#but I never thought I’d have front teeth fillings. and a crown makes me feel bad bc I wasn’t expecting it

[the-bluestreak-cat]

I think it’s the seasonal darkness but this dental stuff feels like the last straw

[shhhsecretsideblog]

It's happening way too soon. My parents were always strict about not having a baby born before getting married. My sibling's have all done it. Each time earning a forceful reprimand that lasted years. The disappointment on their faces when we told them we were expecting nine months before pushed us to keep the wedding on the same day.

As we stand before our families, I can feel your body's tension through the grip you have on my hands. I've seen your bump enough times to know it's never looked so low or uneven. Sweat is beading of your brow and your expression flinches with increasing frequency. Your eyes are distinctly unfocused, and your breathing is starting to become a slight moan. Through this you keep resetting a smile.

But I can tell instinct is starting to hit you. You're clearly sinking into a slight squat. Your eyes tell me everything as the officiant drone on. I need to push

Don't push. Not now, please not now! I think as I stare into your eyes.

You seem to read my thoughts and straighten as best you can. But it won't last.

I need you to make it through another twenty minutes...please...

I was pretty sure at this point I’d been in labour for at least 10 hours; the contractions had started during the night and my water broke just before I put on my dress. But I couldn’t tell anyone, if I did the wedding would be cancelled as instead they’d rush me to the hospital. I knew how important it was to you, and your family, that this baby wasn’t born out of wedlock. So I gritted my teeth and carried on with the day, ignoring the increasing frequency and intensity of the contractions.

Standing in front of you, holding your hand, and I’m so glad I persevered. I couldn’t wait to marry you. But it seemed our baby was impatiently keen to join in on the union.

I grasp your hands tight as another contraction strikes and I’m sure my newly painted nails are digging into your palm. But it’s the only thing I can do against the onslaught of pain and pressure. I swayed my hips secretly underneath the full layers of petticoats, satin and tulle that was my wedding dress. The tightening of my belly paired with the pain in my pelvis made my eyes water. Anyone catching the glint of tears in my eyes would just think I was an emotional bride, but I knew you knew what was happening.

The baby’s head was way beyond my cervix, I could feel it filling my birth canal and bulging against the white lace of my underwear. I couldn’t help but widen my stance as it sank lower and lower, desperate to be born.

I wanted to push, my body needed to push. The baby was right there. Yet I panted as quietly as I could through the urges as the officiant started to recite the vows.

My hand trembled when you slipped the ring on my finger. I felt lost and unstable without your hands to grip, feeling like I would just collapse to my knees and push uncontrollably without having the strength of your touch.

We made it through the vows and the exchanging of rings, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep the baby inside of me. The burning between my legs told me the head was starting to come out, even without my active pushing. The weight was pressing and stretching me open, the crown getting bigger and bigger in my underwear. I couldn’t handle the fullness, it was too much, I had to find some relief. Little pushes, I told myself, just give little pushes to ease the pressure. I grunted, quietly under my breath, but you’d obviously heard from the whites that flashed around your panicked eyes.

I can’t help it… I have to push, I tried to say to you. My knees squatted slightly under my dress, my legs wide apart with the baby’s head bulging obscenely between them. It was almost certainly approaching a full crown.

“I now pronounce you - married.” The officiant said loudly.

You cupped my face and brought me in for a kiss and I grunted deeply into your mouth as my body pushed again. The head was so big, I was stretched to my limits, my knees sank again with a bounce as I gave in fully to the instinctual need to push. You pulled away from the kiss and hugged me tightly, your breath tickled my ear as you whispered “You did it; we’re married. Let’s go have our baby.”

I whispered back “The head’s already out.”

[THIS!!!! More asks like this please! It’s perfect, glorious and oh the wonderful birth denial. Thank you thank you anon!!!]

[judesmoonbeauty]

This fic is a gift to one of my dear friends @nightfoxqueen featuring her OC Lottie x Roger. It also includes my OC Isla x Jude, along with Ellis briefly. This story has already been read and approved by her. Lottie (as she is described to me), has a fiery personality, she didn't always get along with Jude, but learned how to care for him like a little brother over time (she adores teasing him), and she also loves the other Crown OCs like little sisters. When Sophie and I where talking about our OCs this scene just popped into my head and I wanted to write it out for her. This was my first Roger fic, maybe more in the future?

WC: 1,197 Tags: Fluff, Friends, Drinking, OC x Roger CW: Death, Blood, Suggestive Remarks Dividers: @/natimiles

The pumping sound of a shotgun gun echoed in an underground basement before it fired at point blank range in the target’s face. Roger flung his gun into his back holster, before walking up to the body to search for the formula he and Jude had been after, when he heard a spiteful voice lash out.

“Tch. Ya got that bastard’s blood on me.”

Roger continued to search the body while he ignored Jude, and once he found what he’d been looking for, he held up a piece of folded paper with a big grin.

“Found it. Don’t worry you moody ass prick, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, now let’s go.”

Jude closed his pocket watch and took his leave first to meet up with Ellis at the entrance while Roger chuckled at him from behind, “Come on, Lottie. Let’s get a drink or two in him.”

Wrapping his muscular arm around the neck of his navy-haired lover, Lottie quickly finished writing her notes about the mission, wrapped her arm around Roger’s waist, and made her way back outside. Walking a few blocks down the cobble-stoned street they made their way into a bustling, rowdy pub, the cheers of drunks and merry-making the filled the previously stiff air. Lottie, Roger and Ellis sat at the bar chatting and enjoying the scene, while Jude quietly brooded over a glass of whiskey and a cigar. The scent of smoke and spirits was so strong it could burn ones nostrils, and before long, Roger was sitting Lottie on the bar in front of him with his hands sliding down her curves to feel every inch of her.

“Disgustin’. Take that shit to a room.”

Lottie’s clear teal eyes pierced Jude’s temperamental remark as she teased him, “Don’t be a grouch just because Isla isn’t here with us, she was assigned to another mission tonight right?”

Putting her arms over Roger’s shoulder she taunted Jude even though she knew full well where the other Crown girl was, but she couldn’t resist messing with the resident mobster she thought of as a little brother. Ellis innocently answered her question not realizing she was messing around with him.

“She went to France with her brother Rivera, remember?”

“Ellis!” Jude snapped at his assistant as though he didn’t want to be reminded of that fact, and looking at his pocket watch he gritted his teeth because there was still another day before she was to arrive back in London.

“Wow, so it finally happened. She finally left your ass…..good on her!” Lottie threw her head back in laughter, and Roger buried his face in her lap trying to hide his guffawing even though his shaking shoulders betrayed him.

“Is that why she left with Rivera, Jude? It wasn’t a business trip, after all?” Ellis tilted his head as his large twilight eyes widened in pity at the thought of his boss being abandoned.

“Now, you’ll never be happy.” he sighed with disappointment.

“Hah?! As if she’d ever do that, ‘n if she did I’d drag her ass all the way back here anyway. Idiot.”

Roger finally raised his head from Lottie’s warm lap, and called the bartender over to refill Jude’s glass. “Geez, Jude. No wonder you’ve been so pissy, you haven’t been getting any lately have you?”

