be... you." She cocked her head with a knowing look. "But when you respect someone, you let them in. And from there you're an open book."

He frowned. "I am not."

"You kinda are though," she laughed. "I can always tell by your tone when you like certain things or not. Scowling is your default, but when you're really upset your jaw clenches. And..." she looked down in her lap with a small smile, "you blush sometimes when I talk."

Crosshair's eyes widened in horror, which only made her laugh more.

"It's okay. It's... flattering."

He gulped. Her cheeks were pinker than usual as well, but that must have been from the training they just did. Surely....

"I'll, uh... I'll keep an eye on Tech," he stuttered. "He'll be fine."

"Good." She clapped her legs and stood up. "Well anyway, I won't keep you up much later. Thank you for the lesson. It was fun."

He stood, too, and decided to say, with a shake in his breath, "I hope it won't be another week before I see you again?"

"Well, I guess I should take another look at that little wound of yours soon."

"Tomorrow?"

Her smile faltered, ever so briefly, and Crosshair panicked. Was he sounding too eager? 

"Sure. I should have some time... three o'clock?"

He nodded with an internal sigh of relief. She let her gaze linger on his for just a moment more, and he started to think maybe, just maybe, she had been blushing after all. Maybe there was a chance she liked him back.

He hoped she did. But at the same time, he knew it would only make it that much harder to leave....

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair x oc #fluff #medical things #military things

[jaigeye]

for the prompt meme: 20, rex + saw thank u

30 multipurpose prompts. ( rex + saw. ) / read on ao3

"how far can you carry this?"

Onderon is in the Japrael sector. It's inner rim, but not a bad place to hide when you've got business in the area. And Rex has- well, he has plans, so to say, here on Onderon. It's unusual for him to be so untethered. He hasn't taken or given an order in ages. 

He spent six days on a little neighboring planet called Morvolo, keeping track of how many times he saw its four moons and trying to bear the bitter cold weather. He had to hide; Rex was certain he'd been tracked to the sector, and it would be too obvious to go to Onderon first, so he set his ship on the ice floats and waited. There's no food on Morvolo, no animals or insects or life at all, really. Just him and the infinite tundra. 

For all these reasons, he hasn't eaten in five days. The rations dried up quicker than he'd thought. Usually he wouldn't be so careless; Rex is nothing if not organized, prepared for all outcomes. 

Anakin used to say-

No. He scrubs his face and sits on a crate in the little camp. It's hard not to think of all that when he's back here again- the only real difference is that this time he's unaccompanied. He scrapes the heel of his boot in the dirt and stares hungrily at the beast that's slowly cooking on the spit in the center of camp. It's being slowly dissected and loaded onto different rebels plates, but he's only just arrived and nobody seems to know what to make of him, so Rex waits for the right moment to come along to get some for himself. If they'll let him.

He could try to hunt. It's not an entirely foreign concept to him. The forest is so alive all around them. It puts him on edge; Rex isn't familiar enough with the flora and fauna of the area to rightfully judge what is or isn't a threat, so he eyes even the meekest of lizards with suspicion when they pass him by. 

"Hey," says a deep, steady voice, interrupting the nothing he was doing. "Your name is Rex, isn't it?"

He glances sharply, at first suspicious that anyone would so easily recognize him, much less recall his name but then he sees him and his defenses collapse. 

"Yeah," he rasps. His voice is a little worn from disuse. "Rex."

Saw Gerrera leans against a tree, a plate in each hand. An easy smile lingers on his lips. Rex's eyes linger there a little, too, but then the food is too tempting to ignore- and Saw must notice, because suddenly he's holding it out to him the way one might entice a cautious animal It works embarrassingly well; his stomach clenching with hunger, Rex huffs and reaches out to take it.

"I'm Saw."

He stares at the meat and the rice on the plate, not yet eating, still caught between his manners and his ravenous hunger. "I remember." 

(How could he ever forget a man like Saw Gerrera?)

Saw nudges his shoulder gently, urging him to scoot so he might sit beside him. Rex flinches. "Sorry," he mumbles, making room. 

If he noticed his reaction, he doesn't bring it up. Saw just settles in beside him, rests his plate on his armored knees and looks at him. "You can start eating, you know. It's fine."

He can't help it; Rex brings it up to his mouth and tears into it, starving, and surely the rice is sticking to his hands and he must look frantic but he doesn't really care. It's been three days. He was so cold, out there, and he'd resorted to holding a pebble in the back of his mouth just to taste something, waiting it out. He'd stayed in his ship, shivering, melting blocks of ice in cans to drink.

It's amazing, frankly. The food. It's juicy and fresh, so hot it burns his fingers a little as he pulls it apart and it smells like spices he's never tried before but will certainly crave in the years to come. It's coated in butter, sharpened by onions, and whatever sauce it's been doused in is a little caramelized.

Rex lived off nutrient gruel for most of his life back on Kamino, so things like this are still.. exciting. Overwhelming.

Once, after Ahsoka accompanied Master Ti to Shili for some Togruta hunting ritual, she came back and made Rex sit down and eat what she'd caught. Said she wanted to share; that it was special, that it meant something. 

Never in a million years would he have turned her down. It tasted a little like this. It burned his tongue and made his eyes water but he still thinks of it sometimes- not long ago he'd thought maybe he'd ask for her to make it for the men after they returned from Mandalore, that they'd like it, after all they'd painted their buckets to look like her. They trusted her. It would feel just like the old days. 

He gulps from his canteen and keeps going. It's so good. He's eaten mostly only ration bars these past weeks. There's no time to cook or eat a real meal in some cantina when your own brothers are hunting you- there's no time for anything anymore. His hand clenches around the plate like someone might take it from him.

His face feels hot, eyes burning. The first time they had a night off on Coruscant, he and the 501st had gone to some back-alley restaurant and spent hours there together, laughing over the meal that they themselves had to cook on the little stove over their table. It was good. It was so long ago. It feels like yesterday.

Numb to the world around him, he doesn't notice the concerned face Saw makes; only the hand that presses gently to his thigh when Rex realizes he's crying.

"It's Pikobi. What you're eating. It's my specialty." Rex stops mid-chew to follow the direction of Saw's pointing, over at the half-eaten animal turning on the spit. It's skinny and reptilian and by the look of it, shouldn't taste nearly as good as it does. Saw smiles calmly, distractingly, and though he can barely see it through the blur of tears in his eyes Rex just nods. 

"You made this?" He asks, finally reaching a point in the meal where he can bear to slow down. Rex wipes off his face and hands on his cloak and tries to subtly dab his eyes. It's a little pathetic to cry over a meal, but he couldn't help it.

"With a little help."

"It's really good," he manages. "It's- sorry. I haven't eaten in a- in a good long while. It's good."

"I understand. It's fine, Rex, there's plenty more where it came from."

It's all too much. He can't even eat without losing his grip- Rex's life is gone, and he's left wandering this world full of things that remind him of it. He was a captain not so long ago, then a commander- and now he's just Rex, a man so burdened by the weight of his world that he's constantly buckling beneath it. 

He doesn't know, some days, how he can still carry it, or why he even tries to go on. 

It's then that he realizes dimly that Saw's been talking the entire time. "-- not a hard recipe to make. It's harder to hunt than it is to cook; Pikobi are fast, evasive creatures."

It dawns on him that Saw is probably trying to soothe him.

When he'd last seen him, the man was a mess; Saw didn't eat or sleep following the death of his sister. They'd draped a flag over her casket and now he wears it as a cape, always standing upright and proud. 

It's incomprehensible to him that one might be able to move forward in such a way. Rex clutches his plate and thinks about a world where his pain isn't so raw.

"Maybe sometime.." Rex exhales shakily. "I could accompany you to hunt one. Sometime."

Saw's hand squeezes his thigh once more, just above the armor plate. "Sure. Could show you how to cook it, too."

The hand retreats. Rex looks out at the bustling camp and then at the man beside him once more, giving him a small smile- the only one he can muster. Perhaps he can bear to carry it all a little further. 

"I'd like that."

#rexsaw #saw/rex #rex/saw #ask games #writing #;-; #also halfway thru writing this i realized it was perhaps mildly similar to urs my bad 😭 #food as love language <3 #ever cry eating smth bc ur day has just been that bad? yeah #hm. this came out different than i expected when i started #gandalf voice i have no memory of this place #still happy w it tho #THANK U FOR THE PROMPT ☺️

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.25

Adventure Awaits

02/22/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,688

Warnings: language, light smut, angst, fluff, so much fluffffffffff, obscured nudity

A/N: Hopefully things will continue to come forth easily. The beginning of this chapter wrote itself, then I hit an emotional block but I finally got through it and here is the chapter! Things are a-moving and I can’t wait to share with you all what I have planned! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What’s this?” Her voice is wary, eyeing the spacious kitchen which has been cleared out of the two long tables used to prepare all your meals.

Every servant has been given the day off with the exception of your head cook who is busy preparing your meals in the smaller manor where Peter has been staying. And one servant to tend to your needs.

However, you don’t want any interruption so the first chance you had you sent her off to relax on her own.

At the center of the kitchen with it’s carefully decorated and cobbled floors in shades of dark grays and browns is a large copper basin, big enough for two.

Floating amongst the pleasantly heated bath waters are the deepest of burgundy rose petals. A few of your own signature peonies thrown in, but the deep roses darken the surface. The clear waters are made milky with oils and imported salts that your research indicated would reduce stress.

“What does it look like?” You tease, moving past Nat still wearing the white nightdress you’d been put in for your examination in the morning.

“It looks like a very large bath.” She says a small curl to her lips.

“Because it is a very large bath.” You chuckle. “Peter?”

Your partner in this endeavor moves forward from the large double doorway, smiling at the look of surprise on Natasha’s face.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Make sure no one enters? And inform me at once when Steve returns. Or of any news. Or if he sends word for me. Or-”

“Y/N…” Nat chuckles, watching you with amusement as she cuts you off.

“Sorry. I’m just-”

“Worried.” Peter nods. “He’ll be alright. Knowing about what we do isn’t easy. But trust us…we’re very capable.”

“And he has Samuel and Bucky with him this time.” Nat reminds you. “They are a tough trio to overpower.”

You’re not exactly comforted but knowing that Steve isn’t alone this time does make you feel better.

“I guess you’re right.” You sigh.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. I will make sure that no one disturbs you unless it’s Steve.” Peter promises.

With a quick bow of his head, he leaves the room and shuts the door tight.

“So, what is the bath for?” Nat wonders, moving over to stand by the edge of the large basin.

“For you.” You tell her and move to stand beside her. “Take off your clothes.”

You don’t wait for her to be ready. You reach behind her and start to tug at the ribbons underneath her bodice.

“Wait! Y/N!” She twists in your grasp, trying to see what you’re doing.

“For what?”

“Your Majesty…” She complains.

“Stand still.” You fuss, and finish tugging her bodice free then peel it off and toss it aside before moving onto her skirt.

“What are you doing?” She laughs, true happiness in her voice. “Why a bath?”

“Because…” You begin, getting her skirt off before tossing it onto her discarded bodice. “…I have wanted to repay your love and support for a while now and seeing as this is how you have taken care of me, I wanted to reciprocate.”

You peek up at her beautiful face to find her slightly stunned but also impressed?

“Have you been reading a lot?” She asks, no doubt noticing your improved vocabulary. You really are trying very hard to be the Queen that Broklin and Steve deserve.

You feel your cheeks flood with heat. “I’ve been studying.”

“You’re doing wonderful.” Nat smiles.

“Our first week here Steve was so busy I only saw him when we went to bed and a few hours in the morning, if that. I had a lot of time to read.”

“Are you finding it easier?” She wonders.

“A bit. My writing has improved as well. Looks a bit more polished now.” You declare proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N.” Nat praises and you smile.

“Take off your undergarment and get in, while the water is still hot.” You tell her, then proceed to remove your own.

As you strip, you caress the tiny swell of your belly. Once you’re undressed, you very carefully climb into the basin and with Nat protectively holding onto your arm to help, sit yourself down on one end leaving the opposite open for her.

Settled, you watch as she strips, and feel your mouth fall open as she drops her underdressed and exposes the exquisite perfection beneath.

Natasha’s body is a vision. Beautiful and porcelain smooth. Every curve appears sculpted by a master craftsman. There is no bit of Nat’s body that is not the ideal of what you think every man hopes his lover will look like. You aren’t even ashamed of your gawking because she is stunning.

“No wonder James is so eager to marry you.” You realize.

Natasha scoffs. “He only wishes he’s seen me so exposed.”

Hm…you would have thought that they’d already been together with how affectionate and open they are.

“That’s my point.” You tell her. “He might very well faint when he finally sees how beautiful you are.”

Nat shakes her head but settles into the steaming water and with one heavy sigh, you see the stresses of her day to day life leave her. And though you know that she does not begrudge you her care, you must be an added stress too.

You should have done this a long time ago.

“Are you comfortable?” You check, wondering if maybe different oils might have been better or if the water has gone too cold.

“Perfectly.” Nat assures you. “Is this what you had in mind for our special day together? Getting me naked in a tub?”

You laugh but nod. “Since coming here, to Broklin marrying Steve, there’s a decorum that I-no, that we are expected to adhere to. So much of our lives are spent abiding by everyone else’s rules. I wanted to give you an opportunity to relax.”

“Thank you.” Nat nods. “But after the morning you just had I would think you need this more than I do.”

You feel your smile waver and then fall leaving a sorrowful grin in its place. Pushing yourself to sit a little straighter, you begin to gather your hair up and away from your shoulders. It drips a little at the tips but it’s mostly still dry.

Nat’s own fiery red locks are already piled up on top of her head in beautiful waves. You’re still absolutely dumbstruck by her beauty, milky skin glistening in the steam, her breasts just barely hidden in the clean yet murky waters.

The rose petals help to keep her shielded.

“I’m not bothered by the examination. Doctor Selvig was very gentle. And it’s good to know that the babe and I are progressing healthily. However, I am still worried about him. What if he’s born with all of the problems that Steve had as a child? Will we have to seek help as the Queen Mother did to cure Steve and save his life?” You chew on your lip, finishing up with your hair and sitting back carefully.

Your hands find your belly and you begin to caress the bump gently.

“I’m sure you and Steve have nothing to fret over. From what I understand of his cure, it changed him in every sense but who he was as a person. He’s always been a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot.” She means for it to make you laugh and you do smile, but your worries as a mother will not relent.

“I hope you’re right.” You sigh.

“Shall I distract you?” She offers. “I did promise to tell you my story.”

Suddenly, your worries are shoved to the wayside as your need to understand this woman, your closest friend, completely.

“I suppose I should start from the age of three?” She begins, “I grew up in a small village, poor. Very much like you did. I don’t remember it, but what I do remember is being somewhere new. I was taken from my home—or maybe sold? I’m not certain. I have searched for my parents but have found nothing—and placed in what I thought was an orphanage for girls. For a long time, that’s what I assumed.

“I had no parents. I was given a bed and food, but also other things that I did not know weren’t normal until I was almost fifteen.” She confesses.

“What kinds of things?” You wonder.

“Violent things. Styles of fighting. Techniques to infiltrate, mimic, a form of acting I suppose you could call it. I was taught to be a spy. To charm those around me and then extract from them whatever it is I should need from them.

“Most importantly, I was taught how to kill, proficiently. And I’m…I have done so many times. The number of people…”

“Is this why you think you don’t deserve to be with James?” You’re astounded by her reasoning. Everyone has done things that they are not proud of.

“It is part of the reason, yes.” Nat admits.

“Nat-”

“I should be dead.” Nat tells you, shocking you into silence.

You wrap your arms around your tummy, trying to hold yourself together at this stunning revelation.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, terrified of a world without your best friend within it.

Nat’s lips curl up into a small sad smirk. He shakes her head once and draws her eyes down to her hand as she passes a floating rose petal between her long feminine fingers, which you suddenly notice are calloused and scarred.

“Back before I met anyone on the team, I was on a…I’ll call it a quest as I think that is the best word to describe it…on this quest, what must have been my twenty-third in a fortnight? I don’t even remember where I was.

“I was closing in on my target, some duke or prince—it didn’t matter—when suddenly, an arrow shot straight through my arm. I still have the scar.” She says, reaching up to stroke the faded line on her left bicep. “It was Clint.”

“The Hawkeye?” You wonder, remembering the pseudonym for the effectively retired member of the Avengers.

“Yes. He was given the order to kill me on sight. And it’s no wonder for I had caused so much turmoil among the Southern kingdoms by killing many high-ranking officials and members of countless courts.

“The price on my head was high but an old group known as the Shield had the highest bid. The man in charge, General Fury had instructed Clint to bring him my head. But Clint instead incapacitated me. He tied me up and spent a week trying to get through all of the cobwebs in my head.

“It took another few months before he was willing to turn his back on me. Literally. He was no longer afraid I’d attack him.

“By the end of the year, every bit of mind control that the Orphanage had me under was broken and I could see myself for the first time in my life.” Nat smiles, this time more genuinely, but it shifts back into the sadness you’d seen in the examination room earlier in the morning. “But although he gave me back my truest self, there are things that the Orphanage took from me that I can never get back.”

“What do you mean?” You’ve shifted closer as she’s spoken, drawn in by this astounding life of violence that she’d lived before you met her.

“The reason that I won’t marry Bucky…” She picks some more at the petals as they float around her breasts, the pads of her fingers stroking the crimson velvet. “…is because I could never be a proper wife for him. Not as one should be to a lord of such high standing.”

“Nat-?” You begin, growing frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“I can never give him children, Y/N.” She meets your eyes, emerald jewels glistening with tears as she lets her words sink in.

Your hands wrap just a little more tenderly against your belly.

“Oh, Nat.” You lament. “And you can’t-?”

“There’s no way to fix it. They were very thorough.” She tells you, dropping her head as she lets her sorrow flow through her beautiful alabaster figure.

You scoot closer with a splash as your body cuts through the fragrant water. Your arms are around her shoulders as you meet her forehead with your own, shutting your eyes as you embrace her close and will yourself to take her pain.

“I am so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to speak louder for you might very well cry. “You have known a life that I would not have wished on my worst enemy. It pains me to know that I can’t help you or erase what’s happened.”

Nat sighs, bodily relaxing as your hands stroke the silky moistened blades of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, opening your eyes to look at her large lower lip as it trembles. “Even if you cannot have your own children, my son shall be your Godson.”

Your promise is true. If something should happen to you, you would hope that Nat and Bucky would take care of your boy. Raise him well. To be a good King and a good man.

“I will need you to care for him as if he is your own. He will be yours, as much as mine. How could I do any of this without you, Nat? I need you. My son needs you.” You lean away to meet her eyes, hoping she can see the sincerity in your own aching expression.

She stares at you for a minute, her eyes shifting between your two, back and forth as her mind races with mysterious thoughts.

Suddenly she smiles. “How are you so…so wonderful? So kind?”

You’re not sure what she means, and you try to think about what it is you just said. Whatever it is that makes her feel that you’re wonderful and kind, you know it’s only because it’s Nat and you would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“Because I love you.” You tell her, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Because you’re you and I want you to know that you aren’t alone. You’ve been with me every step of the way on this chaotic journey that has been the first year of my marriage…”

Has it really been less than a year?!

“…and you deserve every happiness.”

Nat reaches back to take hold of one of your hands then brings it up to her lips to kiss it.

“My gracious Queen.” She sighs.

You let her hold your hand to her lips for a moment as you watch her and the true fear that washes off of her.

“Nat?” You probe, “Does Bucky know?”

She nods, another small sigh escaping her lips. “He knows everything. Where I came from, what I’ve done, what I can never do for him…”

“He still loves you.” You realize.

“Yes.” Nat nods. “The idiot.”

You smile but reach up to caress the sides of her face to draw her gaze. “Nat, my love, Bucky adores you more than anyone or anything else in this world. If he has no qualms with your inability to give him children, then why should you protest?”

“Because he deserves more than that.” Nat replies exasperated and you don’t doubt that she’s had this discussion with Bucky countless times, and she must be tired of trying to get her viewpoint heard.

“And I understand that, but he loves you. If he feels in any way how I feel about Steve, there will be no getting rid of him.” You argue.

Nat growls, “I know.”

“Nat…” She looks at you. “…earning someone’s love can be as natural as breathing. It was that way for Steve and Margaret. Or it can be one of the most difficult things we ever have to do.

“Some of us have to fight for our love and the struggle can be grueling and exhausting. It can damn near kill you. Trust me. I know.

“You and Bucky have managed to find each other, and he loves you so much that he doesn’t care that you cannot give him what you think he deserves.

“If you can, if it doesn’t feel like too much of an imposition, I beg you to let him love you.

“Let yourself be happy.” You stroke her cheek with your thumbs, nodding as her eyes are glued to your own. “You deserve to be happy. Just as Steve did. Though his past will always be a part of who he is, it doesn’t weigh him down any longer. You can let go too.

“I worry, Nat, that if you continue to fight it, Bucky might very well run away just as I did. And then you would be without him…”

Nat scoffs. “I don’t think I could handle him going missing again.”

“Again?” Your brow furrows.

“It’s not important. It was years ago.” Nat shakes her head.

You open your mouth to protest, but your stomach gurgles loudly.

The sound breaks the tension and Nat chuckles then rises slowly before stepping out of the water to quickly drape herself in a thick deep green robe.

“I think you’re hungry.” Nat tells you, grabbing your own fur trimmed blue robe.

She holds it open for you beside the large tub.

“Or at the very least, our little Prince is.” She reminds you.

“You cannot just say something like that and not explain.” You argue.

“Later.” Nat brushes your curiosity off. “Come on.”

With a pout, you let her help you out and into your satin slippers, then reach to take your robe. Nat hisses, pulls it out of reach, then points at you with her chin.

Frowning, you turn around so that she can wrap you up in the soft warm fabric.

“Cheer up, your Majesty. Perhaps Steve has returned?”

This is a rude and shameless tactic of her to use, but it works and with a small pouty scoff, you move for the door suddenly eager to see your blonde, bearded, and blue-eyed scrumptious husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve hadn’t returned when dinner came. He hadn’t returned when it was time for you to go to bed.