“Oh, is that the problem?” Ellis asked with a cheeky grin on his face while he lightly sipped his drink, finally catching on that everyone was just jeering at Jude.

Jude crushed his cigarette in the tray, and got ready to take his leave when Roger challenged him to a drinking competition.

“Aw, come on, Jude. Loosen up a little, she isn’t coming back anytime soon.”

“Tch. Stupid.” Jude turned on his heel to leave for the castle when Lottie slid into Roger’s lap and then called out to Jude.

“Woooow, I can’t wait to tell Isla how weak and soft Jude Jazza’s gotten since he’s been with her. She may just die of shock that he was too afraid to take you up on your challenge Roger.”

Amethyst eyes turned to meet sparkling teal ones, and with a loud sigh Jude strolled back over to the bar, knowing full well what Lottie was doing, but his pride was too great not to respond to her barbed words.

“Ahaha, bartender start us off with three beers each!” Roger shouted with excitement as his hand slid around Lottie’s hip, and Jude couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as they continued to flirt and and drink in the clamor of the night. Roger watched Jude drink glass after glass with him and Lottie, and couldn’t help but to love his woman even more. She was fierce, a true spit-fire, someone who would do anything for others, hell she even came to like Jude. He twirled a lock of her dark hair between his fingers as his warm amber eyes stared at her, thinking back to the night they had first met - it was a drinking competition just like this one actually.

She could drink even him under the table, though he wouldn’t let her because he’d be too worried that she’d damage her beautiful body. As Jude and Lottie continued their banter, Ellis listened to them with rapt attention, and it was nights like this the Roger felt a bit more complete. Still, Jude no doubt felt the opposite. Poor bastard, hurry back Isla, he misses you.

After a couple of hours drinking into the early morning, the quad of Crown members left the pub and made their way back to the castle. Roger and Lottie sang songs loudly in the alley way and jested together. It was beginning to weigh on Jude’s nerves as he was checking his pocket watch yet again, when all of a sudden his entire body staggered forward. He became heavy as a pair of sleek black boots wrapped around his waist, and arms choked his neck. Dropping his cigarette on the ground, he quickly grabbed her thighs to support her as he yelled at his attacker.

“Oiiii!”

Isla greeted him with a big kiss on the side of his cheek and smiled at him. Completely startled by her sneak attack, he turned his head and met with her frosty sage eyes, “The hell are ya-”

“I’m back, my love.”

The scent of rose water wafted over and calmed him. Pinching her thighs he turned his head toward hers and kissed her lips softly, “Took ya long enough, princess.”

She was about to hop down, but he wouldn’t let her go, and he quickly walked towards the castle’s carriage with her in tow, as Lottie called out to them in the background, “Whoooo, tear her up, Jude Jazza!”

As they disappeared into the night ahead of them, Ellis went his own way, leaving Roger alone with Lottie. Backing her against the wall, his large hands fondled with her corseted top, his hot breath tickled her cheek as he whispered, “ And I may just tear you up here.”

[ozarkthedog]

Tethered / C. Evans x Fem!Reader

summary: After two months apart, Chris is finally home and he’s wearing that belt.

warnings: SMUT. 18+ only. rough oral sex. rough sex. asphyxiation. restraining with a belt. fingering. slight breeding kink. spanking. dirty talk. over stimulation. female ejaculation. basically, pwp.

word count: 2,369

author’s note: honestly, this was supposed to be a smutty little fic about his infamous red belt, but then it turned into so much more. also, for having not written anything in 2 weeks, I’d say I did ok with this.  *credit goes to gif owner.

📖 Master List

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and comments are encouraged!

Lips were locked and bodies a tangled mess as you crossed the threshold with an “-oof.” Chris barely shutting the front door behind him with a callous foot.

The foyer was dark, dimly lit from the Kitchen light as it left just enough glow to illuminate your silhouettes. Chris pushed you against the closed front door, not caring about your pained whines when he slotted his body over yours.

Finally, you were alone after so much time spent apart.

“Missed you so much.” Chris admitted between rushed kisses, “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. About this body.” His hand dove into your leggings and found your panties drenched. “About this sweet pussy.”

He leaned his forehead against yours watching as your face twisted in pleasure as he ground his palm against your tiny nub, “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me. Gonna split you open all over again, just like the first time.”

It’d been 2 months since you’d last seen one another and the tension was palpable. The car ride home from the airport via a car service was full of longing stares, playful touches and sneaky kisses as you sat in the back seat like anxious teenagers, desperate to get your hands on one another.

Your eyes slammed shut at his statement, knowing that despite the times you fucked yourself with the few dildos you owned while he was away, nothing compared to Chris.

He was right. It’d be just like your first time together.

He dragged you from your thoughts when he pushed two fingers into your sopping heat, tearing a broken gasp from your lips. His auburn beard scratched your cheek as he peppered kisses down your jaw. Your silky walls welcomed his digits, fluttering and constricting at the intrusion.

“Damn. Forgot how tight you can get, Darlin’.” His lips fit over your open ones as you let out a tiny moan when he scissored his fingers, spreading you open. The kiss was vicious, his tongue diving over yours with long, playful swipes. Your core clenching so hard his fingers faltered.

“That’s my Girl. Come on, lemme feel you cum. Give it to me.” He grunted, while thrusting his clothed covered hard on against your hip.

His command pushed you over the edge and you came with an abrupt shout, easily hitting your peak via another person after so long. Your body shook in his grasp as he eased away the aftershocks with soft, tender kisses.

You stared at him, relishing the way his eyes were blown wide having just seen you come apart so quickly under his touch. It took your breath away to be back in his hold again. To have him home.

His lips twisted into that dorky smile as you sunk down to your knees wanting to return the favor before he split you in two. 

“This belt. This fucking belt.” You laughed, slipping the thick red material through the shiny double loops. He wore this belt all the damn time. It simultaneously drove you mad and caused your pussy to combust. Of all the belts he could wear, he always chose this bright red one and you loved it.

Chris stared down at you in a stupor. “What’s the problem?”

You quirked your head, “Something about this belt drives me wild.”

Chris smirks at your admission but then his jaw falls when your fingers find their way inside his jeans and circle his length. His hips involuntarily jolting in your grasp.

“Fuck, it’s been so fuckin’ long.” He groaned as you pull his rigid cock from the confines of his jeans and playfully lick at his swollen crown.

He stared in fascination as you licked from base to tip before circling the bulbous head with your lips. His cock was heavy on your tongue as you swallowed him down and jerked the base with tight tugs. You rolled his balls in your left palm, clamping your thighs together to ease the ache whenever he let out a lewd groan.

You bobbed your head skillfully over his length eventually feeling his cock swell. You flicked his perineum friskily before pulling away, leaving him painfully on edge.

A deep growl resonated through his chest, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sweetheart.”

“Then why don’t you punish me?” Your tongue poked out the side of your mouth, hoping he’d take the bait and fuck you on the floor.

He surprised you by shaking his head and dragging that god forsaken belt from his jeans before wrapping each end around his fists. “I’ll get to that sweet cunt in a minute. But right now, I want your mouth back on my cock.”

One moment you were sitting on your heels gloating and the next Chris had looped the belt around the back of your neck pulling you flush against his lower abs.

“Gonna punish that wicked mouth before I open up your cunt.”

His cock bounced in your peripheral as he held you close before easing up enough on the belt for his girth to find your lips once more. He gave you no time to adjust as he pushed his length between your lips causing you to sputter.

His hold on the belt barely gave you any freedom, only allowing you to pull off until your lips brushed his reddened tip. He let you suck on the crown momentarily until he forced his way back into your mouth when he tugged on the ends of the belt.

Your hands sought out his hips as he drove his thickness in and out nudging your tonsils with every pass. His grunts of satisfaction had your core quivering and the way his cock swelled whenever it hit the back of your throat had your eyes rolling with arousal.

“Missed bein’ on your knees for me, huh, Pretty Girl?” His mouth hung open as your debauched groans vibrated his cock in reply. “Missed havin’ my cock stretch out your holes?”

Your belly twisted at his words and then heaved when he pulled on the belt making you take every inch of his length. The breath in your lungs burned and the belt around the back of your neck dug into your skin as he watched from above at your pitiful struggles.

His brows pitched together when he felt your throat convulse, “Lookit’ you droolin’ all over my cock like a good little cock slut.”

You scratched at his jeans desperate to breathe, lungs sizzling aflame and just as your face started to tingle, he pulled free from your mouth letting you fall onto all fours.

You coughed out the stale breath from your lungs while Chris dropped to his knees behind you. He ran his hands over the curve of your ass before shoving the waist band of the leggings and your panties down your thighs effectively trapping your legs together.

-SMACK-

Your head shot up with a shriek when Chris landed the belt onto your exposed skin before grabbing a handful of your behind. “Love this ass. Love watching it jiggle as I fuck you.”

Teeth nipped at your flesh causing you to call out his name in the dim foyer and push back onto his face with a soft whimper. His fingers found your core once again, tracing your slit from end to end before spitting onto your puffy mound.

Your arms buckled and your upper body fell onto the carpet with a whine as Chris spread apart your inner lips, “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He pushed two fingers through your glistening lips, curling his digits just right to make you see stars. Your body yearned as it instinctively pushed back, softly chanting, “More.”

“You think you can take my cock? Think it’ll fit in this tight cunt?”

You whimpered when he smacked his pulsating girth against your soaked core after removing his fingers, teasing your quivering opening with his throbbing cock head. “It’s going to hurt, Baby...”

You shook your head, not caring about the repercussions. You needed his cock, now.

He slowly pushed into your warmth as the foyer filled with debauched moans and low growls. Every inch felt like it lasted forever before he bottomed out, punching the breath from your lungs when he bumped your cervix with his massive cock. He stretched you so wide it felt like you’d split in two if he wasn’t careful.

He caressed the junction of your neck with tender kisses as he leaned over you, “So good to finally be buried deep inside you.”

He kept his hips still letting you relax around his girth until he felt you shift. The growing need to get fucked was consuming your body to the point of vibration once your core got used to the thickness. You wanted him to take you hard. Fuck you into the floor and make your voice hoarse.

He chuckled in your ear at your pitiful attempts of moving under him. He breathed in your scent, the one he missed waking up to every morning while he was away. He withdrew his cock slowly before slamming back into your heat with a heavy punch that made your body shove forward with a wrecked moan.

“Need it so bad, don’t you Darlin’.” He repeated his actions, making your cheek burn on the carpet as he fucked into you so powerfully your world spun. His grip was tight on your hips as he thrusted into your swollen core, leaving crescent moons in your flesh.

“I’ll take care of you. Make sure your cunt is molded back into the shape of my cock.”

His hips never faltered. The steady pace made your body surge with every drive. He reverted to curling his hands around your shoulders making you take every inch he was giving.

Still, you needed more.

You tried to buck your hips, not knowing why you were doing it but your body just needed something. Your hands slammed into the floor and you screamed out in confused agony. Your core was tight and ready to explode but you just couldn’t get there.

Chris stilled his hips watching your turmoil before reaching for the fallen belt next to him.

“Shhh. I’ve got what you need, Darlin’.” He whispered into the dim room while grabbing the base of your neck and hauling you onto your hands.

Your head hung forward despairingly, on the verge of tears when suddenly you felt the rough belt at the front of your neck. Chris grasped both sides again, pulling steadily until you were on the tips of your fingers. Your heart leapt into your throat feeling your neck compress at the odd angle but your belly strained immensely.

Anxious gasps echoed off the walls when his hips began to move. Picking up pace with every drive, sliding over your soaked walls and pressing against your cervix with fury and determination.

Chris tugged on the belt, using the momentum to fuck your body back onto his cock, grinning madly at your raspy, choked moans and the way your walls convulsed. Slick dripped down your tied-up thighs soaking your leggings as he molded your cunt around him.

“Like me fuckin’ into this cunt like I own it?” He grunted, snapping his hips quickly feeling your walls obscenely tighten signaling your oncoming peak. “Gonna fill this pretty cunt. Make you swell with my load.”

Your body bowed; the tension unbearable. Your neck pushed against the unforgiving belt until you exploded into a million pieces when your peak slammed through you. You squirted your release with a hoarse shout, soaking your thighs along with Chris’s as he rode out your orgasm.

Chris groaned sinfully as he felt your cum drip from his sack and smack against your ass with every pummel of his cock. He pulled on the belt savagely until you were slotted against his chest. Chris wrapped his right arm around your waist possessively as your knees buckled, threatening to give out.

His left hand held both ends of the belt keeping your head locked against his shoulder. His voice gruff in your ear as he pounded into you with a controlling force.

“Such a dirty girl takin’ my cock on the floor… like a good breedin’ bitch.” He licked up the side of your face making you whine. The over stimulation had your body thrashing as he kept an even pace, pushing through your folds with a punishing pace.

His left hand tightened the slack on the belt cutting off your sobs instantly. He withheld your oxygen for a few seconds, relishing the way your body locked up around him. Your mouth bobbed open like a fish, desperate for air the entire time.

He eased the tension with a teasing chuckle, “Something about watching you struggle makes my cock so hard.”

He cut your air off again, spearing into your swirling warmth while your hands scratched at the arm wrapped around your waist frantically. The pressure in your belly boiled. You were going to cum and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Lemme feel that cunt soak my cock one more time, Darlin’.” He urged, nipping at your jaw.

His hips stuttered for the first time, getting closer and closer to the edge with every drive. He wasn’t going to last much longer but he wasn’t going to cum without you.

Your mind started slipping from the lack of oxygen and the constant over stimulation. Your body was tired and beaten, but still the pressure in your belly was intent on snapping.

“Gimme that cunt. Cum all over me.” He demanded with a harsh slap to your mound and released the slack on the belt. His fingers slapped against your tiny nub over and over until your body lit up and you shook heavily in his arms, cumming with a silent scream that finished with a feral growl.