You'd sat all night in the plush blue chairs by the fire, counting the haunting calls of the Barred owl, no doubt nesting in the aftermath of the blizzard.

You’re on call number three hundred and seventy-two when your eyes close and don’t reopen.

You hear a sigh and they’re coaxed to reopen.

In front of you, on the cushioned footrest that you rarely use as you much prefer to curl up on the large chair, sits a handsome king.

His blonde hair is damp with small flecks of snow still clinging to the strands.

His cheeks are red, flushed from the biting cold, his lips only slightly blue.

You don’t like that. You want to reach out and massage some life back into that frowning pucker.

Instead, your sleep weary body adjusts in the seat to lean your head against the left side as you wrap your arms around yourself more tightly.

You smile, happy to see Steve despite the disapproval he seems to have with you.

Blinking is a chore. You’re so tempted to just close your eyes again and drift into dreams.

Instead, you lick your lips and swallow.

“Hello.” You croak, voice protesting use so soon after regaining partial consciousness.

“Why are you sleeping in the chair?” Steve asks.

This is what has offended him. This is the source of his frown.

“You’re with child, my petal. You can’t be sleeping in chairs.” He states.

Your back agrees and as you make to sit up, you scrunch your face as the pressure in your back nearly overwhelms you and then subsides.

“I’mmkay.” You lie.

“Well, I’m not.” Steve argues.

With a bite to your bottom lip, you lift your head again, realizing his genuine irritation.

“Have I done something?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Not you, my flower. It’s…Pierce isn’t convinced of your pregnancy.”

“But…” You begin, your heart beginning to pound. You can already feel the fear and the stress building within you.

You cup your bump, fearful of what this means for your baby. Steve scoots closer, his arms tucking in beside your hips to cup the small of your back. It makes him get off the stool and he kneels in front of you, getting as close as the chair will let him.

You like this about him. He seems to know that you need the physical reassurance. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always touching you, holding you, making sure that you know he wants you to be near.

After so much of his distance, you appreciate the proximity in which he keeps you, both in private and in the company of others.

“He’ll have to wait to see the child born. He has no choice.” Steve tells you, voice low and soothing. “Doctor Selvig has assured him that you are with child, Lord Ross saw and was convinced by your growing belly. He has a daughter. Before his wife died, he was very devoted to her while she was with child as well. He knows what to look for.

“Pierce has never had a family. He has no wife. No children. He’s an idiot.” Steve sighs.

Although it’s comforting to know that Lord Ross believes your expectant belly, knowing that Lord Pierce will be looking for any signs that it is a farce—perhaps actively trying to prove it even if doing so should put your son at risk—fills you with a dreadful fear unlike any you have known before.

“Steve…” You shudder.

“It’ll be alright, my petal. I won’t let anything happen to our little prince. You and he are both the only thing that matters now.” He promises and you believe him, despite the crown that rests upon his head.

Your head.

You pull him close, resting your forehead against his, your hand a vice around the front of his shirt.

“Why can’t we just be?” You wonder in whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Steve grieves. “This is all because of me. If I was not your husband-"

“Hush.” You frown, pulling back to look at him. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to have you, I won’t have you wishing yourself away from me.”

He smiles softly, eyes brimming with love and pride.

“I would gladly suffer ten times what I suffered when we started if it meant that we could be as we are now.” You gush.

Steve’s smile widens, teeth exposed transforming his handsome face with more beauty.

“Is that why you ran away from me?” He teases, brows scrunched in amusement but genuine curiosity.

“I ran away from you because you were being an ass.” You shake him, hand still fisted around his shirt front.

“You are the best of women.” He states, “The only one that would have put up with what I did and the things I said…I wish I could take them back.”

“I don’t.” You realize, shaking your head, looking down at your hand clutching his shirt. “Save for our wedding night…there is not one moment of agony I would erase. I know you better for it. I know how stubborn you are, and unaware of yourself. I know how strictly you abide by your morals and how reckless you can be when your emotions are running high.

“But most importantly, I know how fiercely you can love. The lengths to which you’ll go to protect it.

“And if you hold ours in importance to a fraction of the love you had for Margaret, then I am content. All I wanted was a chance to love you.” Steve reaches behind your head, caressing the back and tickling the nape of your neck.

His face is torn with intensity, brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes piercing with their sorrowful passion.

“A fraction-" He begins but stops as he stares into your eyes, hopeful devotion is all you can offer him.

Is that enough?

“Y/N you are my whole world now. I may have duties and responsibilities to my kingdom but having you in my life now, I could never go back to one without you.

“I always thought that my purpose was to defend the less fortunate, the defenseless and it is…but you have given my life true substance. I thought my life would begin and end with the fight I have been struggling with since I could throw my shield.

“Even with Margaret our lives were nothing but this job, this unspoken calling. I didn’t know that there could be something more important than the fight. And there is.

“There’s you. Our family. Our life together is…if you asked me to give up this life, I would do so in a heartbeat.” Steve gushes.

You’re a blubbering mess. You began to tear up at his admittance that he could never go back to a life without you. You laugh once sniffling and probably looking insane with tears pouring across your cheeks.

“Don’t do that.” You argue, tightening that fist around his shirt. “You love doing it.”

You see it in the way his eyes brighten when he talks about it. As much as you hate the idea of him showing up, broken and bleeding the way he had before, you couldn’t take this part of his life from him.

It’s who he is. You see that.

“But I would stop. For you. For our family.” Steve insists.

“I’ll never ask you to.” You assure him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You won’t have to. If the time comes that the stress of this life becomes too much for you. I will abandon it.”

“No.” You fight. “I’ll deal with my own stress, you can’t stop!”

Steve chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck with affection.

“Have you always been this stubborn?” He asks.

“Have you?”

Of course, you know the answer to that better than anyone.

He laughs again but pulls you down to meet his lips with a kiss. It gets heated quickly and while your head is still spinning from the way his tongue rolls against your own, he’s scooping you up.

He places you in bed, tracing a line from your jaw down along your neck, collarbone, chest—he circles your nipple, pebbled from the attention over your thick blue nightdress—along your side, then around to your growing belly.

He cups the curve of it, nipping at your neck as your breathing heavies and a soft moan slips through your parted lips.

With your eyes closed, while your body burns for him, your mind races through a million thoughts before it settles on the fact that he’s in his Captain uniform, without his mask, sans his shield.

“Was everything alright?” You wonder.

“With what?” Steve asks, voice octaves deeper, rough as his hand begins to slip along the curve of your thighs, pushing the left one up to open you up.

“The attacks?” You clarify, voice breathless.

“Oh.” Steve stops, his hand drifting around to rest along your hip, still tight and possessive but he props himself up on his right elbow to look down at you as your heaving bosom slows.

“I was worried about you, of course, but the people…?” You explain.

“We lost a woman who was protecting her elderly parents.” Steve sighs, sadness in his storm blue eyes.

“Oh.” You reply, a small hitch in your voice as your chest aches.

You blink hard, trying to banish the tears from your eyes.

“Things aren’t going as well as I would like.” Steve explains. “I’m calling in some help. I’m afraid I will have to take Natasha with me next time. Peter as well, if things do not improve.

“But it terrifies me to leave you without some type of significant protection.” Steve brings his hand back to your belly.

If it were only you, you wouldn’t mind being left unprotected. But with your prince…

“I could always go stay with my father?” You offer.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m going to need him on this too. But you’re right. His castle may be safer for you as Pierce is always so present in ours. I’ll write to him today, see if he likes the idea. I doubt he would mind his own daughter staying for a few weeks.”

“I miss mother too.” You admit. “And Morgana.”

“Malibia it is then.” Steve nods.

Then he lays there, smiling at you, content.

But you shift beneath him, left leg still pushed to the side, bent at the knee.

“Steve…” You complain and bite down on your lower lip.

He grins. “My queen is ravenous.”

“Yes...please.” You plead and there’s a shift in his expression as you beg for him.

His jaw tightens and he dives down between your legs, hands renewed along your thighs, pushing them up to spread you as he devours you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Steve calls, drawing you away from the pile of books by the chair you’ve settled in for the afternoon.

After the exertions of your morning, Steve was eager to get you off your feet and his pleading for you to read to him became unbearable. You caved.

So while he’d settled in at the desk to write the letter to your father, you’d read to him, reciting from an old book of sonnets about spring and summer winds making your skin ache for the comforting rays of the sun.

You pull the small blanket from across your legs and your tempest blue gown spills out around your legs. The fabric is smooth but warm, like silk but thicker and better for the colder climate here at the cottage.

“What’s the matter?” You check, rising with worry at the tone in his voice.

“Nothing.” He assures you, then moves back into view from around one of the bookcases towards the door.

You’d chosen to sit by the large window to look out at the grounds as the snow continue to salt the already frozen earth.

“Agatha is here.” Steve tells you.

“Grandmother?’ You move towards him and he nods.

Steve has taken to the old woman like he would a parental figure. It’s sweet the way he tends to her and though you’re sure it’s because he’s a good man and she a sweet woman, you wonder if maybe it’s also because he knows how important she is to you.

“Where is she?” The aged voice asks.

“Through here, grandmother.” You call, making to walk to her but Steve places his arm around your waist to stop you.

The old woman moves into view and you can’t help the smile that crosses your face as stunning relief takes away any stress you still held in your body.

“Oh, my dear.” She fusses, and moves for you, hands extended.

You take her hands, bringing them up to your cheeks to warm them with your own heat. She’s so cold. You wonder if she didn’t bundle up enough.

“It’s so frigid outside.” You worry. “Where is your cloak?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, girl. Romanoff said that you were experiencing pains?”

You chance a glance at Steve, terrified of the worry it might bring him to hear this, but you nod when you see him looking intentionally calm. There’s a small shift in his jaw that tells you he’s keeping it in for your sake.

“Yes…” You nod. “I think. Just a bit. A small ache in my lower back and my stomach. But the pain was short lived and I have not felt it since.”

Your assurances don’t do anything to make her feel better. She frowns at you then glares at Steve.

“Your doing, no doubt?” She accuses him.

“Grandmother…” You disapprove.

“It is. Forgive me Grandmother. It was an oversight on my own part. I should have made certain to take care when I went out.” He wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“Yes, well, as long as you know that you were in the wrong.” She nods.

“Your Majesties?” A voice interrupts before you can defend Steve to the old woman.

“Come in, Peter.” Steve says, and all three of you turn to look towards the doorway and the bookcases that shield it from view.

There are two sets of footsteps you hear before two bodies round the shelf of aged and multicolored volumes of text.

One of them is, of course, Peter. Wearing a thick gray tunic with sleeves that button along his wrists. He’s getting bigger and bigger by the day. His muscles hardening even more than they already have.

He’s sprouting up. Filling out. He’ll have the girls at court in a frenzy when the lot of you return to Castle Town.

He’s smiling from ear to ear and for a split second you wonder what might have brought on such a pleasant visage when the second body rounds the shelf and your father saunters in.

“Tony?” Steve say, his eyes narrowing a little before his face breaks into a genuine smile.

He releases your waist to move forward and meet your father in a firm shaking of hands.

“Steve.” Tony nods.

“I was just writing to you.” Steve tells him, finding it all a little fateful probably. “What brings you to the cottage?”

You sweep past grandmother and Peter and sidestep Steve as Tony knowingly opens his arms for you.

Devouring him with your eyes, you appreciate the healthy way he looks. Skin glowing, eyes bright, dark chestnut hair layer with only the thinnest layer of snowflakes. His dark leather tunic is weathered and old but probably a comfort in such terrible weather.

“Father!” You gasp, as you settle within his embrace.

His chuckle brings you comfort, and you smile as he gives you a squeeze.

“I think I owe you a somewhat sincere congratulations?” He checks, leaning back to look at your face.

For a moment you’re utterly confused. “Why?”

“Aren’t you with child?” He asks, leaning back and holding you at arm’s length to look you over.

“Oh!” You laugh, so giddy to see him that your joy is infectious, and everyone laughs with you. “Oh, yes! Thank you. I’m so happy, father.”

Tony’s smile widens, a smug look of triumph on his face. “I knew you could make my daughter happy.”

His words meant for Steve are only slightly tinged with venom.

“Yes.” Steve nods, a strange look of remembrance flitting across both their handsome faces.

“I hope you can continue to make her shine like this.” Tony threatens. “I’m not afraid to punch you again.”

It’s like a lead weight falls into your chest and sticks your heart against the bottom of your stomach.

“What?” You gasp, quiet but sincerely shocked.

Steve laughs nervously, moving to stand closer to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders to give you some comfort.

“Nothing. He was only joking.” Steve assures you. “Weren’t you Tony?”

His insistence is so firm that you’re now certain your father wasn’t joking.

“You punched Steve?” You ask in shock.

Tony clears his throat, averts his eyes, and moves on.

“Why were you writing to me?” He asks, moving towards the letter on the desk, half written.

“I…things are getting worse here in Broklin and I was going to ask you whether it would be too much of an imposition to take Y/N in for a time? Perhaps until after she has had our son?” Steve doesn’t look at you, but he pulls you closer. He squeezes you in against his side.

“You know very well that Y/N will always be welcome in Malibia. Her mother is always in earnest need to see her and Morgana writes to her often. Does she not?” Father asks, looking at you for response.

You nod. “Yes. Very often.”

“Mm.” Father agrees, looking back at the letter and giving it only a cursory reading before he begins to adjust the cuffs of his tunic shirt, pacing before the large window.

“What is it, father?” You ask him, very aware of what he looks like when he’s deep in thought.

“It’s fortuitous that you should need to come to Malibia for safety when I was actually here to ask you both for a rather large favor. And I think you, at least, son-in-law, owe me.” Father stops, hands gathered behind his back as he stops pacing and turns to look at Steve.

“What is it that you need, Tony?” Steve waits, no sign of dread or apprehension of being in debt to your father it seems.

“The people in my Kingdom have begun to grow restless. When they heard about the hidden Princess, they were outraged at my deceit. We had only just begun to settle things with the public when word of your disappearance began to circulate.

“Some of them thought that you’d killed her.” Father tells Steve and your mouth falls open.

“Yes. I heard that rumor too.” Steve agrees.

“What?!” You turn to look at him. “You never said that the rumors were that specific.”

Steve shakes his head at you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Steve, maybe you should start to let me worry about what’s going to worry me? I don’t need to be coddled.” You snap, frowning up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve nods. “I should have told you. But it wasn’t important anymore. I just don’t want to risk anything with our little one on the way.”

He places his hand on your tummy and it’s hard to argue with that reasoning.

“Please don’t exclude me. I’m your wife. Am I not equal to you?” Maybe you aren’t? You don’t know how things work with Broklin. It seemed as if you and Steve were mostly on even footing, but perhaps as Queen your rule is less than his?

“Of course, you are. You’re my Queen. If I’m not around, you will rule in my stead. You are my partner, not my inferior.” He assures you, and it gives you ease of mind to know that he thinks this way.

“I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding things from me.” You sigh.

“You won’t. I’m sorry, petal. Truly.” He caresses the back of your head, hair stroke softly before a clearing of a throat brings your eyes back to your father.

“Is this what you look like when you fight?” He asks, amused for some reason.

“We’re not fighting.” You counter.

“Right…” Father says.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I interrupted you, please father, continue.”

“There isn’t much more to it.” He shrugs. “The people of Malibia are in desperate need to see their eldest princess, now Queen of Broklin, in the flesh. So, will you come? We’ll make it a grand affair. Parade through the Castle city. Feasts. Dances. Celebrations in the streets. It’ll be extravagant and obnoxious.”

Father’s accompanying smile is almost tempting to refuse. He looks like he’s planning a joke or prank, not a royal procession and day of celebration.

“I have no obligations here at the cottage. I may have to take a few meetings with my councilors, but I am open to it. Y/N?” Steve checks, looking down at you.

Although you’d just told him that you wanted to be his equal, you’re a little surprised to have your input counted.

“I’m always eager to see my family again, and it would be nice to visit my old homeland.” You nod. “I’m willing to if you are my love.”

There’s a look of tempered shock on Steve’s face before his cheeks flush and his ears flare a bright burning red.

“What?” You ask him, amused by the expression on his face but confused by it.

“You’ve never called me that before.” He gushes shyly. “Your love?”

You smile, even more amused by his reasoning. “Well, you are my love. Are you not?”

“Always.” Steve coos.

“Oh, jeez…” Tony groans.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #medieval au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve x you #king!steve x you #medieval fantasy au #pseudo princess pt25 #pseudo princess #shreddedparchment

[ripspaghet]

STUPID CUPID | 01

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | ongoing

→ pairing: jimin x reader

→ word count: 3,309

Prologue Summary; You and Jimin have been neighbors since you were four years old and hated each other ever since. It isn't until the two of you head off to college that fate, or rather, a certain baby with wings, decides its time to teach the two of you a lesson.

→ warnings/genre: bodyswap au, enemies to lovers, slight smut, eventual smut, slow burn

</3

It's not always in the dead of the night, or the middle of a downpour, that the people we love decide to leave us.

A splash of yellow paints across the canvas of a blue sky, wings fluttering against a cool breeze. Curious little things - butterflies that is - the way they flutter about and land on anything colored brightly, your windowsill for example.

The people we love often leave during ordinary days, just like this one.

Holding your breath you inch the tip of your index finger towards it. Of course, you know butterflies aren't meant to be touched. Though, what four year old is going to pass up something as pretty as this? As you itch closer it startles, but not from you. An abrupt slam of a door shakes your walls and you turn a cheek to the retreating insect. You stare at your bedroom door. Pushing yourself off the windowsill, you make your way over, feet brushing against the carpet floor, and out the door.

"How could you!" Another slam ricochets through the house and you flinch back, nearly retreating to your room, "How dare you!"

After that moment in life, you were no longer the type of person to let serendipity rule you - so, it's only natural that you ignore it when it falls into your lap - turn and walk away as if it'd never been there, to begin with.

A week before the Switch

It hadn't been long since the sun peeked out from the horizon, but the warm body next to you is what stirs you awake, limbs stretching and contorting. Going against your better judgment you let a heavy lid peek open, only to snap it shut again. 

"I saw that." An arm snakes around your shoulder and pulls you into a toned chest, his sun-kissed skin warm against yours.

"Then you should apologize for waking me up." You try wiggling out of his hold, but he follows you, nose nudging the crook of your neck while his slender fingers press into your hip bone. 

"Stay."

You sit up, "Let go," Pushing the blankets from your sweaty skin you realize you wouldn't be getting any more sleep with him beside you - the literal sun himself. 

His sleepy gaze follows you as you move towards your dresser drawers, "Come back. I'm sorry for waking you."

It takes only one glance to determine his motives, almond-shaped eyes flickering up and down your bare skin. He lays on his side, an elbow propping up his head, fingers combing through dark messy hair. You can't help but let your gaze wander down over the thin cotton sheets draped across his lower half. A smile ticks up the edge of your lips. More often than not, this guy has a way of forcing you to convey urges you push down. It's one of his many endearing qualities that annoy the living hell out of you.

"Come here."

Rolling your eyes you push your drawer shut again and make your way back to the bed. As soon as you slide back into his reach his hands are on you, tugging you to his lap as he rolls over. He looks up at you - eyes lowering to your exposed chest then waist, where his hands begin to wander up. When he reaches the swell of your breasts his fingertips graze along the supple skin, eliciting a sharp intake of air from you, "Say it."

Your eyes flutter open, annoyance coming full force, "That's a little cliché, don't you th-" His thumb and forefingers clamp down on your nipples and a submissive whine falls from your lips. 

"I said, " He hisses, lips pressing against your sternum, "say it."

You let out a sigh, "Hoseok, "

A satisfied smile lights up his face and he releases you, letting his hands fall to your thighs, "Good girl,"

You snort, trying to distract from your flushed cheeks, "What are you getting at?" You nudge the fingers that caress you, "Don't tell me you want more this early in the-"

"I do," He leans in, speaking between slow and teasing kisses that he places along your neck, "but," He sighs, "I do need to ask you something first."

"Ask me what?" You pull away.

"Ah, " He groans, "won't you let me soften you up first?" Hoseok has always been like this, avoidant of serious topics and more than active during the sexual or unimportant ones.

"No."

His eyes shift away from yours, finding your pastel sheets more interesting, "I don't want to ruin this."

"Oh, yeah?" You begin to pull away from him again, only his grip on you tightens.

"Alright," He hums, snaking his arms around your waist, "will you be mine then?"

You freeze against him, staring with wide, unmoving eyes, "Excuse me?" 

"I know, but I care about you. I even-"

"No." You shove his arms off to crawl out of the bed.

"You don't have to say it back. We can just-"

"No, we can't just. We had a deal. You were supposed to tell me if you ever developed feelings. I'm not the slightest bit interested in a relationship, or you for that matter."

He rolls his eyes as you put your clothes on, "I've always had feelings for you. I only said I didn't so I'd have a chance."

You freeze, turning to look back at him as he sits up, "Seriously?"

"I'm in love with you ____." He smiles as if he's just said the simplest thing in the world. Like it's easy for him to just give away everything he is to someone else - someone like you no less. A person who couldn't give a rat's ass for his so-called feelings.

You let out a dry laugh and turn towards the bathroom, "Love, huh?"

"Give me a chance to prove it and I'll have you falling for me in a week."

"I have no interest in love, Hoseok."

Hoseok clicks his tongue, "So cold, you won't even budge an inch?"

"What is it with men and not knowing what the word no means?" You pick up your toothbrush only to feel hands smooth over your hips and enclose you in a pair of strong arms. Where your skin meets him, a flame blooms, though you choose to ignore it to instead squeeze toothpaste onto your brush.

"Say you'll think about it."

You turn around to face him, your chest touching his, "If I say that, will you get out?"

He nods with satisfaction.

You place your toothbrush in your mouth and push him away from you, "I'll think about it."

"Good, " He smiles, "I'll be going overseas to visit my sister this weekend. By the time I get back, you'll have decided. Right?" 

"Sure," You feign interest and begin brushing your teeth.

"'Think about it', as if." You scoff, "I've told him a thousand times over that I'm not interested. After this, we're done. I've already blocked him."

"I mean, I can't blame the guy. You've been going at it for over a year now."