Chris grunted in your ear as you milked his girth forcefully. His cock swelled and flooded his spend into your awaiting heat where it welcomed everything he had to give.

Chris slipped from your body and lowered the two of you to the ground panting the final tremors of the ravenous act. Your eyes felt heavy and your body screamed, but you lifted your head to plant a soft kiss on his lips as he leaned over your spent body.

“It’s good to have you home.” You whispered, against his lips as he pulled them into a smile. 

“It’s good to be home.”

[jangofctts]

Anything at All (boba fett x fem!reader) (part one) (part two) 

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: smut, even mORE thrONE fucking, oral sex (f receiving), boba’s a biter, unprotected sex (dont be silly, wrap thAT wiLLY), vaginal fingering, explicit language, boba is a grouchy dom kwjhgjh       

a/n: anyway I think yall forget im a writer and not just a Certified Clown, but anywAy here we be. HAPPY NEW YEARS ya FILTHY anIMALS im so thankful for all yall and im glad I can provide you with some entertainment kaejhejhr

  You haven’t seen Boba Fett in days. 

Called away on business you’ll never be included in or know the fine details about. It’s not kept away from you because he doesn’t trust you, or thinks you’re a mindless idiot—no—he’d rather keep his princess occupied with prettier things. No need to concern yourself with the the underbelly of what he now rules. 

You’re not upset about it—you’re not really a fan of watching petty squabbles that’ll result in someone’s chest being imploded by a blaster. You’ve seen enough of it in the cantina, and while you were never the one tasked with clearing the bodies out—it was still mildly traumatizing. Eh—no need to dwell. 

You’ve got other shit to do anyway. 

There’s a seemingly endless zigzag of secret hallways and dusty rooms within the palace, teeming with strange knickknacks and ancient artifacts that are more than likely cursed. Definitely haunted—but it doesn’t stop you from exploring or sorting through the useless junk. Besides—Fennec stayed behind, acting as your glorified babysitter for the past few cycles—ensuring your safety from both whoever dared step foot into the palace and the ghosts. What a lovely woman. 

Speaking of which—you hear her sigh and shuffle, shifting her weight onto her other foot as she leans back against a dusty crate. She picks at the dirt beneath her fingernails, lazily glancing up every now and then to check that you haven’t eviscerated yourself on a piece of scrap metal or something. Lucky for her, all you found today was an abandoned crate of old datapacs shoved in the back corner from what you assumed to be some sort of office. Yesterday you found a sword that was promptly confiscated.  

“I’d be careful snooping around in those,” Fennec warns as your fingers find the on switch. “You never know what sorta data the Hutts were keeping here.”

You shrug and wave away her concern, reading over the information that flickers across the screen. “I think I’ll be ok…See?” You pointedly wave the datapac in her direction. “This one is about the finances. Spooky.”    

Fennec rolls her eyes followed by an amused smirk that ghosts over her lips. You toss it aside and root around some more, pulling out another datapac. The blue hologram flickers to life and as you decipher the little lines of text your face falls. Each line is a name, previous and recently bought or traded people that crossed the threshold of the palace. Fennec was right. This isn’t fun anymore.    

“These are…slaves.” Your lips curls in disgust. “How is this still not outlawed? It’s barbaric.”      

“You’re not from Tatooine, are you?” Fennec asks as she meanders over and wrestles the datapac out of your hands. She switches it off and tosses it back into the dusty crate. You huff and cross your arms over your chest.  

“No,” you agree. “Im from Arkanis. But even there we don’t have slaves.” 

Fennec squats beside you, her elbows resting over her bent knees. She playfully taps your shoulder with the back of her hand and quirks a brow. “What’d I tell you—snooping doesn’t do anyone any good.”

You roll your eyes and shrug, a frown still etched on your lips. Fennec sighs, rubs her chin and then reaches out to push a stray hair behind your ear. A flush blooms up your cheeks at the gentle touch. 

“You have a sensitive soul, Kitten,” she chuckles, poking at your cheek that you’re certain she can feel the heat emirate from. “You said you were from Arkanis—tell me about it. Why come to Tatooine?”

Your lips quirk in a tiny smile as you bat away her pointer finger, saving your cheek from another poke. “Hey—not everyone likes rain ok?” You huff. “Besides, Tatooine wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

She nods. Unsure what exactly to tell her--a silence ensues. It’s not terribly awkward but it’s enough that makes you jumpy and itching to move on from this room now stained with information you weren’t prepared on finding. You stand suddenly, brush yourself off and mutter under your breath about finding something less…heartbreaking. 

Fennec jumps up as well and when you leave the room her hand clamps over your shoulder. She spins you around and levels her gaze onto you. “You’re free to leave whenever you like. You know that right?”

Your brows furrow. “I know—don’t worry, I want to stay.”

Her head bobs with a satisfied nod. “We’d miss you if you left. You’re nice to have around.”

You blush again and mumble out a thank you, shooting off into another unexplored location to escape Fennec’s knowing smirk. Maker—you’re embarrassing.  

                               -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Boba returns later that afternoon—the shadow of his familiar figure stretches around the curved stairway, the purposeful stomps of his boots against the carved steps following with it. Your heart flutters within your chest, like a distressed creature with wings as you jump from your makeshift seat.

You come face to face with Boba. Or, helmet rather—whatever. 

The smell of hot metal and dry air sticks to him as he paces closer, closing the small gap that separates him from you. You’re frozen beneath the heavy weight of his stare behind the void like black of his visor as he plants himself firmly before you, close enough that his cuirass could brush your chest if he puffed out his own chest.   

“Hi…” You smile, a fragile vale of uncertainty blanketing the pair of you—still attempting to feel out his mood, sort through the general gruffness of his personality and gage wether or not you could reach out and touch him. The helmet is a tricky thing to read and his body language gives nothing away. You swallow your nerves take a leaping risk.   

“Let me see your face.” You murmur. You move your hands up to the edges of his helmet at a snail’s pace, giving him ample time to slip through your fingers—wedge a sharp thorn between whatever it is that you’ve built and name it for what it is.

He doesn’t choose that option. 

With a low hum, Boba dips his helmet closer to your outstretched fingertips instead. The metal is cool under your palms as they fold over the sides of the helmet and pull up. The metal whispers against his skin like wind through tall grass as the point of his chin peeks out, followed by his lips, his nose, and finally those golden brown eyes. They glitter with amusement as you release a shaky breath, the helmet the only thing acting as a barrier as you clutch it near your sternum. His mouth quirks when you blush and glance away—focusing on the little silvery nicks the green paint refused to cover. You rub your thumb over the blaster pockmark that dents the metal—you frown. You hope that wasn’t recent. 

Boba gently pries the helmet out of your hands and sets it onto the armrest of his throne. He purrs your name and pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, leading your attention back to him. Your eyes flit up his scars—your breath catching in your throat as he smiles.