"Jin," You grab the finger his pointing at you accusingly, "he knows next to nothing about me."

He hums, taking his hand back, and passing you a paper bag that's filled with your favorite breakfast pastry, "I just saying, maybe you should give him an actual chance this time."

"Why?" You raise an eyebrow as you take the bag from him, "So he can prove me right?"

"You haven't been in a real relationship since high school. You can't act like you know what it's gonna be like."

"How much different can relationships be now? They're nothing but trouble. I fail to see how that can change just because I'm older." You furrow your brow while picking at your food.

"Relationships aren't trouble, they're work. You're just too lazy and cold hearted to see that."

You groan and take a drink from your coffee, "Whatever, as if you'd understand. You fall in love with everything with a pulse."

He nods at you, unashamed, "Love is the seasoning of life - to live without it is to be dead."

"You're so melodramatic."

"Alright, change of subject. I've been hearing whispers from people." Jin smiles brightly at you.

"Oh? And what's that? More gossip?"

"Gossip?" He scoffs, "I'll have you know that this is top-quality news I'm gathering day to day and I ought to be running an article for this school."

"Tch, " You take a bite out of your breakfast, willing yourself to ignore your elder.

"Anyway," He huffs dramatically, "as I was saying, this Valentine's Day there's going to be a big party at the Jjang house-"

"There's always a big party at Jjang."

He narrows his eyes at you, "If you'd let me finish I was going to say, they're making it so that everyone who shows up has to wear red and a mask, or you're not allowed in."

You swallow your food and cough, nearly choking, "Huh?"

"Yup, they finally got sick of all the hate the art department dishes out on them."

"Can you blame us?" The booth cushion dips beside you and you turn to see another one of your friends now leaning over you to steal a piece of your breakfast, "My grandmother could throw a better party than those guys and she's dead."

Jin chokes on his drink, "Jungkook! Your poor grandmother!"

You snort, "Hey, Kookie."

Jungkook gives you a goofy smile as he chews before turning back to Jin, "My grandma is alive and well, Hyung. It's only a metaphor."

"A metaphor?" Jin sputters, "Do you even know what a metaphor is?"

Jungkook shrugs and smiles when you pass him a bag of donut-holes, "Not exactly."

"I think what he said can be implied as a metaphor."

Jin's eyes cut over to you, "Yeah, well, you're as much of an idiot as he is, if not more so." A sack of donuts slaps against your chest and you catch it before it falls into your lap, "You two need to go before you're late to that practice again."

"Alright, but before that how'd it go with that girl Yuna?"

Jin's eyes snap back in your direction as he sucks in a sharp breath of air, only to choke on the egg sandwich he'd been chewing. Coughing profusely, he lets out a croak, "What the hell?"

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, watching as your friend wipes the egg off his face, which is more than you can say for Jungkook. He's cackling so hard that people in the cafe are starting to turn their heads.

"Honestly, I bought you both breakfast and now you're harassing me in public," Jin grumbles under his breath.

After a bit more "harassment" you and Jungkook leave Jin to head to your practice. As strange as it is for an art major you've had an obsession with sports since you could remember. So, you joined one of the few sports teams available at your university your freshman year. You also convinced Jungkook to join alongside you. Convincing him wasn't that difficult either, seeing as both of you are extremely competitive. All it took was a bit of taunting.

"Early as always you two." A hand pats your shoulder and you laugh nervously.

"Sorry, Irene."

"Whatever," She drops her sarcastic tone, replacing it with a cheerful laugh, "just hurry up and get changed. I swear you do on purpose."

You turn to look at her,"Do what?"

She glances at Jungkook, who's already left you behind to get changed, "Oh, nothing." She pats your shoulder again with what you might call a forced smile, "I wouldn't want things to be awkward."

You raise a brow as Irene leaves you be to start warm-ups, "Okay?"

Irene is the team captain and a good friend of yours. It's hard not to be her friend when she's so easy to get along with, although you've shared a few weird moments with her that suggests something to do with Jungkook. You've suspected for a while now that she may have a crush on your best friend, but being unsure you refuse to help her or get involved in any way. Jungkook hates when you meddle with his love life, which you learned from experience when you tried to set him up with a girl in your anatomy class. Long story short, Kookie was forced to turn that girl down and was upset with you for a week about it. Ever since you've refused to help any of the girls that have approached you to get to him.

Once in the dressing room, you quickly change clothes and lace up your shoes after tying your hair up.

Love just isn't something you should involve yourself with. Whether it's for yourself or your friends. Who knows, maybe bad luck with love runs in the family.

You leave the dressing room and approach where Jungkook waits for you on the court, "Warm ups?"

"Yeah," He nods, "Irene wants us to catch up with the others. So, she's probably going to give us more to do once everyone is finished. Let's get this done as fast as possible."

"Alright, full speed ahead." You playfully bounce on your toes a few times before making your way to the other side of the net across from Jungkook as he tosses the volleyball from hand to hand, "Show me what you got, virgin."

He laughs, "I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem proving it, right?"

"Just ask your sister."

"I don't have a-"

"Wait nine months."

"Huh?"

With that Jungkook tosses the ball up and jumps for it, landing a harsh slap on it that sends it hurtling through the air toward you - only, you're caught off guard when someone suddenly shouts at you and your head whips around. The ball slams into your chest, knocking the wind out of you with a dramatic 'oof'. And stood there, at the entrance of the gym, is a group of dance majors that you can't stop yourself from scowling at. Especially, when you notice him silently avoiding your eyes at the center of the group.

The one on his left laughs, having seen you land firmly on your ass, "Did you both see that?"

"Glad we came in late today. We could've missed it, right, Jimin?" The other nudges him.

He hums in response but doesn't look in your direction, just continues toward the dance studio.

Sixteen Years Before the Switch

"She's pretty isn't she, Jimin?"

The boy shifts his gaze before hiding behind his mother's leg.

"Why don't you go play? I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Can I?"

She nods with an encouraging smile, "She won't bite."

Jimin was only five at the time, you four and typically, when two children are neighbors they become friends, sometimes best friends for that matter, but that just wasn't the case with you and Jimin.

"Hi, I'm Jimin. Me, my mommy, and daddy live next door."

You didn't respond, just continued playing with your blue toy truck, quietly ignoring the boy next to you.

"I like the color of your truck."

You glanced over your shoulder at him, only to quickly look away again when you met his eyes. His presence was making you nervous, you only wanted him to go away. But, he didn't take your rushed gaze as a sign to give up and go away, if anything it only made him think to try harder and that's when he reached for your hand, "Let be friends-"

"Leave me alone!"

Sure, you didn't necessarily bite him, as his mother had suggested, but you sure as hell pushed him away and ran. Admittedly, it wasn't Jimin's fault. Moving to Busan had been the beginning of the end for you. Your Mom hoped that maybe Jimin and you would hit it off. After so much change in your lives, she wanted at least you to be happy, even if she wasn't. Though, the similar interest in sports and sweets made no difference. The bickering never ended between Jimin and you. Coaches were forced to put one of you on the bench, while the other played, or someone was getting hurt. If your families ever had dinner together, you fought over dessert.

"You'll only get hurt."

"Me being a girl makes no difference in my abilities to plow you into the ground, Jimin!" You throw the soccer ball at his face, landing a satisfying thwack.

You think Jimin grew to hate you for it. Not that it mattered at the time, since you disliked him first.

"But that's the last piece, Momma."

"Jimin is our guest ____. Don't be rude."

"But-"

"No buts."

You glared at Jimin across the table, wishing your legs were long enough to kick him from where you sat.

The older you got, the worse it became.

"What did you say?"

Your teammate scowls back at you, "I said, you're a girl and outta act like one."

"And who are you to say what a girl outta act like?" You shove him into the lockers just behind him and he yelps in surprise.

"Hey," 

You pause, head-turning to the left where the entrance to the hallway is.

"Don't you think you're being a bit reckless?"

Stepping back from your teammate, you sigh, "Great, just what I need."

Jimin has always been the popular type, loved by everyone for acting like someone he isn't. That's probably what annoyed you the most about him when you got older, he was never himself. He always lied about what he thought or how he felt to please others while acting completely different when no one else was around.

"Leave him alone and go to class, ____."

"Or what?" You laugh dryly, "You're talking as if I'm bullying this guy when he's the one who-"

"Didn't you hear me? Are you deaf?"

Your glare sharpens, "Oh, I heard you, Park."

Long story short, that was the first time you'd ever been suspended. Your mother was pissed, to say the least, and you quit the soccer team that year.

A week before the Switch

Jimin eyes you from the entrance of the gym, expressionless as his friends cut up on either side of him. You can't help the scowl that contorts your face, nor the tension that builds up in your shoulders. It's been a few months since you've seen him on campus and you'd almost forgotten about him, until now.

"You alright?"

You take Jungkook's hand and stand back up, "Fine." You dust off your bottom with a sigh. Another thing, none of your friends know about Jimin. Seeing as he is someone you wish you never knew, it makes sense that you avoid even the subject of him like the pledge.

"Let's start over, you hit this time." Jungkook passes you the ball then turns to head back under the net.

With a solid nod, you force yourself to relax, putting all your tension into your fingertips that now grip the ball.

Jimin just so happens to also have a love for the arts, which has lead to the two of you attending the same university - him being a dance major and you, art. Luckily, you rarely see each other since dance majors normally reside on the opposite side of campus. On the off chance, you do see him it's always because of volleyball practice or one of his friends, who just so happens to be an art major.

"____, earth to ____?"

"Sorry," You toss the ball up and slam your hand against it, sending it through the air and over the net.

"Nice," Jungkook bumps the ball back to you. You run for it, the feeling of eyes following you.

You have a sinking feeling that something super annoying is in the works.

.

.

.

To be tagged send an ask🏹💌

#bts au #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin #jimin au #jimin x reader #stupid cupid | 01 #stupid cupid series #bts crack #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #childhood enemies #jimin fanfic #body swap au #eventual smut #bts slow burn

[eddieeatsass]

On the Edge of an Avalanche

Summary: Graduation was upon them and Eddie Kaspbrak was eager to leave Derry behind. His one last hurrah would be the senior ski trip, earning him an escape from his mother and the looming stress of college admissions. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, until he got slated to look after resident pain-in-everyone’s-ass, Richie Tozier. Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: E Chapter: 3/5 Read Chapter 2 Here  /  Read on AO3

The next morning felt like a slow-motion scene unravelling before him. Eddie had spent most of the night replaying the events that him and Richie had engaged in, dissecting it for all he could and trying to figure out what it all meant. He hadn’t fallen asleep until the birds were waking up, singing a morning song that rang more like a lullaby to Eddie’s tired ears.

  The first time he woke he felt a warmth pressing up against his back, arms curling around his torso, and smelled sickly-sweet cinnamon that was unfamiliar but undeniably soothing. He fell back asleep not long after.

  The second time Eddie woke he felt rustling beside him, a gentle press to his cheek, and just barely heard something whispered. He never opened his eyes, sleep already pulling him back in.

  The final time he woke that morning was very different from the others; a booming voice announcing an arrival had shaken him out of slumber and almost out of bed.

    “JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE SHIT-” Eddie clutched his blankets in a death grip, holding them up higher as if they could shield him from the onslaught.

  “Wakey wakey Eds and bakey!”

  Eddie groaned internally, already upset at his body for having such a visceral reaction to the sound of Richie’s voice even while it was so tired, and Richie was so loud. Did he have any self respect?

  Eddie peered out from behind his sheets, eyes meeting a ruffled bed head and an early morning smile.

  Okay, maybe Eddie didn’t need self respect when Richie looked that good.

  “I brought breakfast.” Richie stated, holding the plates up as a peace offering.

  Eddie didn’t even have to think before he scooted over, making room for Richie and patting the open spot.

  Richie hobbled over, handing one of the over-stacked plates to Eddie and plopping himself down with a small “oof”.

  Choosing to avoid the elephant in the room for a while longer, Eddie speared what he assumed to be an egg with his fork. He couldn’t be certain, as Richie had coated everything on both plates with a healthy serving of hollandaise sauce.

  “How’s the ankle?” Eddie asked tentatively.

  “’s fine.” Richie said through a mouthful of food. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk, but rather than being off-putting, it was annoyingly charming.

  “You really shouldn’t be walking on it.” Eddie mentioned.

  “I’ve had worse.” Richie shrugged, as if that was supposed to be comforting to Eddie.

  “Where did you get the food?” Eddie asked, changing the subject once again to avoid the hovering topic. It was well past breakfast time, and Eddie knew the buffets were never open past 9am.

  “I snuck into the kitchen.” Richie shrugged, as if that were a totally normal thing to do.

  “What- Richie! You could have gotten in trouble!”

  “But I didn’t.” Richie smirked triumphantly.

  “Anyone could have caught you! And you could have been sent home, or worse, the staff could have called the police! I mean it is technically stealing, and trespassing, and could probably be charged as breaking and entering, and-”

  Eddie was cut off by a fork full of food being shoveled into his open mouth. A fork that wasn’t his fork. A fork that had been in someone else’s mouth, that should have grossed him out, that should have sounded off the alarm in his head. But instead, the fork sat in his mouth as nothing more than a slight inconvenience; not a trigger for his neuroses or a reason to grab his mouthwash, just a fork. What kind of spell did this boy have over him!?

  “Now chew.” Richie ordered, pulling his fork out and leaving the food to sit inside Eddie’s mouth. He did as he was told, chewing a few times and swallowing the food that, in any other case, would have disgusted him.

  “There. Now, do you hear any sirens outside?”

  “No, but-”

  “Is your body getting ready to violently regurgitate everything?”

  “No-”

  “Then just enjoy the food, spaghetti man.”

  Richie said it like it was so easy… And maybe it was. Eddie could be a bit rebellious, couldn’t he? Richie had gone out of his way to get them breakfast, no matter how irresponsible it had been, and Eddie had done nothing but complain. He hadn’t even thanked Richie. Besides, how was it any different from when Eddie snuck into the school’s kitchen to get Stan his special lunch?

  The difference, Eddie realized with his heart skipping a beat, was that Eddie didn’t care much about his own wellbeing. The wellbeing of Richie, however, was a completely new ballgame, and Eddie suddenly found himself at bat.

  “Sorry, it’s hard for me to keep my anxiety in check sometimes.” Eddie admitted, poking around his plate and eating a few more bites. Admittedly, the food was really good.

  “Hey, no need to apologize, I get it.” Richie assured, shooting Eddie a smile that melted him to the core. “Just know that I’d never put you in any real danger.” Richie added with an honesty that watered something warm and vibrant in Eddie’s chest.

  And somehow, Eddie knew that was true. Richie might be reckless at times, but he wasn’t stupid, and he protected those he cared about.

  Eddie wondered if he was in that category now.

    Before Eddie could dwell on it any longer, there was a knock at their door followed by Mr. Daniels’ voice giving them a half hour before they head out. It seemed that while Eddie had been busy sleeping in, the bus had been repaired and returned to their motel.

    As they filed into the vehicle, Eddie noticed that the teachers had switched buses for the day. Mr. Daniels made no mention of the seating arrangements (to which there had been more changes than just Richie and Stanley). This, of course, resulted in absolute mayhem as everyone that had been assigned to different seats now reverted to their original spots. As a result, the bus soon returned back to its chaos.

  Eddie glanced over at Richie, his fingers twitching as he held himself back from reaching out and clutching Richie’s arm to keep him close. Of course, Eddie wouldn’t mind sitting with Stan again, but he’d grown attached to Richie, and even though he felt like they were treading unfamiliar waters now thanks to last night’s unspoken tryst, he still wanted to be close to him.

    The bus hadn’t started moving yet, so kids were still flying from row to row, taking advantage of their newfound freedom thanks to Mr. Daniels more lax approach at chaperoning. Eddie bit at his fingernail as he watched Richie out of the corner of his eye, too afraid to speak but just as afraid to take his gaze off him.

  Richie, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware as he happily tapped away at something on his phone. His shoulders were hunched forward in poor posture and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, now wrinkled from sleeping in them, but he was still the picture of beauty as far as Eddie was concerned.

  Eddie got caught staring as Richie’s head turned without warning, but it was only met with a smile and an endeared laugh.

  “Is it cool if I switch with Stanley for a bit? Bill’s been harping on me for not texting him back all night, that clingy son of a bitch.” Richie held up his phone as evidence, even though the screen was black and gave Eddie no hint as to the topic of their conversation.

  He hoped in equal parts that it was and wasn’t about him.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Eddie tried to feign indifference but overshot and ended up sounding rude. He winced at his own tone of voice and swallowed back the urge to apologize immediately.

  “Uhh, okay.” Richie seemed confused, but his face stayed open and inviting despite the quirk in his brow. Liquid lapis eyes training on Eddie for a beat longer than necessary before he was hopping up and heading down the isle.

    As soon as Richie was gone, Eddie let his head fall against the frostbitten window with a thunk, his eyes closing instinctively as he retreated inside his brain.

  He was exhausted, both physically from lack of sleep, and emotionally from all these new unfamiliar emotions. It’s not that Eddie had never had crushes before; there was Steven from summer camp, Harry who worked at the bookstore, and Isaac who’d been their mechanic for six years, and had taken Eddie under his wing after his father died.

  However, of all the infatuations Eddie had had, Richie was the first one that actually made sense. Steven had been too far away, and straight. Harry had been too busy, and straight. Isaac had been too old, and straight. But Richie… well, he lived in the same city, wasn’t bogged down by work, and was the same age as Eddie… and was… possibly not straight?

  Eddie felt the seat dip beside him, but refused to open his eyes. Call it a protest of the outside world for being too confusing, he’d open his eyes again when someone had the answers for him.

  “Hey.”

  Okay, well maybe Stan would have the answers.

  Eddie grumbled his greeting, pulling his body away from the window only to let it slump the other way, right into Stanley’s shoulder. He wavered a bit at the sudden impact but righted himself quickly, supporting Eddie’s weight easily.

  “So, are you the reason Richie’s walking with a limp today?”

  “WHAT?” Eddie’s head shot up, his brain working in overdrive to try and wipe his slate clean, erase any sign of culpability. Did Stan know what they’d done? Did everyone know what they’d done? Oh my god, Richie told someone and now everyone was going to know that they-

  “I mean, I just assumed Richie crossed the line at some point and you had to deliver some swift Kaspbrak karate moves to shut him up.” Stan held his hand up in fists and, with delayed relief, Eddie realized Stan was making a joke.

  Eddie let his head fall back into the cushiness of Stan’s shoulder, his body somehow even more drained than it had been thirty seconds ago. Eddie wasn’t fully certain how he planned on getting through today.

  “He was actually really respectful.” Eddie responded. He didn’t realize it was so out of character until Stan fell quiet, followed by a prodding question.

  “Are you okay?”

  There it was, the question Eddie couldn’t even answer for himself. Was he okay? He didn’t feel okay, but nothing had actually gone wrong, right? In fact, if anything, things had gone in Eddie’s favor. So why did he feel this heavy weight in his chest, baring down on his lungs and slowly squeezing the air out of him?

    When Eddie had returned from the bathroom the previous night, steeled to have the inevitable conversation that came after dry humping a guy you’ve been familiar with for no more than a day, he’d found Richie fast asleep.

  Not knowing what else to do, Eddie has simply crawled into bed beside him.

  But those hours laying awake had left him with too many thoughts, the most prodding being his fear that he’d been used as a prop for Richie’s experimentation. Did he even like guys? He’d never mentioned it, never seemed to show any interest past a couple of jokes. But that was all they were, right? Maybe the jokes had been the first signs Eddie should have noticed, subtle hints Richie was dropping to insinuate that Eddie would be the perfect contender for a round of ‘am I gay or just horny?’. Eddie had practically opened himself up to it after coming out to him.

  His pessimism may have been clouded by past experiences, but after what Eddie had been through, it was no wonder he jumped to conclusions. The only experiences Eddie had to speak for were secret rendezvous with nervous classmates that inevitably ended with Eddie being ignored the next day. It was a pattern, and Eddie was the invariable. He was the small, quiet twink that every questioning athlete and nerd alike seemed to peg as an easy target for their sexual experimentation.

  It wasn’t all bad; it was how Eddie got his first kiss, his first hand job, and so on and so forth. It had, however, left him feeling skeptical of anyone who showed even the barest of interest in him, writing it off as nothing more than curiosity.

  The thought of that being the case with Richie left Eddie’s stomach souring. He’d never gotten attached like this before. Quite honestly, he felt like he was standing on the edge of an avalanche, just waiting for Richie to speak and cause it all to collapse above them.

    “What do you think about people experimenting with… New things.” Eddie braved forward.

  “Uh, I mean that’s a pretty vague question.” Stan pointed out.

  “Okay… say you’ve only ever eaten hamburgers your whole life, right? Through and through you’re a hamburger guy. Until one day you see a hotdog and think, well, maybe I’ll try that today. What if you try it and you don’t like it? Are you just going to throw it away? How is that fair, to just use the hotdog and then discard it like it’s nothing?”

  Eddie hadn’t realized that his voice had become fast-paced and high-pitched until he noticed the look on Stan’s face. Clear confusion was evident in the way he gazed at Eddie with his brows knit in the middle and his mouth slightly agape. Eddie immediately wanted to disappear.

  “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

  “No! No, sorry, I just…” Stan took a breath and sat up straighter, angling his body towards Eddie. “Okay well, experimenting with new… foods doesn’t always end up in distaste, right? Lots of people end up discovering some of their favorite… foods through exploration.”

  Hearing the metaphor come out of Stan’s mouth made Eddie realize how nonsensical it was. God, he was about two seconds sway from digging himself a hole and hibernating until springtime.

  “But if you’re worried about someone… Not enjoying the hot dog, just talk to them about it. Maybe they didn’t realize how their actions might hurt the… hot dog…”

  Eddie and Stan stared at one another for a long pause until Stan cracked a smile, and it radiated so much warmth and comfort that Eddie couldn’t help but smile back. Soon they were falling into giggles, easing themselves into full-blown laughter at the absurdity of the conversation.

  Stan had to have figured it out by now, but Eddie was thankful that he didn’t push him past what he was ready to talk about. Stan was a quality friend, and Eddie had never appreciated his presence in his life more than he did right now.

  “Thanks Stan.” Eddie said honestly, bumping shoulders with him as the last of his chitters died out.

  “Anytime.”

  “You might want to consider the possibility that this isn’t their first time eating a hot dog though.”

  “What?” Eddie blurted.

  “I just mean, you’re assuming they’ve never had a hot dog before, right? Maybe they tend to lean more towards hamburgers but that doesn’t mean they’ve never been intrigued by hot dogs before. Maybe they just needed to find the right hot dog…”

  Eddie’s face heated up as Stan continued to talk.

  “All I’m saying is if it was truly just some reckless experimentation, they’d probably wait until college like the rest of us.”

  Eddie’s head hurt, the metaphor finally losing its last small thread of sense.

  “Right… wait until college to… eat a hot dog…” Eddie repeated slowly.

  Stan opened his mouth to reply, but the voice that rang out wasn’t his.

  “Who’s got hot dogs?”

  Eddie just about jumped out of his skin, his eyes darting up to connect with Richie’s. Eddie felt like he had just been caught talking about him, which he sort of had, but Richie was none the wiser and, hopefully, neither was Stan. The only one floundering was Eddie, but boy was he in the deep end.

  “NOTHING. NO ONE.” Eddie exclaimed much too loudly for the situation.

  Both Stan and Richie stared back at Eddie, equally puzzled expressions on both their faces. He felt like there was a single ping pong ball bouncing around in his head at light speed, desperately trying to find an appropriate response to save himself. Thankfully, Stan was always one step ahead of him.

  “We were just talking about how Eddie’s mom makes the best hot dogs.”

  Eddie’s nose instinctively scrunched up at the mention of his mom during a metaphor about his sex life, but he quickly schooled his features and nodded along.

  “Mmm, I’m gonna have to fight you on that until I’ve tasted them for myself. Otherwise, the best hotdogs in Derry are undoubtedly the ones from Kelso’s Diner.”

  Eddie short circuited at the insinuation that Richie would indeed one day be trying Eddie’s mom’s cooking. Meaning he foresaw them continuing to be friends past this trip. Meaning, and this made Eddie’s head spin, Richie didn’t seem to have the intention of dropping Eddie the minute he got what he wanted.

  What exactly did he want?

    “So, Stan the man, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kick you back into the strong arms of Bill Denbrough and reclaim my rightful seat here.” Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way Stan’s face flushed just a shade darker. Was there something there that Eddie didn’t know about?

  He didn’t have time to ponder Stan’s reaction to the mention of Bill Denbrough or his strong arms. Stan shot a quick ‘talk to you later’ Eddie’s way and was retreating to his seat as Richie settled into his.

  Eddie’s head was swirling as his senses reacted to Richie’s proximity. He forced himself to speak through the rush of endorphins, even though all his body wanted to do was curl into Richie’s side.

  “What did Bill want to talk to you about?”

  “Relationship drama.” Richie answered, shrugging it off. “There’s always something with that boy.” The way Richie spoke wasn’t annoyed or exhausted, but rather amused by his friend and his ongoing antics.

  “I’m glad you were able to help him.” Eddie responded genuinely.

  “Yeah, me too.” Richie’s smile felt intimate, as if it were just for Eddie, even though they were talking about someone else entirely.

  Eddie began to smile back but was overcome by a yawn, his face distorting as his jaw dropped on its own, too motivated by exhaustion to wait for the queue from his brain.

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Richie pondered.

  “Uhm, yeah, I guess not.” Eddie answered sheepishly, hoping Richie didn’t connect his insomnia to their late-night encounter.

  “Bummer, I slept better than I have in months. You’re a good cuddler.” Richie’s comment was dropped so casually that Eddie almost didn’t catch it, but his ears were awake enough to tinge a bright rose in response.

  “Well, anyways, Mr. Daniels said we have about an hour until we get to the resort so…” Richie tapped his shoulder invitingly, and even though Eddie had been in the exact same position mere minutes ago with Stanley, it felt vastly different when the shoulder was attached to Richie.

  “T-thanks.” Eddie stuttered, dipping his head low into the crook of Richie’s shoulder fast enough that he hopefully didn’t notice how much redder Eddie got.

  He was sure his heart was beating too fast for him to possibly fall asleep, but the closeness to Richie rejuvenated him in another way. He let his eyes slip closed as he slowly relaxed into the comforting presence beside him.

    “-ddie, hey, Eds.”

  “Mmmm ‘s not my name.”

  “Fine. Edward Kaspbrak, king of slumber and bearer of drool, it’s time to wake up.”

  Eddie’s surroundings slowly came into consciousness as he was pulled back into awareness. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a very different orientation than when he’d last been cognizant. The second thing he noticed, and much more dreadful, was that his cheek was indeed covered in drool.

  He brought a hand to his face and wiped away the moisture as quickly as he could, riding himself of any evidence Richie might be able to use against him.

  Who, speaking of, was currently underneath him in a way he very much hadn’t been before.

  At some point, Eddie had ended up with his head in Richie’s lap. Richie’s hand was in Eddie’s hair at the nape of his neck, gently playing with the strands as if it was an absent habit he did all the time. The act was so domestic it made Eddie want to burst into tears; whether they were sad or happy tears, he wasn’t sure.

  He sat up slowly, careful not to have the blood rush to his head too quickly. The last thing he needed was to pass out in front of Richie. Who knows what kind of intimate position he’d wake up in the next time.

  “We’re here, everybody’s already outside.” Richie offered as explanation for Eddie’s disrupted sleep.

  “What? Why did you wait to wake me?” Eddie asked with only a tinge of annoyance. Luckily, Richie seemed to be charmed by it.

  “You’re cute when you sleep, let a man indulge.”

  Before Eddie could form a response, Richie was already standing up. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way towards the front of the bus, leaving Eddie to fumble to catch up.

    When Eddie stepped off the bus, the first thing he noticed was how white everything was. It was to be expected, of course; it’s kind of hard to ski without snow. But it was such a stark difference from where they’d been just an hour ago. The difference a small distance could make was staggering; this didn’t even feel like it belonged in the same universe.

  The view was gorgeous with its tall log cabins, ski lifts moving like carousels, and snow-covered evergreens on every surface. Eddie was half tempted to throw himself down in the snow and make a snow angel.

  But the cold nipping at his nose was a reminder that before he could indulge in any snow activities, he had to actually get equipped for the snow.

  To their left, Mr. Daniels and Eric were unloading everyone’s bags from the storage compartment beneath the bus. Eddie could already spot his small suitcase, a bright pink flamingo covered hand-me-down from his mom, sitting in the snow.

  While they waited, Richie’s friends sauntered over, Stan happily alongside them.

  “I can’t wait to hit the slopes.” Bill greeted them as he bobbed up and down eagerly, his enthusiasm contagious.

  “I’m just excited for the hot chocolate.” Beverly countered, as she wrapped her sweater a little tighter around herself. All their winter coats were stuffed in their suitcases, the cold air taking advantage of their thin jackets and exposed skin.

  “Here Beverly.” Ben had shrugged off his sweater and was offering it to Beverly with a shy little quirk of his lips, but Beverly regarded it for only a moment before shaking her head. She took the sweater and threw it back over Ben’s shoulders before crowding her way into his space and snuggling right up against his chest.

  “Body heat works better.” She teased lowly.

  Richie let out a long, slow whistle, summing up what everyone was thinking; Beverly was sly as hell and Ben was gleefully in way over his head.

  The exchange made Eddie crave Richie’s warmth, yearn to be back in that motel bed, blissfully unaware of how intimate they were being in their sleep.

  There was no more being blissfully unaware, not with how Eddie’s heart beat to a different rhythm every time Richie’s arm would brush up against his.

    “Alright, everyone grab your bags and follow me.” Mr. Daniels announced, finally closing the now empty compartment of the bus.

  The seven of them sauntered over to the pile of suitcases and duffel bags, searching out their own among the many.

  Even though Eddie had already spotted his suitcase, he pretended to search for it for a while longer until Richie found his. Only then did he grab the bright pink monstrosity by the handle and begin lugging it up the hill, Richie wordlessly in tow behind him.

  They managed to reach the top of the hill without Richie stumbling too much, but as soon as Mrs. Harrow came into view there was no hiding Richie’s injury anymore.

  With hawk eyes homing in, Mrs. Harrow walked over to Richie with a displeased expression.

  “What happened here, Richard?”

  She sounded almost exasperated, and it made Eddie want to step in and defend him.

  “Oh, you know, just my bum leg. It acts up every now and then, ever since that terrible kite flying accident…” Richie looked off into the distance as if remembering a tragedy of great proportions.

  Mrs. Harrow rolled her eyes. Eddie’s anger flared once again.

  “Well, we can’t send you home now, so you’ll just have to spend the trip indoors. Absolutely no reckless activity, you got that Tozier?”

  “Aye aye, captain!”

  Mrs. Harrow didn’t acknowledge his response, simply turned her back towards them and began her search for the next student in need of scolding.

  As soon as she was out of ear shot, Eddie began fuming.

  “What the hell, why does Mrs. Harrow have it out for you? Can’t she see you’re hurt? Is she even capable of sympathy?”

  When Eddie looked over to Richie, he saw something soft and sweet in his expression, a contrast to Eddie’s bubbling temper. “You care about me.” Richie mused with a smirk.

  “W-what- no I don’t- I mean I do but- not like- shut up.” Eddie grabbed his suitcase once again and began walking away.

  “You can deny it all you want, Kaspbrak. I see right through you!”

  Eddie flipped Richie off over his shoulder as he disappeared through giant mahogany double doors.

    Their rooms were small, a single bed meant to be shared between the two classmates who signed up to room together. Normally on school trips, the school tried to cram as many students into one room as possible, but they must have known from prior visits to the lodge that these rooms just couldn’t hold more than two at a time.

  However, despite the small quarters, they were undeniably beautiful. Every surface seemed to be made from the same rich darkened wood, and every accent was bronzed. One wall was taken up by giant windows that overlooked the mountain below them, able to be hidden behind heavy curtains that took Eddie’s full force to pull closed.

  Eddie and Stan didn’t spend much time in their room, stopping only briefly to drop off their luggage and get bundled up in preparation for the slopes. Eddie was practically buzzing at the opportunity to teach himself something completely foreign; it’d been a long time since a new sport had been in his reach, and he was planning on taking full advantage of the absence of Sonia.

  “Are you almost ready?” Eddie bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Stan by the door, one hand already on the knob in anticipation.

  “Yes, for god sake Eddie, I just need to find my gloves.”

  Eddie’s eyes glazed over as he thought about the adrenaline rush he’d longed for. He still played tons of sports but there was something about learning a new one that left Eddie especially excited. He didn’t care much for the competitiveness of sports, and while he didn’t mind the sportsmanship of it all, it wasn’t why Eddie was motivated to get involved. Quite simply put, Eddie just wanted to play. He wanted to live out the experiences he missed out on, that pure rush that came from scraping your knees while playing soccer or face planting while diving for the volleyball. It may seem uninteresting to those who had already lived it out in childhood, but to Eddie it was nothing short of euphoric.

  “Here they are!” Stan exclaimed, holding his pair of gloves above his head as he tucked everything else back inside his suitcase.

  “Good, now come on, let’s goooooo.”

  Eddie was already out the door before Stan could answer, but he knew he was following by the distinct sound of swishing snow pants.

    They made their way down to the lobby, eagerly chatting about how fun their afternoon was going to be, when they ran straight into a brick wall of a body.

  “Fucking move, queers.” Henry ground out, placing a flat hand on Eddie’s face and pushing him aside with ease.

  “Henry, don’t you have anything better to do than project your internalized homophobia onto others.” Stan replied flatly.

  “What the fuck did you say to me?” Henry hissed, flipping his attention to Stan with a new temper flaring.

  “Stan…” Eddie warned, reaching for Stan’s hand to pull him away from the rising confrontation.

  Stan seemed to pale as he realized his comment wasn’t going to be shrugged off. He tried to keep himself composed but Eddie knew his tells well enough to notice the change.

  Henry’s gaze flicked down to where Eddie was trying to join hands with Stan, and a wicked grin soured his face.

  “Oh, I see…” Henry began, stalking closer to the pair and causing them to stumble back. They didn’t fear Henry like they used to, but he still held some power in those eyes that had never fully ceased to make them tremble.

  “You two fucking fairies together now? I should have seen it coming, pansies aren’t potted too far from one another. So, tell me, who made the first move, huh?”

  Eddie’s throat was thick with fear, his eyes unable to move from where Henry’s gaze pinned them.

  “Wait don’t tell me… It was you, wasn’t it, Uris? Eddie here is too limp wristed to do anything, just a little girl in sheep’s clothing. But then again, I guess if the rumors are true, you’re not completely useless. At least you give good head.”

  Eddie’s face burned as he held back the tears that threatened to give him away. He was fine, Henry’s words were hollow. Eddie had already heard every gay slur Henry had in his vocabulary.

  “Too bad you’re not pretty enough to turn any of them into faggo-”

  Eddie’s fist moved before his brain did, lining up perfectly with Henry’s jaw and landing the punch exactly where it would hurt most. Stan flinched beside him as the sickening crack rang out in the empty hallway, followed by a wail that made snow drop from the treetops outside. Eddie didn’t move, refused to let himself back down even as the tears broke free and streamed down his face.

  “KASPBRAK.”

  Eddie jumped, whipping around in horror as Mrs. Harrow’s voice broke through his resolve.

  “WHAT THE HELL.”

  Eddie stared in shock. He’d never done anything worthy of breaking a teacher’s ‘no cursing’ rule before, though he’d seen many teachers reach their point of profanity with other students before. It sort of felt similar to when you see a teacher outside of school and are reminded that they don’t just exist inside the bubble you’ve put them in. Well, the bubble had popped, and Mrs. Harrow was now stalking towards him with a new air that absolutely paralyzed him. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. He just continued staring back at her, watching as she passed him and rushed over to Henry, taking his face in her hand and angling his head to assess the damage. Luckily, there was no visible injury past some reddening (though the same wouldn’t be true once the bruising began to set in).

  “Eddie.” Mrs. Harrow sighed. She released Henry’s face and brought the hand up to her own, pinching the skin between her eyes as if she was fighting back a cresting headache.

  She probably was.

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Harrow, I didn’t-”

  Eddie was interrupted with a single finger, held up intimidatingly as Mrs. Harrow continued to try and gather her patience.

  “No skiing.”

  “What!?”

  “What about that needs clarification, Edward?”

  “But I didn’t do anything!”

  “I watched you punch Mr. Bowers across the face.”

  “Well, yeah, but-”

  “No. Skiing.”

  Eddie fidgeted in place as he desperately grasped at straws in his head that could possibly get him out of this situation. Maybe if he could get Mrs. Harrow alone and just explain to her what Henry was saying-

  With an exasperated sigh, Mrs. Harrow placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder and began leading him back down the hallway from which she’d appeared.

  “Come on Henry, we’ll get you some ice.”

  Eddie couldn’t move, he’d become cemented to the floor at some point during his meltdown.

    “Eddie?” Stan’s soft voice penetrated the space between them, but it sounded distant. Anger bubbled up inside Eddie, anger that he wasn’t at all certain how to process.

  “Hey, Eddie, I’m so sorry. You know none of what Bowers said was true, right?”

  Like a kettle blowing its whistle, Eddie’s top popped.

  “OF COURSE IT’S TRUE.”

  Eddie whipped around to face Stan, his cheeks red hot as he filled with steam.

  “I’M GAY, STANLEY. DON’T YOU KNOW? I’M A FUCKING FRUIT CAKE. AND NOT EVEN A GOOD FRUIT CAKE, I’M ONE OF THOSE CHRISTMAS FRUIT CAKES THAT EVERYONE JUST PUTS IN THEIR FREEZER AND FORGETS ABOUT UNTIL SUMMER. THEN THEY THROW ME OUT, BECAUSE NO ONE EVEN LIKES FRUIT CAKE STANLEY.”

  “Hotdogs like fruitcakes.”

  Eddie sputtered; his mind unable to connect the pieces while he was burning red hot.

  “WHAT?”

  He could probably stop yelling, but if Eddie let himself think too long about how he just came out to his best friend, he might melt the rest of the way into the ground and become nothing more than carpeting.

  “Hotdogs. I hear they go well with fruitcakes.” Stan repeated calmly.

  Eddie felt like he was going to combust.

  “What are you-”

  “Richie is your hotdog, right?”

  At the mention of Richie, Eddie’s anger began to simmer down, exhaustion pulling at his muscles. All he could do was nod.

  “Look, Eddie, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, I don’t care that you’re gay. I’m a Jewish boy scout whose nerd repertoire is more extensive than that of most comic book writers, what space do I have to judge.”

  Eddie’s heart rate was settling down, the reassurance from his friend a comforting constant. This was Stanley, he’d never cared what ‘secrets’ Eddie had kept from him before, and this was no different. Well, this was a little different from the time he stole Stan’s pudding cup and then confessed an hour later out of guilt. But even then, Stan had been nothing but understanding.

  “Yeah, he’s the hot dog.” Eddie’s voice was beginning to level out as well, the heat of the moment passing on.

  “Richie isn’t like all those other hot dogs. He’s sure of himself in a way I’ve never met anyone else to be. The way his friends speak about him leaves no doubt in my mind that he has himself figured out; at least enough not to hurt you. He’s one of the good guys, Eddie.”

  “One of the good hotdogs.” Eddie corrected.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have to drop that now that we’re being transparent with each other. I don’t like having to think about Richie’s… hotdog every time we tiptoe around your metaphor.”

  Eddie’s cheeks blushed a furious shade of fuchsia as his mind also began to wander towards Richie’s hotdog.

  “Richie’s stuck indoors for the next few days too, right?” Stan prompted.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Harrow was pretty clear about that.” Eddie scowled at the memory. “So, you guys are stuck in lockdown together; seems like the perfect romance scenario to me.”

  The more Eddie thought about it, the more things seemed to fall into place. Eddie had been excited about skiing, but what he was more excited about was this budding energy between him and Richie. Mrs. Harrow had unknowingly set up the perfect circumstance for them to spend as much time together as possible, and if Eddie could muster up the courage, he just might try to take advantage of it.

    Stan and Eddie had parted hours ago, but Eddie was just now beginning to rouse back into existence.

  After the fight with Henry, Eddie’s lack of sleep from the night before finally caught up with him. The nap on the bus had been helpful, but not enough to regenerate all the energy he’d lost to his anxiety the past 24 hours. As soon as he’d returned to his room he hadn’t been able to fight it anymore. He’d barely gotten his shoes off before collapsing into the inviting plush bedding and zonking out for three hours.

  Lucky for Eddie, three hours didn’t put him back that much. It was dinner time, but Eddie knew most of the students were prepared to stay on the slopes until the late hours of the night (or at least until teacher enforced curfew).

  Eddie was overheating, having fallen asleep with his winter coat and snow pants on. He was surprised he hadn’t died in his sleep from a layer induced fever. Could that even happen? Well, Eddie wasn’t keen on finding out today. He promptly stripped off the stifling clothing and did the same with his undergarments. While the suffocating layers may not have killed him, they had certainly left him covered in sweat.

  Eddie trailed into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his naked form in the mirror and stopping. He turned fully towards his reflection, squinting as if sizing himself up.

  He wasn’t very buff, but he was nicely filled out from years of dabbling in sports. He definitely still had a thinner body, his waist dipping in elegantly before flaring back out into hips that, quite honestly, were pretty generous for a man. Eddie didn’t love his body, but who did? Everyone had issues to point out if they took a magnifying glass to themselves, but overall, Eddie was pleased with his appearance.

  He hoped that Richie would be too, if they ever ended up there.

  Eddie turned to the side, assessing his profile. He wondered what it would look like if Richie was slotted in behind him, arms wrapped tight around Eddie’s thin waist to hold him close. The height difference alone would cause Eddie to look small in comparison; Richie was an absolute tree. The thought shouldn’t have made Eddie feel as hot as it did, but he soon found himself heating up again.

  Eddie leaned over the sink, resting his elbows on the edge so he could lean in close to his figure. His cock brushed up against the cold wood surface of the counter and he gasped in surprise, looking down to find it peering up at him in intrigue.

  Eddie’s wonderings about Richie must have gotten him a little more worked up than he’d anticipated.

  Glancing back up at himself in the mirror, Eddie let one hand trail down to the spot between his legs. He grasped himself as he pictured Richie behind him, staring back at him through their reflections with that enticing grin.

  ‘What, Eds. Don’t think I’ll fuck you right here in the bathroom?’

  Eddie moaned quietly to himself, picturing just how he’d respond to Richie’s teasing.

  ‘I bet you won’t, Tozier. Too afraid of someone walking in on us. You’re all talk but no game.’

  Eddie would dangle the challenge in front of Richie knowing full well that he wouldn’t back down. He’d take Eddie’s hips and thrust himself inside without hesitation, just one single move would be all it took for Richie to fill him up.

  Eddie’s wrist cramped from the awkward angle he held it at, but he refused to move from his spot bent over the sink, too caught up in the fantasy.

  He replayed the moans he’d committed to memory the night before, those sinful sounds that Richie seemed to let slip out like he didn’t know they were poisonous darts striking right through Eddie’s skin.

  ‘Richie…’ Eddie moaned, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom.

  ‘Eddie…’ He could hear Richie say, pounding into him at a relentless pace that would leave bruises on Eddie’s skin from where he slammed into the countertop.

  And then Eddie was releasing into his fist, cum pooling over and dripping into the sink. His body shook with shock and his toes curled, eyes squeezing shut as he milked the last bit out of himself before going completely slack.

  He was grateful that counter was there to hold him up, because if not he would have probably fallen to the floor.

  It took a moment for Eddie to finally open his eyes again, but when he did, he was surprised at how disappointed he was that Richie wasn’t actually there. He knew he’d gotten lost in his mind, but it didn’t ease his despondency.

  Eddie stepped into the shower, committing himself to not think about Richie at least until he returned squeaky clean.

    It didn’t work.

  Eddie had thought about Richie the entire shower.

  Eddie tried to let his worry be soothed by Stan’s words, though it continued to flare at the least opportune times. Eddie accepted that he probably wouldn’t be completely placated until he had Richie do it himself, hopefully through tender hands and soothing touches.