“Hello, princess,” he says—the grit and timbre of this new nickname jumpstarting your heart to skip and choke on its own tireless beat.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shake your head. “Boba, I’m not—“

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence—

Boba spreads his fingers over your jaw, tilts your head and swoops down to meet your lips in a dizzying kiss. Hard, hungry, victorious, breathless—like he’s spent years fighting and only now takes a moment to slow down—drown in the softness of your lips and skin. His hands claw at your arms, your clothes, your hair—like you’re the spoils of battle and he fears losing you to the shadows of his past and some hidden horror that nips at his heels. He kisses like a man terrified that this will be brief, intangible and something that’ll abandon him.

He trails after your lips when you break away—your lungs heaving for precious air. He doesn’t let you go far, ensuring your positioning by tangling his fist into your hair at the nape of your neck and scraping his lips up your cheek, enticing you into another kiss. You tilt you chin to meet him with equal fervor, whining as his warm tongue curls sweetly into your mouth. His existence fills your veins with liquid silver—evokes the bloom of crackling star fire beneath the cavity of your ribcage. Every thought starts with him and ends with your heart aching to burst into a million tiny shards.   

The next time you part,  Boba is the first one to pull away. He cups your cheeks between his weathered hands and plants a tender kiss just below your hairline. You swear you can feel the skin buzz from the touch—like every atom in your being was solely created for him to command and conquer. You sigh and lean into his palm. 

“I missed you.” You admit with a small smile. 

Boba leans closer and presses another kiss to your forehead. “And I you, little one.”

“I got worried, y’know,” you continue, your fingers tapping a trail up the front of his chest plate. You trace the repainted insignia with your fingernail and flash him a coy smirk. “You never called—thought maybe you found a new pretty thing.”

He grunts, shakes his head and sweeps a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. “Hilarious—my hands are full enough with you hounding me every five minutes.”

You puff out your bottom lip and feign offense, mumbling some lame whine like a petulant brat. Boba snorts and crowds closer. He presses his gloved thumb between your furrowed brows, smoothing out the wrinkles and then cups your cheeks between both palms. You freeze as he carefully knocks the crown of his forehead onto yours—it’s sweet.

An excited smile splits when he moves his head to your right, the syllables of each word rolling off his tongue sweeter than spiced honey. “I’ll make it up to you, pretty thing,” he whispers by your ear, his warm breath disturbing the fine hairs there. “How does that sound, hm?”

That’s not even a question you would ever dream of denying—you quickly nod. “I’d like that.” 

Boba drops his hands from your face and peels himself away. His eyes trickle down your figure—calculative and analytic—planning out each move to pick apart the entirety of your being. “Take everything off.”

You comply without a second thought—slipping free from the breezy cotton and scratchy poncho you stole from a storage room. The fabric pools at your feet in an unceremonious pile—leaving you bare for him. Despite the sickening dry heat that pollutes the air and causes beads of sweat to gather at your hairline—goosebumps rush up your arms under Boba’s piercing stare. 

Boba’s eyes flicker to the throne. A feral grin tugs at his lips. “Sit.”

This time you hesitate. Did he…? No—you must’ve heard wrong— 

He quirks a brow and gestures to the throne. “Well? Are you going to listen?”

Your tongue slides over your chapped lips. “O-ok..I just—never mind…”

Scrounging up some courage, you gingerly seat yourself onto Boba Fett’s throne. Chills race along the entirety of your body as the freezing metal seeps into your warm flesh. You squirm and beat away the urge to wrap your arms around yourself—he wouldn’t like that—probably would take it as some sort of insult anyway—

All your current discomforts melt away in a fraction of a breath as Boba Fett lowers himself to one knee, and then the other. A king kneeling before his very own throne for someone like you. Someone who’ll be lost to the pages of history and the endless swirl of galaxies and supernovas—you’re nobody to the world, but to him you’re everything. You inhale a shaky breath as a strange stroke of pride alights through your body as he peels off his gloves and maneuvers himself flush against the edge of the throne and between your thighs.    

Boba bows forward and slips his calloused hands around your ribcage to tug you closer. His lips land over your collar bone, slides his tongue over the protrusion then sinks his teeth into you there. You gasp as he slides lower, leading a trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake. Boba moves his palms, up and in to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples. A whimper escapes past your lips as he catches the pebbled bud between his lips, the hard enamel of his teeth scraping over it—meant to tease. Your nails dig into the fabric bunched around his neck as he moves on to suck your other nipple, the cooling saliva sending a chill down your spine as it dries.

You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core. You’re already wet—worked up and impatient. You roll your head back onto your shoulders and bite your lip. If you complain and tell him to hurry up you’re scared he’ll leave you like this—deny you that pleasure you’ve been craving for days.  

It feels like ages before he moves on from your breasts, now smattered with bruises and his saliva, and carves out a blinding path down your sternum, your belly, then your navel with his tongue. Boba circles your bellybutton—you force down the ticklish nerves and stay still for him. 

You don't mean to jump as his rough hands drop over your knees. You barely get out the first syllable of an apology when his hands slip up your bare thighs, curl around the swell of your ass and yank. You squeak as the edge of the throne bites into your tailbone, the majority of your lower half forced to lean on Boba’s shoulders and his greedy hands. He kisses the inside of your knee—you jolt with an airy gasp. 

Boba picks up his head and smirks. “Look at me when I taste you, little one.”

Mouth suddenly drier than dust, you nod dumbly. 

He hums, satisfied with your weak response and continues on.  

Boba’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver. They sweep up towards the apex of your thighs, settling close enough to reach your aching center. You know he’s there—it’s impossible to ignore him—but you curse anyway when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They steadily work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch. 

“Patience, princess,” he rumbles, shifting his weight to better reach your cunt. “Maker—you’re dripping already.”   

There's a moment just before Boba commits, his face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, hot breath, anticipation gripping your chest. And then he licks a broad stripe from the base of your pussy all the way up to your swollen clit. 

His mouth Is searing, his tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his head. He grunts against you as you drag him closer—greedy for everything he deems you worthy of. Boba’s mouth pinpoints around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter—it’s a struggle not to shut them completely. He asked you to watch after all… 

He then trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your entrance, skips over it completely to lick at the wetness dripping lower that threatens to pool onto the throne or the floor. He opens his mouth wide and hums in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. 

“Fuck—Boba,” you cry, canting your hips into his mouth. 

It's perfect. So fucking good. 

The tips of his thick fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The two digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness, glinting in the low light. With a smirk, Boba thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that he refuses to stray from. It leaves you just hovering along the sharp edge of oblivion, the catch of his knuckles and calloused skin along your walls pure torture. Stars—he’s going to be the death of you—

Your hips arch into him, trying to urge him to go faster. Instead, he slowly retracts his fingers and removes his mouth. You gasp in frustration as your cunt clenches around thin air. It almost hurts. 

“I told you to be patient,” Boba chuckles, massaging a warm palm along the outside of your thigh. “You’re behaving like a brat.” 

“I’m—I—I’m sorry—“ You wheeze, trying to rope in some self control that fled a long time ago. Your wits are scrapped thin as you throw your hand against the back of the throne. You don’t care that he’s rendered you to a begging mess, your words slurred and hardly understandable. You're so close to diving off the edge—so near to those plush lips and weathered hands that’ll surely become your salvation. "Please! P-please—I need..." 