  Eddie redressed himself, this time forgoing the heavy layers in favor of a warm wool sweater and comfortable sweatpants. He didn’t bother styling his hair, too set on hunting down Richie to care whether his locks were combed to the left or to the right.

  He quickly pocketed his cellphone and room key, setting off in search of the only other student in the building.

    Eddie didn’t know Richie’s room number, so he took a gamble and wandered into the lobby. There was a pool table in the center of the room, looking lonely as those around it chose to read a book by the fireplace or chat quietly by the windows. There weren’t many people to speak of, so it was easy to quickly spot that familiar face that made Eddie’s heart skip.

  Richie was laying across one of the couches, arms flung across his chest in protest. He was grumbling lowly to the man sitting a seat away, which Eddie recognized as their bus driver.

  “And so, in walks the other prisoner.” Eric drawled as he noticed Eddie, an easy smile on his face.

  Richie’s head popped up quickly, his curls bouncing as they tried to keep up with the swift change in position. Once Richie saw Eddie, the rest of his body followed enthusiastically as he jumped up from his seat.

  “EDDIE!” Richie cheered loudly, before quickly clearing his throat and lowering his voice to a more lobby-appropriate volume. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uhh, I sort of…” Eddie chanced a glance over Richie’s shoulder, noting that Eric wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. “punched Henry Bowers.” He mumbled lowly.

  “YOU WHAT!?”

  “SHHHHH!” Eddie grabbed Richie by the arm and pulled him back down to the couch, looking around them anxiously to see if Richie had drawn any eyes. “It’s not a big deal, okay?” Eddie added once he was sure no one was listening in.

  “Uhm, I’d say punching the guy who’s made everyone’s life a living hell for the past four years counts as a big deal.” Richie challenged.

  Eddie sighed, letting himself lean back into the leather couch as he chewed on his bottom lip. Richie wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t not a big deal, but Eddie wasn’t the violent type. He hadn’t meant to do what he’d done; he’d just snapped. He didn’t regret it, but he didn’t want to dwell on it either, especially since dwelling on it meant remembering all that lead up to it.

  “Can we talk about something else please?” Eddie asked, his voice small and begging.

  Richie was clearly itching for more details, but he still dropped the subject as he copied Eddie’s position sinking into the couch.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Eddie asked, grateful that Richie had respected his request.

  “Eric’s on babysitting duty.” Richie nodded over to Eric who sent them a thumbs up without looking away from his phone. “Mrs. Harrow doesn’t trust me to stay inside.”

  “I mean, to be fair, neither do I.” Eddie mused, a smirk playing on his face.

  Richie bumped his shoulder into Eddie’s, feigning offence even as laughter spilled from his chest.

  “Fine, but at least leave me with something to do, you know? I’m not a convict, I’m injured!” Richie lifted his leg and pointed to his ankle as if to prove his point.

  “As the convict here, I take offense to that.” Eddie teased.

  “Well, Eddie, how do you feel about reformation?” Eric asked. As Eddie regarded him, he saw that Eric had pocketed his phone and was now leaning towards them in engagement.

  Eddie narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Depends on what sort of reformation.”

  “Why don’t you take over guard duty?” Eric offered, nodding towards Richie. “Personally, I’d have let Richie stay in his room anyway, but I was given my orders. If you make sure he doesn’t leave, then at least the two of you can spend your evening watching TV or something. Just don’t let anyone see you outside your rooms, I don’t want to get in trouble for abandoning post. Mrs. Harrow is scary when she’s mad.”

  Eric mimicked a shiver running down his spine before shaking it off, smiling at the two of them warmly.

  “Eric, as per usual, you are the BEST.” Richie cheered.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Richie and Eddie wasted no time before scrambling to their feet and jetting out of the lobby. They didn’t discuss whose room they were going to, but once Richie pressed his floor number on the elevator keypad it was unspoken.

  Eddie was going to be alone in a room with Richie. Unsupervised. For hours.

  Eddie was going to shit his pants.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #reddie smut #reddie lemon #my posts #my writing #OTEOAA

[prettylilhalforc]

Forged in Conflict

After many a late night flitting between tumblr, Borderlands, and discord discussions with the lovely @lorecraft my brain could not shake a Luckyverse Borderlands AU with Triple Frontier boys.

Am pleased to present the first chapter of Forged in Conflict!

Summary: Dahl 12th Company, TangoFoxtrot Brigade have been assigned to secure an old asset planetside. Intel has it that a bunch of bandits are wreaking havoc on dig sites around a local settlement. Idiots trying to bust open an derelict mining facility for tech. Amateurs trying to on sell to Atlas.

Should be simple enough, right? Standard in and out.

Secure the asset, eliminate the threat, back to base in 72 hours flat. All wrapped up like a present on Mercenary Day.

Warnings: Military, allusions to violence and conflict, food.

Rating: M at most given the military themes

A/N: This will be more of a slow burn fic with each of the boys meeting their match. Cannot wait to introduce Lucky, Echo, IRIS and Teflon. This is gonna be so much fun!

Any and all feedback is most welcome!

Chapter 1 - Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

The scent of stale sweat hangs heavy in the recycled air. Hundreds of warm bodies fill the mess hall leaving little space to maneuverer. Unit upon unit of troopers lining the facility in orderly rows. Packed in tighter than vacuum sealed standard issue MREs.

Happens like groundhog day. Same routine over and over again.

Wake, eat, drills, eat, sleep.

Leaves him feeling little more than another cog in the fine-tuned military machine that is Dahl.

It’s stifling. Suffocating.

Maybe he’s just been stuck on base for too long. Maybe he just needs to head planetside. There’s this voracious itch that always rears its head between deployments. An uneasy tension sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. Gnawing, screaming at him that more needs to be done and sitting here is just wasting time.

What good is a weapon in a fight if left unfired?

This was not what Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia signed up for when joining the Corp. Pipedreams and promises of jumping around the system, liberating settlements from the greedy grip of Atlas. Putting down bandit scum.

Life on Pandora prepped him for action, for violence.

Not the bureaucracy of the corporate military industrial complex.

Hoo’ fucking rah.

“Need some motor oil?”, a deep voice cuts through Pope’s musing, Ironhead giving him a knowing look.

“Wha-?”

Santiago’s eyes refocus. Physically shunted back into reality by a light shoulder check from the young blond adjacent to him.

“Can practically hear the gears crunching in your head, Pope.”

Will. Now there’s a company man through and through. Six foot and build like a brick house. Keen blue eyes that shine with something purely predatorial. Nothing gets past his gaze. Lives and breathes the life.

Nerves of steel and unwavering discipline earnt him the well-deserved moniker Ironhead.

Regimented. Reliable. Never fails under fire.

Dahl ‘til the day he dies.

“I hate being… stuck. Feel useless.”

Elbows braced on the slick steel benchtop, Pope runs both broad hands through his salt and pepper undercut. Pulling at strands. Trying to find a physical reset to pull him back from the frustration welling in his chest.

“I geddit. It’s driving me nuts, man, sitting here not doing anything.”

Now, Ben, the boy wonder, is pure unadulterated chaos. If Ironhead is a Doberman, then Benny is a damn Retriever chasing down a car on the highway. Kid had a good heart and boundless energy. Though doesn’t know do with it half the time.

Doesn’t think too often, just feels. Get’s him all sorts of situations.

Fortunately, The Miller boys made one hell of a team in combat. The Hellhounds from Hieronymous. Ironhead’s tactical efficiency paired with Wonderboy’s unbridled fury burnt through scores of Atlas platoons on tour. It was enough for brass to look the other way when it came to the frequent indiscretions they found themselves in.

“You hear that Lima Charlie got shipped to Elpis after Zarpedon’s crew went dark? Fucking bullshit man. Why do we get stuck here while- ”

“Better not let Redfly hear you saying that, hermano, especially after last month’s stunt. You’re lucky all you got was a week in the hole.”

Fish interrupts Ben with a look that can only be described as fatherly disappointment, grease-stained hand waving his fork about to about drive point home. Though underneath the worn cap his warm eyes give away everything, brimming with mirth.

Before Atlas. Before the exodus.

Pope swears he would have lost his humanity years ago if Fish hadn’t have kept him grounded. Practically inseparable, the two pulled each other out of scraps since they were knee high in Haven.

Frankie, ever the voice of reason, reminded Pope why they joined the Corp in the first place.

The guy was too honest for his own good. Has a big heart and wears it on his sleeve for all the world to see.

Made cleaning house during poker night a walk in the park.

“Yeah yeah, flyboy. Wouldn’t have been a problem if that snitch from Whiskey Kilo kept his big mouth shut.”

Benny petulantly spears at a suspect lump slathered in gravy on his tray, nostrils flaring.

“Well, it’s certainly shut now. Wired shut. Heard from Ty in medbay Phillips won't be having any solids until next month” Pope can’t help but chime in, it was a small comfort to know he wasn’t the only one grappling with the inertia being stuck shipside.

A collective chuckle erupts from the group and with that Benny's pout is wiped clean. Boyish face cracks into a smug grin.

And who could blame him?

Kid has a left hook that would floor a bullymong.

Conversation soon flows easily, falling into hopeful speculation about the next operation.

Tensions have escalated as of late between major intergalactic powerhouses. The system is on the precipice of a second Corporate War.

It's not just Dahl and Atlas duking out for supremacy across the stars.

Hyperion has begun to stake their claim, planet by planet. Peacocking with the latest in loader tech. Bunch of Machiavellian suits parading around as soldiers. Would sell their own grandmother to make a profit. And what they couldn't buy, they were willing acquire through "aggressive negotiation".

And Vladof, bunch of commie bastards, took glee in sabotaging years of blood, sweat and tears for the sake of glorious revolution. Whatever that meant. Why waste manpower when you can incite the masses to do your dirty work for you?

The desperate push for colonization in the most bizarre locations didn’t make any tactical sense whatsoever.

Something bigger was going on than just a turf war over resources. Not when this many players had come to the table. Stakes must be high.

“Nice to know that you boys are itching for action.”.

By pure reflex the four rise to their feet. Backs straight. Eyes forward. Jaws tight.

Chairs clatter across the hull floor, food all but forgotten.

The crimson glare shoots pure ice down Pope’s spine. Every damn time feels like someone walked over his grave. No matter how long he served, could never get used to it. Cybernetic eye picking apart every detail of the crew before him with clinical precision.

Captain Tom ‘Redeye’ Davis.

Takes a particular kind of individual rise through the ranks in the Corp. A certain cold bloodedness that makes a man willing to put the mission above all else. Hardly a surprise for a seasoned Dahl Mercenary. Redfly had a track record that would make any C.O. green with envy.

The company couldn’t fault him, no matter how harsh his methods. Ran tight crew and expected nothing but excellence. The Corp chewed up and spat so many bodies in the field, there was little room for complacency.

Or mercy.

“Fortunately for you, Brass has something that will scratch itch. Section-312, Intel Room 4. I expect you all there at nineteen hundred TangoFoxtrot. Copy?”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

“At ease soldiers.”

Will shoots Pope a wry smile that spreads across the crew like wildfire. It says it all.

Ask and ye shall receive.

#triple frontier fanfiction #borderlands crossover #Dahl Corp #goblin tries her hand at letters

[emeraldtawny]

Satan x Fem!MC: A Foreign Heat

...I started this like 4 months ago and have only now just finished it oTL I hope you enjoy this 10k slow burn, friends-to-lovers style fic because wow this boi deserves soft love ;;w;;

This is also up on AO3 right here if you wished to leave kudos or the like uwu

Anyways, hope you enjoy~ :3

~

Rage is not a foreign concept to Satan; if it was, it would leave his title as the Avatar of Wrath quite redundant. That heat that flares up inside of him, that suffocating, clawing anger that makes his teeth clench and his blood boil, is such a familiar sensation to him that it feels wrong when that flame dwindles. Suffice it to say, being consumed by the flames of rage is what Satan is used to. It’s what he knows.

So when that flame wavers, he’s almost at a loss. 

He remembers his first impression of her. She was, well, nothing special. Maybe an occasional aid to his boredom if she was near. He didn’t spare her any more of his thoughts than necessary, because he didn’t deem her worthy enough of his attention. He scowls at himself whenever he remembers that thought process, that mightier-than-thou mentality reminding him of a certain demon that shall not be named.

He’s glad that he thinks differently now. He’s glad that he gave this human girl a chance to prove herself. Because now, he thinks that he quite enjoys her company.

… Yes, he quite likes it.

“Satan?” 

He’s pulled from his reverie of the past and back into the present, the very focus of his thoughts sitting beside him. Her head tilted quizzically and her eyes trained on him, she waits patiently for him to respond. When he focuses his attention on her, she sighs out her query. 

“I’m having a bit of trouble with this passage. I don’t understand what it’s asking of me.”

He feels the corner of his lips quirk up at the perplexion on her face, seemingly enjoying her mild distress for the upcoming exam on Applied Magic. He sets his own book down and leans closer to read over her shoulder.

“Ah, Incantations and Curses. I can’t say I’m surprised this is tripping you up.”

She taps the side of her pen against her textbook, her lips pressing together and out into a pout. He has to school his features to keep himself from grinning at her endearing display of dismay, his eyes pretending to scan over the book while his peripherals work to keep her in his sights.

“This isn’t a normal thing to learn in the Human World, yet they teach it to us like it’s common knowledge.” She sees his lips begin to move to rebut her, but she beats him to the mark, “I know it’s common knowledge here in the Devildom, but that just makes it so unfair for those unfamiliar with magic.”

A huffed laugh escapes Satan’s nose as a puff of air. “Unfortunately for you, ‘those unfamiliar with magic’ constitutes only humans. Are you that determined to learn?”

He meets her undivided gaze, completely forgetting of their close proximity and is only viciously reminded of the fact by how clearly he sees himself reflected in her eyes. He catches the subtle widening of his eyes in his reflection, but nothing more. Sitting before a demon, this human simply smiles.

“I am if you’re the one teaching me.”

He blinks, forgetting his prized vocabulary for a moment as he loses himself in her earnest gaze. If he didn’t know any better, he would believe she was mocking him with her kindness. But he knew of her genuineness and he knew not to dismiss it so quickly. He leans back in his seat, clearing his throat simultaneously to fill the silence and to restart his brain.

“I guess we can arrange a study session if you think it will help.”

Her smile directed at him grows, her eyes lighting up and, for just a moment, Satan swears that the warmth coursing through his body feels... different. His attempt to follow that train of thought is cut off by her D.D.D. buzzing once, twice, thrice, to tell her she has a text.

She hesitates, casting a look his way to gain permission. He sighs in response.

“Mammon?”

She checks her phone quickly. “Levi. New expansion in Mononoke Land.”

He doesn’t seem to realise that he’s smiling as he says, “I suppose we’ve done enough studying for one day.”

She instantly relaxes, “Thanks. I’ll message you later about that pre-test study session.”

“I look forward to it.”

Grinning at his words, she begins to pack away her things. All the while, Satan finds himself unable to look away from her, a slight frown marring his lips.

The questions swimming through his mind irk him; why does her smile make him lose his words so successfully? And, more curiously, why does he want her to smile if that’s the effect it has on him? He found it bizarre.

The quick tap of a pen against the desk brings him back once again and he blinks up at her face, thankfully with a little more distance between them to keep his thoughts grounded.

“What?”

“Are you alright? You seem a bit spaced out.”

This troublesome human, only vigilant when she shouldn’t be, Satan thinks to himself dryly.

He smiles his usual smile, about as real as Mammon’s financial independence. “Same as always. Tired from reading, most likely.” he lies effortlessly.

“If you’re sure…” She hesitates before gracing him with a shy smile, one he can’t quite pinpoint the message beneath, “I’ll see you later, then.”

With a tiny wave, she readjusts the bag on her shoulder, lifts her phone to her ear and heads off, and Satan can’t help rolling his eyes sympathetically at her unhurried “okay, okay” as she no doubt addresses Levi through her phone. 

Alone and without distraction, his thoughts should return to him again, unbidden. And they do, but only of her. 

His fingernail connects with the wood of the desk as he taps his finger against it, his eyebrows pinched together and his lips opening to release a sigh into the air around him.

Even the book beneath him cannot distract him from the prospect of when he’ll next see her.

~

Days went by and things remained the same. It was exam period at the Academy, so Satan concludes that must be what has him so on edge… despite all previous years going smoothly and without incident. And also being aware that these feelings started shortly after she had arrived. 

He shakes his head at the thought.

No, that IS the reason why I can’t focus as well as usual. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.

He was certain that if he was an outsider looking in on his situation, he would be snickering at himself, baffled at how desperate he is to ignore the elephant in the room. He lets a silent sigh exhale through his nostrils - his fifth one of the evening - and returns to flipping through his latest novella, his dinner going untouched. He hardly flinches at the doors of the dining room bursting open and the loud voices accompanying it; sounds he has long since learned to block out.

“Whad’ya just say to me, huh?! Say it again, I dare ya!”

“I’ll say it however many times I have to to get the message through your thick skull: absolutely NOT!”

“C’moooon! It’s quick and easy cash! You’ll be rollin’ in dough faster than you can say ‘Wow, Mammon! I knew you were right!’. It’ll be too good to be true!”

“Usually when things are too good to be true, it’s because they are.” Satan pipes up, not even bothering to glance at another one of his brothers’ infinite arguments.

“Thank you, Satan. Finally, a voice of REASON in this room!” Asmodeus sighs, the sound both forlorn and dramatic. “I swear, such gorgeous bronze skin loses its charm when the person who wears it has about as many brain cells as my pinky finger.”

“Gr...Yeah, well! … Shut up!!” 

The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as it’s forcefully pulled out to seat the exasperated Avatar of Greed, his grumbles unintelligible as he reaches across the table to pile his plate high with food. Another chair is pulled back from the table - much more delicately - as Asmo grabs his own food. After a moment, he hums in thought.

“Where’s ___? I thought she was in charge of cooking dinner tonight.”

“She said that she wanted to study more for the upcoming exams, so she left as soon as she finished cooking.” Satan flips another page of his book as he replies, all of his conscious efforts focused on remaining flippant in his demeanour.

“Awww, our little human is awfully diligent, isn’t she? But that means I don’t get to see her adorable little face over dinner. She’d be much more delicious than this, I’m sure.”

Satan didn’t need to look at his brother to know he was smirking, his eyes likely alight with whatever lustful fantasy he was conjuring up and acting out in his mind. 

He’d hardly ever bat an eye at it. But now? Now, a sudden swell of fire pumps through his blood and makes his lips twitch in distaste.

“Not while I’m eating, Asmo!” Mammon somehow manages to muffle out around a mouthful of food, “Show some class, why don’t cha?”

His remark provokes an apathetic blink and an unenthused stare from Asmo. “You are the last person in the universe who is allowed to lecture me on class. Besides, don’t act innocent. I know that you’ve thought about her that way.”

That causes Mammon to swallow mid-chew, sending him into a coughing fit as he desperately beats at his chest to dislodge the choking hazard. He swallows again and gasps for air unnecessarily loud.

“Y-you can’t just say shit like that while I’m swallowing my damn food, y’know!”

“You’re not denying it, hm?” Asmo rests his elbow on the table and cradles his chin in his palm, grinning at his older brother squirming under his gaze.

“Of course n--NAH! I’d never think of a… a HUMAN like that! Nuh-uh! No way!”

Satan feels his fingers tightening around the book in his hands, his eyes practically burning through the page yet not reading a single letter printed onto the paper.

“But, why not? She’s such a beautiful young woman. Any man, or demon, would have to be blind or completely ignorant to not see what a sexy little thing she is~”

Words no longer process in Satan’s mind, the only sound in his head a high-pitched scream from a kettle way past its boiling point. He barely registers how tightly he exudes pressure on the book he holds, nor does he notice how he’s one lip twitch away from snarling in carnal rage. 

What he does register, however, is the distinct sound of paper ripping. As do his brothers.

He crashes abruptly back into reality, the sight of Mammon’s and Asmo’s astonished faces greeting him. Dazed confusion turns into speechlessness when he turns his eyes down to where they’re looking. His novella, previously in peak condition, now sits split neatly in two, the spine of the book ripped perfectly down the middle and each half held tightly in Satan’s hands.

No one says a word, each demon brother parroting the other with their wide-eyed stares and inability to speak. Until the doors swing open to shatter the silence.

“Man, I’m hungry…”

Oblivious to what he just walked into, Beel walks up and grabs the entire plate in the centre of the table, bringing it in front of him as he takes his seat. Satan rises to his feet just as Beel gets off of his.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Hm? Alright. Are you going to eat your plate?”

He leaves without answering, his footsteps quick yet levelled as he flees the scene, the evidence of his lost control still held tightly in both hands. 

Two demons speechless, one demon oblivious, and the other acutely aware that he can’t ignore this any longer.

~

                     ___: Satan? 

                    ___: Satan, please answer me

                    ___: ...Just a sticker or something 

                    ___: Anything? 

He reads each bubble popping up on his lock screen, but makes no attempt to reply. Leaning back against one of the multiple bookshelves in his bedroom, Satan has long since given up on the mystery novel in front of him, his phone now sitting between the pages as his new reading material.

The device vibrates again and another message comes through.

                    ___: If you’re busy, I understand. But can you let me know if we’re still okay to study together?

That’s right, he muses to himself, she wanted my help. 

With a heavy inward sigh, he sits up straighter and grabs his phone, swiping it open and tapping through to send a reply.

                    Satan: Busy. Ask the others.

As much as I want to, I don’t think I should see you right now.

Instant regret plagues him as soon as he hits send, his stomach shrinking and dropping like a stone in water, sending ripples of guilt and unease through him. He drops his phone carelessly to the side and glares up at the light fixing like it will somehow burn away these alien feelings within him.

Yet through the guilt of letting her down, he’s angry. Angry at himself for letting this happen, for not seeing this coming until it was too late. 

A powerless, frail little human did this to him? The devil on Satan’s shoulder laughs at his pitiful state; oh, the irony.

“What a mess…” He sighs out into the empty room, the literature his only audience. He looks down at his D.D.D., its screen black and lifeless and he curses himself for holding out hope that she’d even reply to him.