You're babbling as he drags his fingertips over your thigh, skims over your cunt, and traces a pattern into your opposite thigh. "Boba. Fuck. I pro-promise to be better—I can do it. Please—“

He complies.

Two fingers are thrust up into your dripping cunt, curving so deliciously into something that feels like unrefined plasma bolts. His mouth dips down and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. 

You're flying off you’re high, faster than a fucking speeder with tampered gears. You cum onto his tongue with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Boba keeps licking you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Stars implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jetfuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Boba, and feel the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 

Your brain swims in hazy bliss and fuzzy pleasure as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it hurts. You're too sensitive. Your nerves are rubbed raw and you're still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. He takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a blade against flesh. Your thighs quiver around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves that wrenches a cry from you. Your orgasm floods through you veins, bursting and rupturing every cell in your being. This one is blistering—charrs all the way to the fucking bone. Your core pulses around Boba’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease into a dull throb. You whimper and push at his forehead because he's still licking at your cunt. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick. 

Boba leaves absolutely no time to completely float down from your high—you squeak as his hands shoot up to grab at your hips, wrenching you off the throne and all but throwing you onto the same floor he kneels on. You flash him a dopey grin, letting your legs fall open for his enjoyment—

“Such a filthy princess,” he chuckles, extending a hand to cover your knee, bending it further out to expose more of your flushed cunt. “You taste sweeter than star cherries.”

You preen at his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

It earns you an amused huff. Boba scrapes the hand resting on your knee to the apex of your legs, thumb and forefinger gently parting your delicate, slick folds. You bite back a keening whine, utterly exposed to him as he slips the hood back from the throbbing knot of nerves at the top of your slit. Too raw. Your pussy clenches involuntarily, causing everything from your toes to your hips stiffen. Boba hums in delight at his handiwork. 

“Stars, Boba—please…” You beg, voice breathy and soft like whips of spider silk. Boba makes a sound that oozes with smug pleasure, teasing your sore clit with unadulterated glee. “Please,” you hear yourself whimper over your pounding pulse, shifting in his grasp and praying he’ll put an end to this sickly sweet torture.

“Pretty little thing, begging for my cock…” He rasps, darkly threaded sin and the husky scrape of the gray sea licking up jagged, black rock. You’re certain he could talk you into unraveling at the seams, untouched and putty in his hands for him to mold and shape. Boba’s other hand sweeps up your sternum, his fingertips dancing along the mythosaur pendant coiled around your neck. He then curls his thick fingers around the base of your throat and ever so lightly squeezes. “Poor baby—all worked up after a few days…I’ll fix that for you.” 

Before you can fully process, he grabs the swell of your hip and flips you onto your belly. The air from your lungs is knocked out of your chest, the abrasive sandstone bitting into the points of your elbows and patches of your skin and no doubt leaving behind irritated scrapes. You hear the shuffle of fabric and then Boba suddenly seizes your hips and arches them into his crotch, grinding the deliciously hard length of his cock through your wet folds. Throbbing and just as desperate as you are, Boba refrains from flinging you into another bout of teasing. He slicks himself up with your arousal and drags the tip of himself to your clenching center and sinks that first, glorious inch inside of you. 

With a low groan, Boba pushes in deeper, watching your tight hold flutter and accommodate his thick length. It’s the same as before during that night in the cantina—dreadfully full and all but bursting at the seems. The gentle rocks of his hips and gravelly praise eventually allow him to finally bottom out, his sharp hipbones resting against the swell of your ass as you shudder and groan. Fuck—

You can feel him in your fucking guts. 

Boba grants you a brief moment to settle and then—it’s catastrophic. 

Your jaw drops in a silent scream when he pulls back, all the way to the tip and slams back into your tight heat. Boba’s hand tangles into your hair at the nape of your neck and and pulls, forcing your back into a sharp arch. The action leaves more of you open, somehow pressing in even further. He hits so deeply within you—stars it feels like he’s splitting you open and laying you bare. 

His dark chuckle resonates above you—a bit breathy as he tames his own frazzled nerves. “Shit—that feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”

Your incoherent babble makes him laugh as he gives your hair a playful tug, all the while he never stops thrusting in and out of you. You wiggle your hips, the slight shift makes it ache, and the sharp downward thrusts put delirious pressure on that patch of nerves that renders you dizzy. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s a tightly spooled cable, fraying and an inch away from snapping. Your gasping breaths pitch into airy squeaks as the fist twisted in your hair tightens, tugging your head back just a bit more.

Boba lurches foreword, the nip of beskar a frigid shock to the bare skin of your back when he lays over you, his elbows caging you in close. His head drops onto your shoulder blade, pressing sloppy kisses over the arch of your throat and slope of your shoulder—without warning he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck. Maker save you—

The feral drag of Boba’s teeth digging into your sensitive flesh skin makes you squeeze around his cock—Boba answers with a soft growl that vibrates against the skin of your shoulder. Somehow he fucks into you harder, his pace becoming brutal. Your nails scrabble against the floor, searching for some sort of anchor as you wail under him.

It’s too much—fuck, you’re gonna implode. Pinned between the rough sandstone and the hand in in your hair, mixed with the sharp pain of his teeth marring your skin—you loose it. Sensing your peaking orgasm, Boba’s fingers wedge between your legs to toy with your clit. He rubs quick circles with two fingers as he purrs words of filth into your ear—how good his pretty thing is for him, how well you came for him, how tight you are. 

“There you go, little one,” Boba says, his words like a tendril of dark smoke. “Cum for your king.”   

His efforts are quickly rewarded as you shudder and lock up harder than durasteel beneath him. A blinding surge of vicious heat, knocks you clean off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs as your nails dig into the sandstone—trembling and grappling blindly for a foothold in your own head. The cold chest plate is a much needed anchor for the overwhelming intensity that threatens to drown you and bury you six fix under.   

He bites down again when he cums, his hips digging into you with short, rough jabs. “Fuck—you take me so well.” You squirm, feeling his cock throb and spill into you, making the mess between your legs smear over your thighs. His thrusts stutter to a stop as he sighs deeply and pulls out, a mixture of his cum and your arousal spilling onto the floor. Boba huffs above you, drags a finger through your swollen folds and pushes it back inside of you. “Good girl.”

You shiver—reduced to a useless puddle with no intent from moving off the floor as Boba’s weight moves away. You could sleep here—that’s something completely plausible you think. Nice, warm dirt—

Boba purrs your name—the sound piquing your interest enough that you overcome the heaviness that’s settled in your body and move your head. He’s returned to his throne, cheeks a bit flushed and his chest rising and falling to recover precious air. You watch as Boba peels off his cuirass with practiced ease, and lays it with care onto the floor. He murmurs your name a second time and pats his lap, coaxing you off the floor. 

You happily slither onto his thighs, exhausted and all too eager to be swept up into the warmth of his arms. He grunts as you tuck your head under his chin and cuddle into his chest, relishing the rough scrape of his palms folding over your shoulder and the outside of your thigh. His soft breaths tickle the top of your head paired with the quiet, but steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your fingertips and ear pressed onto his sternum. Your eyes flutter shut and though a hushed silence falls over the room, there’s nothing to be said. 