So when the screen lights up and dances along to its ringtone, her name dead centre, he almost smacks his head back against the bookshelf with how quickly he straightens up. He grabs his phone and stares at the screen, his mind running so fast that the vibrations from his phone feel numb in his hand.

I shouldn’t answer… I really shouldn’t.

Her expression from their last study session materialises in his mind’s eye, that sweet, shy smile he hopes that she only shows to him. He clenches his phone tight in his palm and, with a frustrated inhale and an equally frustrated exhale, he accepts the call.

“... H-hello.”

Damn his voice for faltering.

“No.”

He blinks at the assertive punch behind that single syllable.

“Um, what?”

“No, I won’t ask the others. Because right now, I’m more worried about a certain demon that has apparently shut himself in his room without explanation.”

Satan sighs in quiet annoyance and judging by the soft sigh from her end, he didn’t mask it well enough. “I’m just studying. It’s nothing for you to be concerned over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. And I judge that you are very obviously lying.”

He props his knee up and lets his free arm rest on it whilst the hand that holds his phone taps its index finger against the device, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Exhibit A: You’ve been acting weird lately. And it’s not because exams are coming up.”

“Your proof?” he counters.

“I asked your brothers about your behavioural patterns around stressful school-related events, which would include exam and test periods. Every single one said that you don’t act how you’re acting right now. And if six of your brothers isn’t enough proof, I got similar responses from the likes of Barbatos and Diavolo.”

The assurance behind her words gives him pause, himself not expecting to be caught so cleanly in his lie.

“Exhibit B:” she continues, “What’s this about you ripping a book in half at dinner?”

His eyebrow twitches, as do the fingers around his phone.

“Who told you?” He doesn’t mean to come across as hostile as he does. Thankfully, she brushes it off without taking offence.

“Mammon. He was telling everyone how you ‘lost the plot’.”

“Hehehe.” The grin that accompanies his laugh is anything but jovial, “I’m going to have a LOT of fun hunting him down for that.”

Her sigh wrought with worry pulls Satan back from the brink of his sadism. He pictures what expression she’d be making right this second; her eyebrows likely pulled taut, a slight crinkle above her nose its byproduct. Maybe she’s biting her lip the same way she does when she’s fretting over the simplest of things; the thought that she’d be that concerned for him touched him, though he would seldom admit it so quickly.

“And finally, Exhibit C: … me.”

“Y-you...?” He barely recognises his voice with how unsurely it leaves his lips.

“You really think you can pull the wool over my eyes that easily? I may be a human, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

Satan’s nose scrunches up with his confused frown and he bites back, despite himself. “What makes you so sure that something’s wrong with me? You don’t know what I’m thinking, so don’t pretend like you do.”

“I’m not pretending to know, I’m asking you to tell me. And of course I’d notice when something’s wrong with you. I-”

She stops, her breath hitching slightly as she kills the words she was about to utter. She sighs again, a sigh of exasperation.

“Just let me be worried over someone I care about, okay?”

Silence. Her words play in Satan’s mind again despite him just hearing them, seemingly in disbelief.

The suffocating heat of rage, its smoke clawing at his lungs and its flames boiling his blood, is displaced by a calmer, more mellow warmth, akin to a bath run just a tad too hot; warm enough to lose yourself in the feeling, but hot enough to pool your skin in sweat and linger through your body.

Is she feeling this, too? This heat - a cold respite compared to the heat Satan is used to - that’s somehow both addicting yet stifling. It leaves him unsure of whether to draw near or pull away. The only thing he’s sure of is how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

A laugh. His laugh. Short and punctuated, yet relieving of the weight bearing down on his shoulders in an instant.

“Satan?” she calls out in worry.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I just… realised how childish I was being. I’m sorry for speaking to you in that manner. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“I deserve a little bit of it for prying. I was just worried. But, you seem better already, so I’m glad.”

Her smile translates so purely through her words that it’s only natural for Satan’s lips to curl upward as well.

“You really didn’t give me any room to argue, did you? That was cruel.”

“I learned from the best, and from his mystery novel and crime show recommendations.”

They both chuckle softly at that, both of their hearts aching in relief to be back in their normal routine. After a pause, she speaks again, her concern clear.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You know I’m here to talk to whenever you need, right?”

His smile twitches slightly, the bittersweet irony threatening to ruin the calm around them.

Kinda hard to talk to you about it when you’re the cause of all of this...

“Yeah, I’m fine. But if I’m ever not, I’ll tell you.”

I’ll tell you that you’re why I’m acting like this. But only when I can find the right words.

Until that moment comes, Satan sits contently as he talks with her, the warmth surrounding him ebbing and flowing like the waves of a tide.

~

“Well? Come on, don’t leave us suspended in, uh… suspense! How’d ya go?”

“Hopefully better than you in a basic understanding of the English language LMAOOO.”

“Says the nerd who speaks in text! Can it, Levi!”

“I’m curious, too.”

“Mmm, mmpf ammff mmmmpff.”

“Beel said he wants to know how you went, too.”

“Well, ___? Don’t keep us all waiting.”

Six of the brothers lean in close, waiting with trepidation for her next words. The one brother yet to speak simply stares expectantly at her, his hand in a fist and pressing his green thumbnail against his lips, his normally indifferent demeanour abnormally showcasing of his own anticipation.

She meets each of their gazes individually before looking to her feet and wringing her hands together. Asmo’s face falls, while both Lucifer and Satan’s expressions harden, expecting the worst. The others simply wait, not willing to believe her signals.

And, sure enough, she raises her head with gusto and breaks out into a triumphant grin.

“Nailed it! Top 10 in every exam!”

What wonderful hype-demons she has, their cheers filling the air and perfectly illustrating her own glee. Asmo places his hand over his heart with a heavy breath, as if it was about to give out.

“You sneaky little-! You can’t toy with us like that, ___. We were all worried about you!”

She sends a grin his way, currently preoccupied with accepting endless high-fives from Mammon and a back hug from Beel, “Guess I couldn’t help myself.”

She yelps and laughs as Beel’s hug lifts her off the ground with a spin, Levi and Belphie pulling her free only to entrap her in a congratulatory hug themselves. Away from the fray, Lucifer hums out a short laugh, his arms crossed in their usual fashion.

“I suppose your little prank can be forgiven for this occasion. You did well, ___.”

Gently pulling herself free from her hug sandwich, she smiles in thanks at Lucifer, but her eyes pull her to look at the demon beside him. His fist still covering his chin, he looks as if he’s still processing the information, responseless to everything else. 

She steps closer to him. No response. 

Another step. He blinks, his eyes locking on her.

That’s all the indication she needs and she springs forward to close the last bit of distance between them, wrapping her arms around Satan’s waist in a tight hug. She giggles at the shocked little “ah” that leaves his lips unfacilitated, and desperately attempts to hold back another at the way he clears his throat pretending that didn’t just happen. His hands move to her shoulders and, for a moment, she expects him to throw her off. But his arms circle around her back instead, his hands cupping her shoulders as he returns the hug, albeit a little stiffly. She smiles into his chest, thankful for a place to hide her face.

“Thank you, Satan. You’re the reason I did so well.”

He murmurs a response, his words a mixture of perplexion and embarrassment, “I didn’t do anything except some extra tutoring.”

“But so much of what we studied was on the exam, so I’m saying it was because of you. Accept it.” she counters, punctuating her words with a squeeze.

Just before the heat overwhelming Satan breaks to the surface and threatens to consume him--

“OI, SATAN! What’s the big idea, takin’ her all for yourself?!”

She stiffens in realisation at Mammon’s shout and quickly untangles herself from him. Satan picks up on the subtle blush blossoming over her cheeks and the way he feels a sense of loss at the warmth she was giving him. That lost warmth is quickly replaced by the fire he has long since grown accustomed to, the demon striking the match this occasion - and on many MANY occasions - being Mammon.

“If you’ll recall, Mammon, she hugged me. I didn’t ‘steal’ anything if she gave it willingly.”

“Ohhhh no! You DEFINITELY stole her! And no one steals property away from THE Great Mammon! I was her first! So I naturally deserve her first, and longest, hugs!”

“Is that so?”

Mammon gulps at the chilling edge to his younger brother’s voice, only emphasised by the smile on his lips, one of murder disguised as a summer’s day. The casual clothes adorning his body dissolve as he moves towards Mammon, replacing the mellow blues and yellows with black and neon green, the tip of his tail uncoiling from around his leg to direct its pointed tip at Mammon. All the while his smile never wavering.

“Speaking of people deserving things, there was an incident that I never talked about with you. I think now’s the perfect time to go over it.”

“I-I don’t thi-GUWWAAAAAH! Le-le-let go! Don’t mess up my hai-RAAAOWOWOWOWOW!!!!”

The rest watch - some with expressions of “serves you right”, others with exasperation, but none of them surprised - as Satan drags Mammon away by his hair.

“While we wait for that to calm down,” Lucifer interjects amidst Mammon’s wailing, “How about we celebrate your accomplishment?”

“Celebrate?” she blinks curiously.

“We prepared a party for you. Whether you succeeded or not, we were gonna party regardless. We’re glad that it’s going to be a nice party, though.” Belphie smiles.

“Simeon and Luke helped us cook up a lot of food. And I held myself back, just for you.” Beel chimes in.

“Yet you still ate two-thirds of the table...” Asmo sighs out.

“Let’s get this started so it can end faster. I picked up a new game from Akuzon and I’ve got my entire night planned out to the second, as long as this all ends by twenty-two hundred hours.”

Levi maneuvers himself behind her and presses his hands against her back to push her hastily towards the party, the rest following close behind. However, she can’t help but turn her head back to where Satan dragged his brother away, a smile creeping onto her lips as she remembers how he stiffened in her arms and hugged her with more tenderness than anyone can imagine a demon could muster. As the party kicks into high gear, she waits patiently for the one who will truly start the party for her.

…

A room almost completely trashed, enough food to be classified as its own country consumed (mainly by one demon), and the promise of headaches that will persist through all of tomorrow…

“I’d say that party was a rousing success!” Asmo announces, looking oddly pleased from his position sprawled over Levi’s lap, the latter too busy playing on his Ninterrordo Switch to notice.

“It was a success at creating the biggest mess yet.” Lucifer sighs, his headache already beginning, “Mammon, you’ll be cleaning up this entire room.”

“Wha-?! Why just me? Beel almost caused a food avalanche and Satan punched a hole in the wall! They should hafta help me!”

“I ate all of the food that fell off the table. So I’ve already cleaned up.”

“And the hole Satan made was made by YOUR head, so it’s more your fault for being an idiot and blabbing about the book incident.”

Mammon seethes silently at Beel’s and Asmo’s immediate shutdowns to his points. He looks around the room, suddenly confused.

“Speaking of, where is Satan?”

“He’s… currently compromised.” Asmo smirks.

At Mammon’s eyebrow raise, he points his finger to the side and everyone turns to look. Leaning against the wall with his legs crossed, Satan stares down at his phone in an obvious attempt at distraction. But his eyes keep darting to his side, incredibly conscious of the weight of a human head on his shoulder, using him for comfort as she breathes evenly in peaceful sleep.

“WHAT THE F--mmM! MMmmmMMM?!?!?!”

Mammon’s shout is cut off by Belphie’s pillow careening into his face with enough force to smack his head against the floor. He sighs as he smothers his brother’s all-too-enthusiastic shouts.

“She’s asleep. Keep it down.”

“If his shouts won’t wake her up, this putrid smell of normie jealousy will. Stupid Mammon.”

“I can hear everything you’re saying, you know.” Satan’s voice rings out, the annoyance behind his words clear. With a sigh, he pockets his phone and shifts as gently as he can to move her.

“What are you doing, Satan?”

He leaves Lucifer’s question hanging in the air, more preoccupied with slipping his arms around her upper back and under her knees to cradle her against him. After moving to his knees and then to his feet, he turns to face his brothers with her in his arms.

“Taking her to her room. I thought I could wait until she woke up naturally, but if you’re all going to keep making this much noise…”

“You don’t need to glare at us.” Asmo laughs, “She’s obviously tired from all that studying and partying. Just make sure you put her to bed like a good boy~”

Not even humouring him with a response, Satan leaves the room, acutely aware of his smirk following him out. 

His footsteps seem to echo as he trudges through the hallway, the portraits ever vigilant and watching. Her soft breaths draw his focus, her head tucked in and resting against his chest. A smile creeps onto his lips at the way her curled fingers flex and relax against her chest, almost like a cat kneading its paws. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy this, shouldn’t be watching someone sleep. But his eyes had drifted to her face before he could stop himself and there they now stay, his feet on autopilot as he makes his way to her room.

He readjusts his hold on her, eliciting a soft mumble. Satan stops, afraid that he woke her. She shifts slightly, nuzzling into his chest and resting her head against his collarbone, a breathy sigh ghosting from her lips. He shudders, his fingers tightening against her thigh on impulse, and he’s suddenly extremely thankful for his high-necked shirt, unsure of how he would have handled her breath against his bare skin. Satan scowls and hastens his pace, desperate to leave those rogue thoughts behind and get her out of his arms as soon as physically possible.

The door opens with a soft creak and he shoulders her through into her bedroom. He tuts softly at her leaving her tableside lamp on but smiles at the open book on her bed. A quick skim of the contents confirms it as one of the books he lent to her, his heart fluttering in his chest at the fact.

The bed creaks under their combined weight as he sits on its edge, his previous thoughts of putting her down as soon as possible now no louder than a whisper to his conscience. The weight of her against his legs and in his arms, the calming warmth emanating from her that leaves him oddly restless for more, the way her eyelashes flutter softly in her sleep; suddenly, all Satan wishes for is this moment to last longer than he knows it should.

Freeing his hand from underneath her legs, he rests it atop her knee and stares down at her face, her head still resting against his chest. He can feel a heat creeping onto his face - the same heat from when she hugged him and thanked him so earnestly - yet he can’t find it in himself to dislike the feeling. Hesitantly, he moves his hand and cups her cheek, his fingers and palm moulding to the shape of her face like this is where they belong.

“So warm…”

Mystified and unaware he released his inner thoughts into the open, Satan studies her face while his hand basks in her addictive warmth, his thumb greedy for more as it traces the contour of her cheekbone with the same gentle care of flipping a page. Her shoulders roll back and she leans further into his touch, turning her face into his hand. Satan stiffens at her lips brushing against his thumb, but the happy hum and subsequent deep breath she releases against his skin freeze him in place before he can pull away. 

He was right. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to handle her breath against his exposed skin.

With a thick swallow, he entertains pressing his thumb into her bottom lip. How it gives way to him so easily is fascinating and he doesn’t know if his thumb is shaking from fear of her waking up and him having to explain what he was doing, or the giddying thrill of chasing this warmth now pooling rapidly within him and begging for more. 

Satan’s breath leaves him stuttered, his eyes following the path his thumb paves over her bottom lip, so soft and so malleable to his touch. He can’t break his gaze away, afraid of the spell shattering and dragging him by the scruff back to reality if he did. He doesn’t want this to end. Just this once, he could indulge himself - he could give in to the feeling instead of fighting it, propriety be damned. All he wants at this moment is to study her lips; what they feel like, how they move, how hot they can grow, how they taste, how…

How they… taste. How… they… 

Taste.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, and only vaguely registers his fluttering lashes as he opens them again. But the rush of heat cascading over him and pulling him under like a riptide yanks him back to the path of reason. 

Heat bordering on scalding centres at his lips and sends pulses of heat to singe through his entire body. And at its epicentre is her lips, brushing ever so softly against his own.

The yelp that leaves Satan is strangled and confused and he jerks back, suddenly unconcerned over if he wakes her or not. He deposits her onto the bed, almost destroys the switch on the lamp turning it off and makes a break for the door. He curses his hearing for registering a soft mumble from her while he flees, as if taunting him further when she has already taken over the better part of his thoughts. 

Leaning against the closed door, Satan stands stock still, feebly attempting to process what just occurred. How did he even get that close to her? He remembers being entranced by her lips, their softness, their feeling, wanting to taste them…  

He stops before he falls too far back into his thoughts. He’s too hot - his face, his body, his… something that Asmo would be proud of. His blood is boiling for an entirely different reason other than anger. With only the paintings on the walls as his witnesses, he returns to his room on unstable legs, convincing himself that if he sleeps now, everything that happened will be nothing more than a dream.

~

Satan knows better than to repeat the same mistake twice. And he doesn’t plan on doing so. Even with every fibre of his being begging him to save face and strategically disappear until it all dies down, he knows it’s not that simple. Plus, he doesn’t want to avoid her again.

That doesn’t make this walk to the dining hall for breakfast any less daunting. His meandering pace screams hesitance, but he continues to walk forward in the hopes that each step will be easier than the last. It’s not.

He grabs the handle to the door and pushes it open before his brain has a chance to interject, his own pride too great to make him act so cowardly. However, as he steps into the dining hall, Satan is surprised to find it mostly empty. Only one other person sits idly at the long dining table, their elbows resting on the table and their fingers tented with their chin resting atop them, a small, sly grin on their lips greeting Satan as he enters.

“Hello, my dear big brother. Nice of you to join me. I was almost afraid that you’d stood me up.”

A hand on his hip and his lips pressed together with discontent, he replies, “What are you doing, Asmo?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Just wanted to have a little heart-to-heart.”

“About?”

“Don’t play dumb, Satan. You know what about.”

He stiffens slightly at the quietly admonishing tone behind Asmodeus’ words. With a sigh, he shuts the door behind him and moves to take his usual seat at the table. The two sit in silence for a moment, Satan’s eyes glued to the table and unable to meet Asmodeus’ inquiring gaze. Then, a bubbly chuckle dispels the serious air, even when Satan lifts his eyes to glare at the offender.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I just find it quite ironic,” Asmo leans in further, his smile widening, “I never thought I’d be sitting here consoling YOU. Maybe the sun will rise in the Devildom tomorrow.”

Satan returns his gaze to the table, his finger tapping against the wood in a purposefully steady pattern.

“Alright, alright.” Asmo sighs, “Joking aside, we’ve all been a bit worried about you recently, one of us especially so.”

The twitch of Satan’s finger against the table urges Asmodeus forward.

“A certain little sweetheart of a human asked us to make sure our dumb brother was taking care of himself. All of that pure warmth and concern of hers going completely to waste…”

His eyebrows furrow, but he says nothing. Asmodeus continues.

“It’s almost like she genuinely cares about him and wants the best for him. Of course, she could just be doing it out of the kindness in her heart, but she seems awfully insistent on spending more time with him than the others. Poor Levi has been throwing himself into his games even more than usual to fight back the envy he feels over that fact.”

“Is that so?”

Asmo shifts to rest his cheek on one palm, his head tilted quizzically and sighing with almost convincing perplexion. He sneaks a glance at Satan, aware of the demon fighting back a smile.

“She’s even been turning me down. ME! And I’m clearly the most beautiful demon in all of the Devildom! She must have bizarre tastes to go after a demon who rips a book in half because his brother says she’s gorgeous, and who ignores her for days because he doesn’t know how to act in front of her.”

His tongue tied, Satan can only convey his guilt and annoyance through his eyes and actions. And Asmodeus registers every single one. Dropping his hand from his chin, he clasps his hands together and leans forward onto his forearms, prompting Satan to meet his oddly serious gaze. Jewels of amber and jade pool together as their eyes meet, the less powerful demon’s gaze oddly paternal and wise compared to his usual self.

“But love and lust do that to people. It makes them do stupid things and makes them fall for stupid people.”

“...”

“Not going to deny it?”

A bitter chuckle, “I don’t have it in me to.”

“Because you have no rebuttal, right?”

Satan’s strained smile wavers slightly. He turns his head down to the table with a cynical, self-deprecating laugh before willing himself to meet Asmodeus’ eye again. “If you had tried to tell me this not even a day ago, I wouldn’t have listened to you. I would have entertained the thought, but never would have admitted it out loud...”

“You still haven’t, you know~” Asmo says with a coy bat of his eyelashes.

“Don’t push your luck.”

A short pause before the two demons let out their soft laughter, alleviating the serious atmosphere. A welcome calm for the whirlwind of Satan’s thoughts, if only briefly.

Love… It IS love that I’m feeling. Heh, I think… I could get used to this feeling.

“Soooo?” Asmodeus inquires, his eyes lighting up as they narrow gleefully, “When did you start falling for our dear little ___?”

“You’re the Avatar of Lust. You tell me.”

The level-headedness of Satan’s response draws a pout to Asmo’s lips. “But I wanna know straight from the source! Unless that means I have to ask her for the details. With enough… persuasion, I’m sure I can get her to tell me anything.”

A wide grin splits Satan’s lips. “Sounds like someone wants their head immortalised in the wall just like Mammon.”

The Avatar of Lust raises his hands up in mock surrender, yet his eyes are peaked with intrigue. 

“I jest, I jest! But wow, you really can’t take a joke when it comes to her, can you?” He tucks a loose strand of his hair back into place and leans in with a smirk, “You’ve got it baaaad. You’re so in loooooove~”

The serene smile on Satan’s face belies the horns growing and curling out of his head, the aura surrounding him dense, like a black hole of barely suppressed rage. Asmo raises his hands again in innocence, movements more stilted and frantic than before.

“Okay, okay! I’ll stop, I’ll stop. Just-“ he taps a finger against one of the obsidian horns as he stands from his seat, “-put those away and do NOT push my face into a wall! You will not ruin the very thing that makes me beautiful, or you will have hoards of succubi coming after you!”

His horns retract with a roll of his eyes, his gaze trained on Asmo as the Avatar of Lust moves towards the door. Satan’s eyebrow raises.

“That’s it?”

Asmo stops, tilting his head back to his brother without fully turning to face him, “What? Were you expecting the ‘a demon should never fall in love with a human’ lecture? I’m not Lucifer.”

Satan snorts, a bitter grin splitting his lips, “Does that mean he knows about this and is going to berate me later?”

Asmo’s shoulders rise and fall with the hyperbole of a stage actor or a five-year-old, Satan choosing the latter as a more accurate description.

“Who knows? I don’t. I haven’t told anyone and, as far as I know, I’m the only one who’s figured out why you’ve been acting so weird around ___.”

He turns his head to face forward again, hiding his beaming, scheming smile from Satan, “But if I were you, I would hash out your feelings now, before all of our brothers figure it out and try to do something stupid. For example… try to stop you, or maybe… try to take ___ for themselves?”

The scrape of the chair against the floor as Satan leaps to his feet has Asmo chuckling despite himself.

“Sorry! Couldn’t help myself.”

Satan’s death stare softens when Asmodeus turns back once again to meet his eyes, the look he sends the Avatar of Wrath oddly kind considering his teasing not five seconds before.

“Just be honest with her and you’ll be fine, Satan. Lust is the body’s way of telling the truth, and love is the same for the heart. Trust your brother on that~”

With those parting words, Asmo takes his leave, leaving Satan to stand there mulling his words over in thought. As he struts down the hallway, Asmo can’t help but let a little sigh escape his lips.

“I meant what I said, Satan. You better snatch her up before I do. Just be thankful that I’m giving you a head start.”

~

He wishes that he could be bold enough to go straight to her and confess his revelation - confess that she has taken over the better part of his thoughts for so long that she has basically denounced him as the Avatar of Wrath altogether.

But, unfortunately for him, his rational side is much more in control than his emotional side, even with the realisation of his feelings for her. Any inkling of thought to approach her, any free chance to change the subject or whisk her away to speak in private is cut off… by his own doing.

Curse you for giving me some of your foolish pride, Lucifer. Satan seethes inwardly, looking for anyone to blame regardless of accountability.

Strolling with palpable irritation through the House of Lamentation’s halls, he pulls his phone out for the umpteenth time today, swiping it open and opening the messaging app. He stares at her contact, top of the list. The last message sent was her sending a sticker, the little demon character smiling brightly at him. With a slow, deliberate inhale, he focuses on dispelling all of his inhibitions with this exhale. Then, with every fibre of his being, he stops himself from thinking and simply lets his thumbs type away against the screen.

                    Satan: Are you busy right now? If not, come to my room for a bit.

He hits send before pausing to look over the message. With his eyebrows furrowing and that just-short-of-comfortable warmth pooling in the depth of his stomach, he types out a second message.

                    Satan: I want to see you.

That message sends a much harsher jolt of warmth through him as he hits send, suddenly self-conscious at his boldness and acutely aware of how direct and clear his message is. Even though he was staring directly at the screen, the vibration of the reply still makes him jump. Scolding himself and shaking his head, he pours his eyes over the screen.

                    ___: Okay! I’ll be there in 10.

Three little dots dance in sequence beneath the text, Satan’s hint to know that she’s typing something else. What appears is a sticker, the little red demon character blushing as it averts its eyes. Satan is quick to mimic the sticker - though unintentionally - his free hand covering his mouth as he turns his eyes to the ground, the heat emanating from his cheeks coursing into his fingertips.

Is that a good sign? I’ve read that courting for humans is the same for demons, but that was a book from the last millennia so maybe it’s changed since then? … I’m reading too much into this. Stop thinking, Satan!

With a grunt and a grimace, Satan continues down the hall, his footsteps heavier with anticipation and nerves. He vaguely registers a side glance and eyebrow raise from Lucifer as he passes him, but he doesn’t stop to process it. Not when the biggest challenge of his life was looming above him and ready to strike.

…

It was the longest ten minutes of this immortal demon’s entire life.

But the soft sound of knocking fills the quiet room and Satan is quick to open the door. He’s greeted by an equally soft smile, her cheeks rising with her clear happiness at seeing him. Satan feels the desire to let his gaze drift down to her lips, but he resists; every interaction with her begins this way after that night, but thankfully he can retain a somewhat normal air without her noticing his gawking.

Without a word, he opens the door further and steps aside. She walks past him as she enters the room, Satan aware of her eyes never leaving him even after he closes the door. Now alone in his room is when Satan begins to feel nerves twist his stomach into knots and swell in his throat like a lodged rock.

“Thank you for coming. I realise it was short notice.” He hopes he sounds normal enough as he says that.

She replies with a soft laugh, “Of course. I always enjoy seeing you.”

Satan swears he feels his ribcage jolt with how hard his heart hammers against his chest. Her words hold such power over him that he starts to second-guess if she might be a wizard like Solomon. He closes his eyes and clears his throat, raising one hand to his hip and the other to his chest.

“Hm. Well, good. I… I do, too.”

Keeping his eyes closed, he finds the words coming to him easier.

“Do you remember when you told me to come and talk to you whenever I needed to?”

“Yeah, I do.” He hears her small heeled boots click once, twice, against the floor, her voice closer than before as she worriedly asks, “Is something wrong?”

Satan swallows thickly. “I wouldn’t say ‘wrong’, per se. It’s just… difficult. I haven’t felt anything like this before, so it was quite the mission to wrap my head around before I could accept the truth.”

The hand at his chest clenches into a fist, his sweater balled into its middle - directly over his heart.

“I found it infuriating at first, and even more so when I became aware of what this was. But now, I’m just angry at myself because I can’t look you in the eyes as I tell you this.”

“Why can’t you?”

An understandable question, yet it tightens the frown on Satan’s face and makes his breath leave him as a hiss through clenched teeth.

“Because looking at you makes me want to--!” He bites his tongue and turns his back to her, the end of his sentence ushering from his lips with remorse and shame, “--it makes me want to kiss you...”

A beat of silence. Enough to convince Satan that everything he has said has ruined their chances at ever having a normal conversation again. 

Her footsteps announce themselves as she steps closer, each one cautious as if she is approaching a frightened yet powerful beast. Gently, she places her hand on his shoulder, and Satan tenses slightly at her warmth - at her warmth only making his own warmth burn hotter.

“Satan.”

Please, don’t do it, he begs silently. But it is ultimately futile.

“Satan, look me in the eye.”

His body moves on its own accord, obeying the pact without any concern for the demon’s reluctance. She doesn’t command him - nor any of the demon brothers - that often through the pacts she made with them, but they know that when she does, it’s serious. Satan turns around, his arms moving to hang rigidly at his sides before his eyes are forced open by demonic influence.

She stands in front of him, no more than a foot away, her head tilted up to meet his eyes. And she looks… beautiful. Her eyes glisten with the beginnings of tears, yet her gaze is clear and focused only on his face. Her cheeks are stained a tempting shade of pink and stretch out to caress her ears. And her lips look so tantalizing and soft as she releases a breath from them. 

For a moment, the two stand there staring at each other, absorbing each other’s palpable emotions and letting themselves get lost in the other’s eyes. Then, she raises her hand and carefully cups the Avatar of Wrath’s cheek with a touch so tender that he forgets himself for a moment. His eyes widen and his lungs halt their breaths, everything ceasing to focus on the warmth and softness of her hand against him.

“___…” Satan breathes out, his voice confused and pleading, desperate for both more and less simultaneously.

The pad of the human’s thumb strokes against the skin of Satan’s cheek, seemingly lost in the act of touching him. He swallows around the lump in his throat and waits for her to speak, the everpresent heat only flaring hotter at the addition of her skin caressing his own.

“Tell me, Satan.” Her cheeks flush further and her eyes communicate hope and affection, “Why do you want to kiss me?”

“Because, I…”

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, her fingers sweet as they comb through his blond hair in a comforting, encouraging way. Lost in her eyes yet emboldened by her actions, his own hand lifts to cup her cheek, his thumb gravitating to push on her lower lip, so plush and perfect.

“Because I love you.”

His whispered words incite the warmth within him, breaking the dam and flooding his entire body with this sweet, addictive heat. Satan moves his thumb, replacing it with his lips as he finally, finally listens to his heart. She hums into the kiss, her fingers gliding further into his hair and tightening her grip, just enough to keep her presence known. Their lips part with incredible reluctance, their faces still so close together that neither can see anything except the other’s lips, both open and ready for more.

“I love you, too.”

… What?

Satan baulks, his breath leaving him as a confused gasp that he couldn’t mask quickly enough. She laughs softly at his confusion, her fingertips moving to brush his fringe out of his face while her other hand moves to grip his shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

“I love your company, your wit, how sweet you can be, your kindness. I love you, Satan. And I want to kiss you, too.”

His heart soars at her words, his brain struggling to catch up. But his body does not wait to react, the heat beneath his skin now burning his blood and fogging his brain. His eyes darken and his breath leaves his lips hot and desperate. Whilst familiar sensations, they feel foreign to Satan, this heat being too… addicting. He wants - no, needs - more.

His inhibitions discarded, his lips reunite with hers with such vigour that she gasps against him. Satan takes the opportunity to trace his tongue over her lips, poking and prodding at them, desperate for access. Her shock subsiding, she gladly relents with a sweet sigh and Satan claims her, his tongue running along the roof of her mouth before seeking out her own tongue to twine with. His hand still holding her cheek, the other loops around her waist and pulls her flush against him, desperate to feel more of her warmth and to share this glorious, suffocating heat with her. Her hands move as well, her grip tightening on his sweater while the other returns to his hair, carding her fingers through it and gripping tight.

Satan inhales sharply through his nose before deepening the kiss. She pulls his hair harder in response, the action spurring him on and making him want more. He sucks her bottom lip between his teeth, toying softly with it, lulling her into safety before biting down. Her groan is let out into the air unmuffled by their kiss, Satan pulling back with her lip still between his teeth. He lets go, letting her catch her breath and letting his eyes rake over the fierce blush on her face and the sweet, swollen velvet red of her lips. He pulls her back for another kiss, his impatience mounting. She returns it eagerly, her gasps and moans chorusing together. Their hands move over each other like the ebb and flow of a tide, each responding to the other and reacting in turn.

Their lips never leaving each other, Satan staggers backwards, urging her to follow. His back hits the door of his room with more force than she expected, her balance skewing and her chest colliding with Satan’s. She releases his lips with a gasp, pulling back to make sure he’s alright, but the hand on her cheek pulls her back in for more, a moaned grunt of satisfaction leaving Satan.

“Don’t stop.” He breathes out against her lips, his words muffled by the kiss he speaks through. 

When she hesitates, Satan moves his hand from her cheek to the back of her head. He lets his fingers be enveloped in the silky river of her hair before gripping it and tilting her head back with just enough force to hurt. She gasps, an edge of pain in her voice, but a whimper follows as Satan attaches his lips to the sensitive skin of her pulse point. Soft yet fierce kisses travel across the plains of her neck down to the collar of her shirt before retracing each step anew, his teeth nipping every so often at her soft skin just so Satan can feel her twitch beneath him. The pleasure he feels pooling within him is incredible, the heat intoxicating and desperate for release.

If I’m not careful, I might just--

His lips reattach to her pulse point, sucking and nibbling at the skin whilst the hand at her waist adjusts to trace his fingers along her spine, relishing in the way her body follows his touch as if begging for more.

I need more.

He moves back up to cherish her jaw, kissing along its edge until he reaches her ear. Her breath leaves her as a shuddered moan when Satan takes her earlobe between his lips, his tongue playful in its caresses and his teeth gentle in its affection against her sensitive organ.

“S-Satan…”

Her saccharine voice makes him sigh, the sound reverberating right into her ear and sending a shiver of pleasure through her. Just before he can return to her waiting lips--

“Satan! You in there?”

The voice and simultaneous knock shock the two in the room, the vibrations of the knock felt through their bodies significantly. In a panic, she buries her face into Satan’s chest to prevent any sound of shock from escaping. His hand still on her head, he gently strokes her hair both to calm her and to compose himself.

“What? I’m busy.”

“Lucifer needs ya. Better come quick before he throws a fit.”

Satan clicks his tongue at Mammon’s awfully timed message, “Alright. I’ll be over shortly.”

“Don’t leave it too long or we’ll both be in deep trouble! And I won’t forgive ya for it!”

His older brother’s heavy footsteps disappear into silence as he leaves, but they remain silent and still for a moment longer just to be safe. Convinced that they’re alone once again, Satan buries his face into the crown of her head and sighs deeply, his breath tousling her locks and wafting the sweet scent of her hair into his nostrils. He feels her nuzzle into his chest and he can’t help but smile at the action, his past thoughts of her being cat-like re-emerging in his mind. 

After another minute enjoying each other’s embraces on borrowed time, Satan begrudgingly pulls himself back. She follows suit, pushing herself from his chest but keeping her hands against him just as an excuse to touch him. Their eyes meet and they share an embarrassed smile, both of them flushed and glowing with a subtle hint of yearning and lust.

“You okay?”

His question makes her smile widen and she stands on her toes to press a ghost of a kiss against his lips, one so quick that he can’t react quick enough to reciprocate.

“More than.” she grins, “The demon I love returns my feelings. How can I not be okay?”

A troubled smile couples with tender eyes to make Satan realise that his heart is definitely going to be tested with this human if she keeps this up. But, the thought of always feeling so pleasantly lost for words and lighter than air doesn’t actually sound that bad to him.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by her hand sweeping a stray blond lock of his hair back into place, her eyes narrowing with unadulterated affection.

“Go on, then. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Lucifer.”

Satan nods, yet neither of them moves. His fingers massage the muscles at her hips, and hers trace over his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt. He can’t help but grin wryly at how easily this human has him in the palm of her hand, but realises that she likely feels the same about him. It makes him happy to imagine but, ultimately, the thought of Lucifer coming after him overpowers his greater desire to stay.

He pushes her away gently by her hips and moves away from the door. Quickly straightening out his clothes, he hesitates to turn to leave as he eyes her face. She raises an eyebrow at him and he lets out a soft laugh.

“One more?”

She rolls her eyes, but her grin and the twinkle in her eyes give her away. Satan closes the distance between them, his hand moulding to the shape of her face as he cups her cheek and his lips doing the same as they meet hers. Slow, smouldering, sweet; the kiss lingers even as they both pull away, the kiss kept short lest they get lost within their passions again.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you when you come back.” She whispers with a conspiratorial smile, one Satan can’t help but mirror.

With a final, final peck to her lips, Satan pulls himself away from temptation and opens the door to leave, his eyes locked on her for as long as possible before closing the door behind him. The sweet, lingering heat still coursing through his veins simmers gently through him, her warmth and her scent reminding him of her presence despite her absence. He scoffs, yet the smile alighting his lips doesn’t match the sound.

I’m an idiot. And she’s an idiot for choosing me. But, now that I have her, I won’t let her go. This warmth of hers is mine.

As he starts walking towards Lucifer’s room, Satan does his best to school his features to keep the content smile off his face. But he can’t deny that it’s difficult, knowing that she’ll be waiting for him to return. And that she loves him and yearns for him, too.

That fact fills him with sweet, loving warmth.

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me satan #obey me female MC #I had a lot of fun writing this so hopefully you all like it too uwu #alternate title: Satan is a dingus #long fic

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter 3: The Scarlet Letter

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Word Count: 4,420

Warnings: Bad grades, swearing, anxiety, bullying

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @bajino-in-the-hole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rmenta0​ @10blurredsmoke10 @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​

Steve arrived first to Mr. Lawrence’s homeroom, his paper shoved to the back of his notebook. He was happy to have the distraction of Vicki and Tina jabbering at him. He didn’t want to think about his paper. English wasn’t his best subject, but he could hide it from his peers when it was just the teacher and him going back and forth on essays, him writing and them marking. Now, somebody was going to know that he wasn’t good at this. Nancy knew, of course, and while she didn’t say it she always seemed a bit judgemental over his lack of essay writing skill. She was good at everything; it made him feel like he was in good hands when they were together, like they both had something to offer. Apart, it made him feel stupid and secondary, like he was awful at everything. Truth be told, he didn’t exactly know what he had even offered to that relationship, looking back he couldn’t understand why he thought he was worth anything in a relationship at all.

When he sat down, the desk next to him was empty. Steve wasn’t usually early to class, so he was a bit relieved to not see you there. Maybe he could avoid the eminent roasting of his work.

You got to school late. You were absolutely drenched from head to toe. You had walked to school that day, and a sudden rainstorm hit you halfway through, soaking you before you could make it to the building. To make it worse, you’d decided to wear white for the first time in forever. You rushed to your locker in the hopes to change and luckily you’d left a stained sweatshirt there from the previous semester. You’d pushed your wet hair up and away from your face and rubbed away the bits of black eyeliner that had flaked down you cheeks. You looked like shit and you knew it. It was turning into a less than successful morning. You hadn’t even had a chance to look in your locker mirror once you’d changed. You were already late enough for class and didn’t need the write up. You rushed to your English class.

Everyone turned their attention to the doorway when you opened it. You hurried to your desk, keeping your head down and ignoring as Vicki and Tina laughed. You heard Tina say “She looks like a drowned rat.” But you chose to pretend that you didn’t. You were freezing; Hawkins High turned off the heating system mid-March and left the school to stew in whatever weather the state was dealing with to save the county a few bucks a month.

Steve slid his paper onto your desk, keeping his eye on the front of the room as Mr. Lawrence took up attendance. He’d written on the board in chalk ‘how to peer edit’ in thick block letters. You weren’t exactly enthused by the topic, but you were glad to have the dull class to doodle instead of actually listening. You flipped the paper in front of you, looking over Steve’s chicken scratch without really taking in any of the information. You slid it into your trapper keeper, passing Steve your own typed copy of the assignment. You’d made sure to keep the original at home, edited just in case Steve didn’t give you any edits. You left in some mistakes so he could get a grade, but you didn’t want to have to rely solely on him.

You flipped open your sketchpad slowly, keeping your eye on Tracy Lords curly mess of hair piled high on the top of her head like Medusa’s snakes trapped in a golden laurel, or in this case a braided headband. You pulled your graphite pencil from the pink pencil bag you’d sewn in freshman year home-ec. You started with the shape, trying to capture the exact strangeness pile, making little tight curls in the centre of the oval and spiralling in all directions. You felt a pair of eyes on your neck and you turned to see Steve staring over your shoulder. You pulled yourself and the pad inward, trying not to blush. You didn’t like people looking at your art; you hardly showed your work to anyone, even Samantha. All of your drawings sat in their pads, which piled up as the years went by, untouched and forgotten. If Samantha wasn’t allowed to see the pictures of her, Steve Harrington was certainly not allowed a peak.

“Alright, today if you and your partner are ready to begin, we’ll start editing our papers. If you aren’t ready, that’s fine but today is the only day that we’re doing in class editing so I would spend today trying to finish up so you can at least pass your papers on.” Mr. Lawrence explained. You sighed, closing your pad and pulling Steve’s essay from your trapper keeper.

“Now, we want to look for not only spelling and grammar problems, but also sentences that don’t make sense and confusing details within the essay. It’s not about how many big words you can use, it’s if you can accurately and dynamically give your reader information.” Mr. Lawrence explained. He took to the board, writing key points for his marking, specifically to edit in pen and give a letter grade for the paper.

Tina’s hand shot up “You want us to grade the paper? Isn’t that your job?” she asked, smacking her gum violently. Vicki snickered into her palm, reddish brown hair away from her face.

Mr. Lawrence shook his head “No no, I’m not taking your grade on the papers into consideration for my grade, instead I want us to give each other grades to mark the progress of an essay, to give your partner an idea of what the paper might be worth. It’ll be up to them as to whether or not they are comfortable with the grade or if they want to improve.”

You didn’t like that. Who the hell wanted their classmate grading their paper? This was a recipe for disaster. You uncapped your red pen with your teeth, chewing on the lid nervously. You looked over the page. You had made up your mind that you’d be nice. You’d want Steve to be nice to you. It was the least you could do.

But it only took a few lines to understand that this was not a good paper. Spelling and grammar mistakes galore, run on, confusing sentences, no clear subject. It wasn’t even a good story, hell it wasn’t even an essay it came off more like a point form list. As you added more and more red ink to the black, white, and blue it started as. The paper started to become a Jackson Pollack more than a lame essay for an English class, it almost felt beautiful instead of shitty to destroy his essay. It was as though you were turning into art.

Out of curiosity, you looked over at your paper to see how it was fairing. Steve was, as expected, chatting up Vicki from across the aisle, and he’d made two corrections on your page, both small mistakes you’d left in. You rolled your eyes, a pit of annoyance making itself known in the centre of your stomach, as bitter as the cyanide in a peach pit. You made your last two corrects before scrawling a large ‘D’ at the top of the page and initialling next to it.  

You flipped the paper over and pulled back out your sketchpad and brought it close to your chest, pulling your knee up to your chest and adding more curls to the back of Tracy Lords’ head, then focusing in on the braided headband until the bell rang. You flipped your pad closed and slid Steve’s essay back to him, quickly putting your stuff away.

“You mind if I take this home and give it to you tomorrow?” Steve asked, waving your essay in front of your face, nearly giving you a paper cut on the bridge of your nose.

You pushed the paper away, squinting up at him. “Yeah, whatever…” you replied, turning away from. You didn’t feel bad for giving him a bad grade now. He was still a dick head. “Don’t forget your paper.” You added, quickly making your way into the halls. You didn’t usually have the confidence to be snarky with anyone you didn’t trust, but something told you that you could handle Steve Harrington. Maybe it was just how awful his essay was, you felt like you could talk your way out of a fight.

Samantha grabbed your arm as you left the room, the pair of you thankful to have the same lunch period every other day. You hurried into the cafeteria. You knew well enough that she was on the prowl, eyes scanning the room for a certain figure.

“I think the band’s practising today, dude.” You said, taking an extra tray for Samantha and getting her serving of lumpy mashed potatoes and chicken surprise slopped on the plate. Samantha was looking for Robin Buckley, a junior on her soccer team who had drawn her attention as of late, and had been trying to get closer to her as of late, inviting her to join them for lunch every time she saw her and leaving you to third wheel.

“Yeah, probably.” She replied, taking the tray you held out for her and paid for her meal. “So, how’d talking sweet, sexy assignments with King Harrington?” Samantha crooned, batting her eyelashes up at you.

You rolled your eyes “Well, for one, we don’t talk period, and for another it’s fucking awful.” Taking your places at the table closest to the emergency exit, you settled into your routine of trying to choke down the awful cafeteria food. You grabbed your trays and had them filled with whatever horrific concoction the lunch ladies had come up with that day. You carried your grey and brown mushy mess to your table, a small four seater near the edge of the room, out of view from the popular assholes who liked the throw food.