Boba tucks his nose into your hair and you smile, the slow speak of your heart unraveling into a lush garden of something new and brittle—like flakes of frost in the early morning sun. He’s more bruise than bleed nowadays—a wound closed then reopened and he promises nothing of a future beyond what you have in these moments. And yet—

You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb      @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeach @pettyprocrastination @nelba​ @beskars​ @jango-fettish​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @cobbvader​ @maybege​ @clonewarslover55​ @auty-ren​ @legally-a-bastard​ @bigdickdindjarin​ @thesparkleslugs​ @cryptid-candy​ @mandowhorian​ @pascaliprincess​ @mitchi-c​

[carelessannie]

I’d love to read starker + tiny!innocent!peter with their first time 🥺🥺🥺 a/b/o would be great too

Okay okay okay something about this really screamed crossover to me so... here’s a Starker + Tangled crossover (you can guess who is who) with omegaverse and really dirty smut

Damn, I hope you like it anon! Really just took the smut and amplified it 👀👀

Warnings: omegaverse, sex pollen, fuck or die trope and dub-con, forced heat/rut, virgin peter, and I’m just gonna add coming untouched so I can put it on my bingo card because hot damn

Here’s my bingo card, the square coming untouched for @starkerfestivals

---

Tony traces a finger up Peter’s leg, smirking when he jerks away with a huff. He loves working the pretty pink Omega into a fit— he’s so easily flustered, god— and watching his face heat up and scent turn sweet in embarrassment.

“C’mon, crazy— show me how you do the healing thing again."

Peter glares at him, crossing his arms, “Why? Why do you need to know, bandit?"

“Ooo, bandit, I like that,” Tony sprawls out on the ground, peering up at Peter through the tall blades of grass. Peter’s moving his hands, quick little motions that Tony is absolutely entranced by, and he realizes the pretty Omega is weaving a flower crown. Damn, that’s adorable. When Peter doesn’t answer him, Tony turns onto his stomach and crawls closer, “Aww— don’t be like that, pipsqueak. You don’t have to show me anything."

Peter’s face scrunches up, his fingers stilling in their movement.

“Fine."

Tony sits up taller, “Fine?"

“I’ll show you how I do it. Come here,” Peter waves him over and points to the spot right in front of where he’s sitting. They both cross their legs and shuffle until their knees are pressed together, Tony marveling again at how small and sweet the Omega in front of him is.

“Give me your hands,” he commands, and Tony obeys, curious already. It’s truly unexpected when Peter grabs his wrists, guiding Tony’s fingers to tangle in his curls. “Hold on, okay?” Peter confirms, waiting until Tony nods.

Peter releases his hands and pushes his chest slightly, backing him flush against the boulder he’s resting on. Tony’s breathing picks up, speechless as Peter straddles his lap, sliding down until their chests are flush together. Through it all, Tony cradles Peter’s head reverently, jaw dropped in awe.

With one last shuffle, Peter leans forward and rests their foreheads together. He breathes deep, placing his delicate hands on Tony’s cheeks, and starts singing— low and sweet under his breath. When his eyes open again, there’s a golden rim around his iris, and his scent is heady, strong and deep with desire.

“Omega,” Tony gasps, tugging on Peter’s curls until his head tips back, exposing the long, pale column of his unblemished throat.

“Please,” Peter begs, lips falling open in a cry of pleasure, shaking the foundation of the forest around them, “touch me, Alpha— please."

Tony flips them and pins Peter to the ground, easily slotting between his legs and fitting his teeth around Peter’s neck, growling low and possessive. Peter’s scent is thick around them, and all Tony feels is insatiable heat, low in his gut.

What the hell?

With a snap, he pulls off Peter’s neck and looks down at the tiny Omega, using a thumb on his chin to force eye contact. Peter’s eyes are hazy, still ringed gold, and his lips spread in a saccharine smile.

“What’s wrong, Alpha?” he purrs, wiggling in Tony’s hold.

“What did you do?"

Peter’s face twists in confusion, “What do you mean?"

“I mean,” Tony gestures down, to where their obvious erections press together insistently, “I know we were having some magical moments— and I know you think I’m a scoundrel— but I’m usually not this horny at the drop of a hat. What was in that healing spell, Pete?"

“I’m not... I’m not sure,” he stutters, looking up at Tony fearfully, “It usually heals and does the... the... aging thing. It’s never... I’ve never..."

Tony understands, oh god does he understand. With the most restraint he’s ever show, Tony picks himself off the needy Omega, making sure their skin and bodies aren’t touching. Peter whines, but Tony ignores it, has to ignore it.

“I’m sorry, Petey, I really am— but there’s not way I’m stealing your virtue like this. As much as I’d love to, you deserve better than a romp in the mud, especially with an Alpha like me."

Peter sits up and reaches towards him, “No! What? I need you, please Alpha—"

“I can’t do that, Peter, please,” he begs backing away further. “I’m going to take care of... this,” he motions awkwardly to the obvious tent in his pants, “over there. And I suggest you do the same. We can talk in the morning."

The last thing Tony sees as he hurries away is the broken expression on the sweet Omega’s face, and his delicate hands tearing at layers of clothes.

Tony sighs, thankful to be out of temptation’s way, as he pulls out his cock hastily.

It’s gonna be a long night.

---

Tony can’t come. It’s been an hour and his cock is purple, drooling and throbbing, with no knot and no release in sight. Every stroke is painful— not to mention the agony of hearing Peter cry just across the clearing.

He’s strong, but he’s not that strong.

The scent of Omega heat reaches him where he kneels in the dirt, and he’s up and moving without a second thought. When Peter sees him— strutting across the forest and over to the cave where Peter has tried to den himself— the Omega sobs, holding out his arms in a silent invitation.

Tony kneels next to him, scenting for hurt and distress on his Omega. He knows it’s his fault Peter is so needy, so drippy and sad, and helps him by petting his hair, shushing him softly. Their skin presses together, and Tony can feel the heat fever already.

“M’sorry ‘mega,” he growls, feeling his rutting fangs extend in preparation. Peter’s eyes are closed and he claws at Tony’s back, singing a chorus of, “Alpha, Alpha, Alpha,” that is making Tony salivate.

He turns Peter around, moving the remains of his shirt and pants to give the Omega some cushioning to rest on as he arches his ass into the air, and leans down to taste. Slick is pouring out of his Omega, ripe and untouched in his arms. He latches his mouth to Peter’s sweet lips and sucks, using both hands to hold his hips in place as he coaxes more and more of Peter onto to his tongue, into his mouth.

Peter is panting and pleading with him for “more, Alpha,” but Tony knows the sweet, virginal Omega has no idea what he’s asking for. He watches Peter’s face for discomfort as he pushes in a finger, groaning as it easily slides up to the second knuckle. Peter drops his chest to the earth and cries out, pushing back into Tony’s hand.