“Oh? Is that what makes it awful? Not getting to enjoy the charming conversations he has to offer?” Samantha was trying hard not to laugh. Watching you squirm was hilarious.

“More like because I have to read his writing…” you replied. You jabbed your fork into what was supposed to be pot roast, but seemed to be ninety percent instant gravy and ten percent meat from an undetermined animal.

“Since when are you such a snob?” Samantha’s mouth was full of mashed potatoes, but the words rang clear.

“Since I spent my morning reading absolute dog shit about a vacation to Miami beach. It was pathetic! I mean, and I’m no critic, but if you’re going to write me an essay on your vacation, can you at least make it interesting?” you ranted. The more you talked about how awful it was the angrier you got about it. You spent so long on art and creating, you spent your time working hard and for someone to slide through life made your blood boil.

Steve didn’t usually spend his free time searching through the cafeteria for people, people usually found him. Tommy and Carol had already motioned him over, their new friend Billy already gone somewhere else, and Vicki and Tina had called for him to join them, but Steve had to handle something first. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, he wasn’t certain he’d find it in there, but there wasn’t any shame in searching. He would ask someone for directions, but it seemed that nobody knew or cared where you were at any time.

You gave him a ‘D’. A god damned ‘D’! He was flummoxed, he thought his essay was shit, he wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t, but he had expected you to be a bit kinder. That was like the unexpected rule of everyone in the class, to grade on the curve. But you went in hard. All he wanted was some answers.

He saw first a flash of pencil stained hands in the air, then the shine of your hair under the florescent lights. You were talking with your hands, making Samantha Cameron laugh hard. He’d never seen you that animated, it made him smile for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

He chuckled, coming up behind you in the hopes that your ease would stick around if he didn’t announce his presence. “You really gave me a D on my paper? What did I do to deserve that?” he asked.

Apparently, you really couldn’t smile when he was around. Both you and Samantha’s smiles dropped, your punky friend dropping her gaze as you were forced to turn around. “Oh…um…well I mean it…maybe I need to look it over again, I was probably being too harsh…” you stuttered, unable to keep yourself from burning up.  You prayed that he hadn’t heard what you were saying. That would’ve been awful.

“Hey, it’s cool, the paper’s no good, it’s no big deal.” That was a lie of sorts, when Steve saw the big red ‘D’, his heart dropped. And he really didn’t believe that you were as innocent as you seemed. You seemed guilty over something.

“Well…I’m sorry anyway. I didn’t mean to bother you…” you apologized. You hoped he’d go away; you’d never been more uncomfortable around a person than Steve Harrington. You didn’t know why, but something about him made gave you more butterflies than other people did, he scared you for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

“You didn’t bother me, don’t worry.” Steve chuckled awkwardly. You wouldn’t look him in the eye, it was throwing him off. “So, listen, I don’t want to fail this class,” he huffed out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck “Could you maybe help me rewrite this thing?”

You looked to Samantha, unsure if you could even speak words anymore, but she was smirking into her pot roast. Absolutely no help at all. You tried to smile “Um…sure, I can’t promise I’ll be much help though…” your voice was hoarse and unsure of itself. You hated that you’d said yes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. What if he got mad? Or yelled at you? You couldn’t handle being ridiculed or yelled at, you’d die.

Steve chuckled “Any help I can get is good enough. I can meet you in the library after school, okay?” he said, turning his gaze to Tommy’s hollering from across the cafeteria. He waved him over with both hands, like a sailor on a sinking ship, trying to beckon Steve back to where he belonged. Steve nodded, holding up his index finger, he only needed one minute.

“Sure, yeah that’ll work.” You said, fiddling with a thread hanging from the edge of your grey sweatshirt. You’d painted a little pink flower on the inside of the sleeve. When Steve saw it, he couldn’t help but smile at it; it looked so sweet and earnest.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” He left after that, heading over to Tommy, who was frustrated beyond belief. He took his seat easily, stealing the pudding cup off of Carol’s tray wordlessly.

“What did that freak want?” Tommy asked loudly, his eyes blown wide. Carol was painting her nails, not even bothering to look up from her work. Tommy made no attempts to hide his dislike of you. He’d expected his best friend since the second grade to feel the same.

“She’s nice, we’re doing an assignment together.” Steve replied with a shrug, pulling the plastic covering off the cup, sticking the plastic spoon into the vanilla pudding.

Across the room, Samantha grabbed onto your hands with a giddy grin. “Look at my little girl! She’s got plans, with a boy!” she squealed, swinging your arms back and forth over the table.

“Jesus, can you please stop acting so straight? You’re gonna scare Robin off.” You yanked your hands away, watching with a grin as she turned her attention back to looking around the room excitedly. You let your eyes find Steve in the cafeteria, the buzz of fear filling your ears. You couldn’t believe that you agreed to meet him anywhere. You wanted to disappear.

You couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the day. Your mind had gone into a feral sort of panic mode, pumping fear through your veins and turning your palms cold. When the final bell rang, it took all your strength and courage to not run all the way home. You knew that if you didn’t show, the problem wouldn’t go away. You’d just have to deal with the results of ditching the next day, and if not done now, then you’d have to deal with it another day. You clutched your books tight to your chest, sitting on the bench outside the library, trying to keep the butterflies from bursting out of your mouth. Your hands kept coming to your hair, trying to fix it or keep it away from your ears, maybe just to comfort yourself. It had dried weird and you worried that it looked ridiculous.

You saw his shoes come up to yours before you saw his face, royal blue Adidas with white and red details and dirty laces. You noted your own dirty white Converse, marked with mud and lyrics to songs that Samantha wrote on the toes. “Hey, you ready to do this?” Steve asked. You looked up and nodded, swallowing hard.

You wouldn’t make eye contact with him again. It was really starting to freak him out. He didn’t know what he did wrong, but it seemed like you really didn’t like him. Still, you’d agreed to help him and he wouldn’t take that for granted. He’d read your essay twice and it was good. He didn’t know much about good writing, but he knew that Mr. Lawrence would like it, that it would get a good grade. And he wanted decent grades too, so he could get into college and get his dad off his back.

The Hawkins High library was fairly quiet after school, most students headed back home or to after school clubs.  Only a few stragglers remained, mostly using electric typewriters and returning books to poor Mrs. Mueller, who always kept the library open till four, waiting for her husband, the head of custodial staff, to finish his work. She smiled at you when you walked in. Mrs. Mueller was a nice woman who let you sit in the library during lunch and always checked in on you when you seemed alone. She was your favourite teacher, despite never having a class taught by her.

Steve chose a table in the dead centre of the room, dropping his blue bag on the wooden chair next to him and pulling out his papers. You carefully followed suite, folding your hands in your lap, unsure what to do with them. Steve smiled at you, sliding the essay towards you “So, what am I doing wrong?” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes, unsure where to begin. You picked up the paper, and then open your notebook, writing down everything the story seemed to be about. Steve watched you, utterly confused.  Once you had every down, you set down your pen. “Okay,” you didn’t look up from your paper, sliding the essay to the middle of the table. “Tell me what your paper is about.”

“What? You read it, you should know.” Steve laughed awkwardly.

“Humour me.” You replied, looking up slowly to meet his eye. Steve’s smiled dropped, looking at you for a second. You broke eye contact first, but he wished he had been able to hold it for a moment longer.

“Okay, well,” he took a deep breath “I wrote about my family’s trip to our cottage on Miami Beach, and I talked about what I did. Nothing much.”

“Okay, because what you actually wrote isn’t really about that. What you told me is that you went to Miami Beach, your parents own a dirty beach house that was your grandparent’s house and that they’re both dead, that your grandfather fought in World War Two and that the medals were framed in the house, that you met a girl on the beach but she didn’t like you, and that the flight was long.” You explained. You still couldn’t believe that he’d fit all of that into a page of work.

“So?” Steve asked. That was all true of his last trip. Mind you, that was way back in middle school and the details were hazy.

“So, that’s a lot of information that I don’t care about. You can cut all of the stuff about your grandparents, which takes up like half of it. And when you cut that, all I know is that the beach house is in Miami Beach and you met a girl and the flight was long. That’s not bad, but I’d like to know a bit more about it.” You said, taking back the essay from the middle of the page and crossed out every line about his grandparents.

“What do I say instead then?” Steve asked, watching as you crossed out half his page, trying not to sound defeated. You were basically saying that he had to start all over again.

“Well, tell me about the beach? Pretend like I’ve never been. What’s there to do, what’d you like about it?” you shrugged. You found yourself feeling a tad bit calmer; the butterflies had calmed their intense flapping and had let you breathe.

Steve sighed “I don’t know, I’m just bullshitting.”

“What’d you mean?” you asked.

“I mean, I didn’t go on there, I haven’t been to our beach house since I was a kid.” Steve looked away. He was embarrassed to have been caught in a lie, even more knowing that now he’d have to rewrite his whole paper.

“Oh…what’d you actually do on your break?” you hadn’t expected him to be lying about anything, a snow bird spring break trip sounded about right for his family, they were always bragging about their money.

Steve chuckled “Oh no, nothing worth writing an essay on.” You looked up at him again. He seemed a bit sad. You pulled another sheet of paper from your trapper keeper, setting it overtop the last one.

“Tell me about it.” You smiled at him despite yourself. He was bit easier to talk to than you’d imagined.

Steve swallowed, nodding despite himself. “Well, I mean my parents went to the beach house and I tried to throw a party, you probably heard about how that went.” He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“No…” you shook your head. Steve wasn’t expecting that. Everyone had heard about the failed party, he’d gotten shit about it for weeks.

“Well, I couldn’t get any supplies, so I cancelled and hung out with Tommy and Carol instead. We got drunk in my backyard and Carol fell in the pool. She was so pissed. Then, I pretty much just hung about town, helped my buddy Dustin beat Dragon’s Lair at the arcade.” Steve didn’t really like admitting how lame his life was, he purposefully left out how Tommy and Carol only hung out with him when he went to pick up some weed from his older brother and they wanted a hit off it. Admitting that his life wasn’t that great made him feel small and like it was out of his control, which was not exactly a good feeling.

“Okay, tell me about the little party you had with Tommy and Carol. What was the night like? Was it fun? Did you jump in the pool too or did you watch her fall and laugh?” You had written down the few details in a bubble tree and added more details as he explained his time more thoroughly. You managed to get a bit more information on both events, learning more about his friend Dustin and the game they played.

When he was finished, you slid the page over to him. He took it, eyebrow raised in confusion, but you spoke before he could ask any questions. “This is your blue print. I wrote down everything you told me; now just turn it into an essay. The whole trick about these assignments is that you’re telling a story, and to make it interesting you have to give us details, and not about your grandparents or other things that don’t add to the story at hand, about what actually was happening.” You explained, checking the plastic watch on your wrist. It was almost four and Mrs. Mueller had already passed your table twice, her silent warning to leave. Everyone else who had been there had long left and you became very aware of how alone you were with him. The butterflies started their flapping again, churning tides in your stomach.

Steve smiled “Okay, I promise it’ll be interesting though.” He chuckled.

You shrugged “I promise that it’s more interesting than what you had before.” You shoved your papers into your bag, standing quickly “If you want me to look at it again before you hand it in, just bring it to me in class, alright? The library’s closing so I should go.”

“You want a ride home?” you spun around to look at him, crossing your arms over your paint splattered sweatshirt. The rain storm of the morning was long forgotten and you didn’t know what the weather looked like now. A part of you wanted to take the ride, but a much bigger part of you told you to run away.

You shook your head “No, um my friend Samantha said she’d drive me after her soccer practise, she’s probably waiting for me.” You lied straight through your teeth, adjusting your backpack straps on your shoulders.

“Oh…sure, yeah, I’ll see you around.” Steve stood slowly, tucking in his chair. You waved politely and headed out. The rain had stopped, thank god, and you rushed to your locker, grabbing your wet clothes from your locker before making your way outside. The field was muddy, practise was probably cancelled. You took the long way home that afternoon, cutting through the woods and the muddy park to avoid being spotted by Harrington on the way and getting caught in a lie.

The afternoon had gone well. And that scared the shit out of you.

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve x you #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington au #steve harrington aus #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #stranger things headcanon #stranger things imagine #stranger things au #stranger things steve #stranger things steve harrington #reader fanfiction #reader fic #stranger things reader insert

[yamisnuffles]

Let Them Eat Crepes

Crowley suffers through Aziraphale eating crepes after the rescue at the Bastille.

Rated M. Read on Ao3

A very silly thing written as a gift for @racketghost to hopefully bring her some cheer. - - - - -

When Crowley had taken up residence in Paris, it hadn’t been to play host to a fussy angel with a death wish. He’d thought of the angel. Of course he had. Any time through history when he kept a room with a bed, he took some time to imagine said angel in said bed. But Paris was a nightmare and he was only there to keep up appearances, maybe scrape up the occasional detail for a report. He hadn’t thought Aziraphale would ever actually appear. Not in the middle of a bloody revolution. Certainly not dressed like that.

“What good fortune they offer crepes at the very same inn where you are keeping a room,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sipped at his cider. It was supposed to pair well with the crepes. Not that he was eating any himself, despite having ordered food. Somehow his plates always ended up in front of Aziraphale.

“Yeah, fortunate.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and speared another bite on his fork. “And such good ones, too.”

He punctuated the statement with a moan that sent Crowley’s blood on a trip south. He took a much larger gulp of cider. Alcohol tended to at least postpone the inevitable reaction to watching the angel eat. At this rate, he’d probably be better off asking for a whole cask. They were only two plates in and hadn’t yet reached the cruelest part of any meal.

Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale resented the creation of forks. Sure, he would use them, but there always came a moment in any meal when he abandoned his utensils in favor of more natural options. Whether it was licking the last bit of broth from a bowl or chasing some spot of cream with his fingers, it happened without fail and it was hell. Literal hell. Well, maybe not literal but Crowley thought it came close to anything they’d come up with Downstairs.

He was, at present, using a torn off scrap of crepe to sop up a bit of golden yolk. He swept the delicate pastry across the plate and let it drag through gooey Gruyère that clung to his thumb and forefinger. Once this process was complete, he would pop it all into his mouth with a moan and suck his fingers clean. He continued on with a single minded focus until the plate was absolutely spotless and Crowley was on the edge of breaking his tightly clenched jaw.

Aziraphale stopped short of putting the final bite in his mouth and looked up at Crowley, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “I know you said you didn’t want any, but maybe just a taste? It really was divine.”

He held out that final scrap on the tip of glistening fingers, as though he expected Crowley to simply nip it away.

Hell. It was hell and Crowley was going to die.

He licked his lips. “Nah. No. M’fine.” He coughed and looked at the empty bottom of his mug. He considered getting more but he needed more than just alcohol at that point. “I’ve got a few good bottles in my room. How about we head up there.”

Aziraphale ate the rejected scrap of food and licked away the grease that had coated his fingers as he held it. “But I haven’t finished yet,” he said with a frown. “It would be a shame to go through all that nasty business at the Bastille without at least eating my fill.”

Wide blue eyes drifted toward the kitchen and then back at Crowley, widening further as they went. Eyebrows lifted up. A bottom lip made its appearance and wobbled for good measure. It really was a marvel, looking back, that it had taken Crowley so long to suggest Aziraphale take on temptations. The angel was a natural at it.

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth and considered his options. “Ehhh, it’ll be fine. They’ll bring the food up.” They might not know why, but given they’d only started offering crepes an hour ago, it was hardly the most confusing thing they’d been through that day. “We can finish up in my room.”

“Oh, good.” It was clear the moment Aziraphale was appeased because his pout was instantly replaced by a smile. “Well then, lead the way.”

Crowley risked a surreptitious glance downward that he hoped his glasses blocked from view. Despite the growing tension in his abdomen, it didn’t look like his trousers were in a state to give him away. If he walked a little oddly, he had to hope Aziraphale was too focused on the promise of future crepes to notice.

When they got up to Crowley’s room, Aziraphale gave it all an appraising look. He wrinkled his nose at one of the chairs, removed his hat, and used it to wipe the offending furniture off before he took a seat. “Charming place you have here.”

Crowley shrugged with as much disinterest as he could physically muster and went into the small bedroom off the main room. The wardrobe had been repurposed as a wine cabinet. “Doesn’t need to be charming. I’m a demon. It’s supposed to be dark and dank and gloomy,” he called back as he ran his fingers over the labels of some of the wine he’d liberated from now deceased nobles. He grabbed two bottles of Chardonnay and glasses for the both of them and, after a moment of chewing on his lip, a bottle of Champagne. “Besides, not like I’m planning on staying much longer.”

When he returned, he found two large platters of crepes had been delivered. Aziraphale had a fork in hand but seemed unable to decide which to sample first. He settled on one dusted in sugar with sliced lemons on top. His lips puckered slightly around the lemon before relaxing back to a smile. Crowley wanted to lick into his mouth and see if the tartness of the lemon remained or if it would be all Aziraphale. Instead he uncorked a bottle with his teeth and drank a hearty swig of Chardonnay.

“If dark and dank is what you were going for,” Aziraphale said, “then well done, my dear. It’s good to hear you won’t be lingering, though.”

Crowley swallowed down more wine. Between that and all the cider before, he could feel his limbs loosening. He stretched out his legs, forgetting why he’d been keeping them crossed in the first place. “Not much more to do here, really. Can only write, ‘the humans have chopped off more heads’ so many times. Got my commendation, anyway. Might as well head out before Downstairs starts expecting something new and exciting.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Seems prudent.”

He picked up a stray slice of lemon, dabbed it in sugar, licked it clean, and then did it all over again again. Crowley watched the whole thing, entirely enraptured, especially when Aziraphale’s thick, pink tongue would make an appearance to remove any lingering sugar from his lips. Warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol Crowley had imbibed settled firmly between his legs. His feet had wandered dangerously close to enemy territory. He pulled them back and threw one foot over a knee in an attempt to disguise the growing tenting in his trousers.

“Those worth losing your head over?” he asked, nodding his head toward the food.

Aziraphale took the bottle from Crowley and poured himself a glass. “Sometimes you miss life’s little pleasures and you have to take a risk to get what you want.”

Pink blossomed high on his cheeks. Crowley tilted his head.

“But death? For crepes?”

Aziraphale smiled around another bite. “Yes, well, it would have only been discorporation and they’re really rather good, if a bit clueless.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about crepes?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer beyond a small huff of laughter. Silence settled in while he continued on eating. Crowley was certain he was missing something but he was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think straight.

It was odd to see the angel in red. Some secret part buried deep in his chest liked it, loved the message of rebellion that it shouted to the world. He'd never admit to it but, as much as he liked it, he'd loved every last gold thread on the absurd outfit that had come before. He could still see heavy manacles around delicate, lace covered wrists. He could practically feel the ghost of curved calves wrapped in sumptuous stockings. His fingers ached from the memory of feet clad in ostentatious silk. How he'd wanted to take it all off, piece by ridiculous piece.

And there Aziraphale was before him, with a view of the bed just beyond. Maybe he would wear those chains again. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d put himself entirely in Crowley’s hands. Crowley could spread him out on the mattress and peel it all away until only pale skin and paler hair remained.

Aziraphale dropped his fork with a clatter. “Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that he could imagine it all perfectly, Aziraphale really was back in all his finery. Only, it wasn’t identical to what he’d been wearing before. Gold had been replaced by silver and a vein of deep scarlet ran through the embroidery on the sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly frivolous of me,” Aziraphale said, oblivious to Crowley’s growing distress, “but Heaven can hardly fault me if I didn’t mean to do it. I had been thinking about how much nicer silk was against the skin but… no, I certainly don’t remember actually willing it back.”

“Right, unhhhh—” Crowley’s voice came out as a choked squeak. He opened another bottle and, in a maneuver not recommended to those without demonic serpentine attributes, downed half of it in one tremendous gulp. He tried not to consider the way the angel’s eyes were trained on his neck as he ran the back of his hand across wine stained lips. “Sometimes these things just happen. You know. No use worrying about it. No one will see you here, so just eat the rest of your crepes.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth tugged down slightly. “If you’re impatient to be somewhere, don’t let me keep you.”

“Not impatient just…” Crowley switched the cross of his legs in search of some relief. He had to use one hand to still the other in order to keep from palming away the ever building tension. “You know.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I do. Are you alright, my dear? You seem uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m, er…” Crowley tugged at his collar. It was too tight. He could feel himself swallowing and every swallow sent his mind elsewhere. “Hot. Should probably open the windows.” He was halfway to his feet when he remembered why getting to his feet under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze was probably not the best idea. It didn’t seem likely the angel would be secretly ecstatic to find out that he was hopelessly hard just from watching him eat. “Actually, nah. Would need to open the curtains and with your clothes… best to keep things shut. I’ll be fine. Really. Get back to your crepes. You said it yourself, it would be a shame not to finish after everything you did to get them.”

Aziraphale picked at his final crepe. His whole body melted with a moan as soon as it touched his tongue. All the while, his eyes were still locked on Crowley.

“Oh, but it wasn’t just me who went through a lot for these.” He carefully cut another portion of crepe and nudged the sliced tip of a strawberry onto it. He then swirled it through a cloud of rich cream and held up the fork. “Strawberries and whipped cream. Try a bite. For your troubles.”

The whipped cream lost its structure against the warm crepe. A rivulette of white travelled down the length of the fork and onto Aziraphale’s fingers. Crowley licked his lips. He couldn’t possibly take that bite or he would never be able to stop. But Aziraphale was looking at him so expectantly and he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

He leaned forward and took the fork into his mouth. It was alright, as food went, but he barely registered the taste. He was far too focused on the way his cock pressed to his stomach when he was bent forward. And then there was proximity of those white, sticky fingers. His head swam with visions of grabbing Aziraphale by the wrist and licking the cream away.

It was all a mouthful too far. He’d tried. He really had. His eyes shut as a desperate groan tore up from his throat and his trousers became a mirror of Aziraphale’s fingers, wet and sticky and warm. He wasn’t sure he could bear to open his eyes again. He fell back into his seat and dared to crack open one eye.

Aziraphale was smiling. “I told you it was good.” He pushed the plate forward. “Would you like to share the rest?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his head back. “Nah, you eat it. I’m good for at least a couple more hours.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing #racketghost