“More, more, more Alpha!” he shouts, tiny cock twitching adorably as his pussy desperately clutches around Tony’s finger, almost as if it’s trying to draw him in further.

With a growl, Tony shoves another finger inside, working Peter’s body with one hand and using his other to stroke himself, coating his cock in wet, Omega slick. He knows the tingling in the back of his head, the rush of aggression and hormones means he’s hitting a rut as well, but none of it matters— not with the world’s prettiest Omega writhing under him and calling him Alpha.

His fingers pull out and bring an obscene amount of slick with them, that Tony immediately uses on his cock, pumping it desperately as he sidles up behind Peter. He crouches behind the Omega, putting his hands on Peter’s waist as the tip of his cock slides in between glistening lips, bumping up against his entrance.

Peter jerks, panting, as he looks up at Tony, “Wh... what is that, Alpha?"

“My cock, ‘mega. M’gonna fill you up, make the hurt go away,” Tony can barely get the words out before he’s sinking in, breathing hard as the Omega’s velvety slick passage is stretched wide around his cock. And he’s tight— oh, fuck, he’s tight. Tony’s never fucked a virgin, never even had an Omega in heat, and he can’t stop the way his hips immediately start to thrust, pistoning in and out of Peter’s trembling body.

“Perfect, fuck Peter— so perfect for me."

Peter whines and clenches down, “So full, Alpha! Please, need more."

That’s all the permission Tony needs to pick up his pace, slamming their hips together brutally as he fucks the Omega into the forest floor. His tony body fits perfectly into Tony’s hands, and Peter keens so beautifully when the Alpha changes angles, driving down mercilessly into his sweet spot.

Peter screams, “That! Right there!” and Tony snarls, giving the needy Omega exactly what he’s asking for. He reaches around, groping at Peter’s slight waist and chest, until he can take two handfuls of soft breast— barely a handful, but still soft and alluring— and pinch down on those pretty nipples, hard.

His Omega shakes apart, wailing, “Alpha, Alpha, oh, oh— I’m gonna, oh!” before painting the ground with his release, milking Tony’s cock as he fucks him through his orgasm relentlessly. The pressure is fucking heaven, and Tony’s thrusts shorten, turning into a shallow grind, as he feels his knot expanding.

Peter’s breathing picks up, little mewling sounds escaping as Tony fucks him with his knot, working past the Omega’s oversensitive entrance with a few filthy circles of his hips.

“S’it bigger? Why’sit bigger?” Peter whines, wiggling in discomfort.

Tony shushes him, falling to his knees as the knot finally slips in with a pop, releasing load after load of Alpha cum deep into his belly. “F-fuck, Pete. Just... oh, baby just breathe, okay?” he tries soothing Peter as the smaller boy starts to whimper— loose and boneless on the ground.

It’s difficult, but Tony manages to get them situated on their sides, pulling over a bedroll to keep his perfect Omega off the dirt and earth. He wraps Peter up in his arms. He buries his nose in Peter’s curl, damp with sweat, and breathes deep.

“T-tony?” Peter turns back to look at him, precious tears clinging to his eyelashes, “What happened... to your... your...” he squeezes down on Tony’s knot purposefully, and then blushes, hiding is face in embarrassment.

This Omega is too much, Tony thinks as he groans— another wave of pleasure rolling through him, pumping more and more cum into the sweet, pure boy in his arms. “God, Pete— you’re gonna kill me. It’s... it’s my knot, sweetheart. Keeps us locked for a bit,” at Peter’s sad whine, Tony hums and pets his side soothingly, “but— with your heat, I bet I can make you come on it again."

“C-come on it?” Peter whispers, sounding overwhelmed and terrified, and Tony recoils a bit when his sugary-sweet scent turns bitter, distressed.

Oh god, “No, no baby, just rest, okay? I’ll take care of you. I promised, remember?"

Peter’s body relaxes and curls back into Tony’s arms, sighing gently, “I do. Thank you, Alpha. And then... and then we can go see the lights?"

Tony chuckles, already reaching a hand around to work Peter’s sweet little Omega cock back to hardness.

Oh, they’ll be seeing the lights alright.

[whimsicallyreading]

Part Four~

(Part Three)

Aelin loved Elide. She did. The tiny brunette was like a little sister to her.

But if she said Lorcan Salvaterre’s name one more time she was going to throttle her.

Aelin smiled through her annoyance, as Elide filled her in on her new boyfriend. They organized shelves, set up displays, cleaned couches, as she gushed on and on.

If it was anyone besides that walking, talking, ass, she would be thrilled for Elide. She didn’t go on dates often. After the car wreck when she’d lost her left leg, Elide became shy and timid with people she was unfamiliar with.

Aelin wanted to fill her in on what happened the night before. Tell her that exactly how her new boyfriend treated women when she wasn’t around, and the crowd he hung out with. She just- Aelin frowns and rubs the space between her eyebrows. She didn’t want to damper Elide’s happiness.

“He took me to this little restaurant on the Avery River last weekend. It was adorable,” Elide babbled as she rearranged the new releases. “He didn’t even blink when I told him I don’t drink and ordered a Shirley Temple.”

Aelin laughs. “Your ordered a Shirley Temple on a date?”

Elide blushes, “they look fancier than a soda.”

That was a lie. Elide just loved everything cherry flavored.

“Enough about me,” Aelin startled as the tiny girl turned on her. “Tell me how your night went!” Elide beamed. “You went to the rodeo with Aedion, right?”

She gasps as the realization strikes her. “Did you see Lorcan ride? I haven’t even seen him compete, yet! I’m so jealous.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” Aelin answers vaguely, hoping Elide would take the vague answer and carry on.

“He told me he came in second last night.” Elide frowns. “He was really unhappy about it, and I told him that second was great. I don’t think he believed me. Lorcan is such a perfectionist.”

Yeah. So perfect he does drugs with his crappy, friends in a dimly lit bar. Aelin shoves a book onto the shelf a little too aggressively.

“I wish he wasn’t so hard on himself. It’s such a competitive sport, though. His buddies ride as well, and I think that makes it worse. He wants to impress them.”

Aelin looks back, realizing she’d stacked over half the shelf by herself, and sees Elide sitting on the floor behind her. She had a far off look on her face, and her chin was rested on one knee while her prosthetic leg was stretched in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to swallow back the annoyance creeping up on her. “Elide.”

“It’s just, a lot of peer pressure you know?” Elide continues talking as if she hasn’t heard her. “Despite all of that and the drama, he still makes time for me. It’s honestly really sweet and-“

“Elide,” Aelin tries to catch her attention gently.

“I still haven’t met his friends yet. I’m not sure if it’s just too soon for that, but his best friend Rowan is coming over tomorrow and-“

“Elide,” Aelin bites our sharply, cutting the girl off mid sentence. “I’m glad to hear you are happy, and that your boyfriend gives a shit but can you please help me do the shelving like I pay you to do?”

Guilt. Instantaneous guilt as the younger girl wilts like a flower under a gale-force wind. “Sorry, Lin.” Elide whispers and scurries away, her cheeks reddening.

Shit. Aelin taps her head against the shelf in front of her. She felt like a piece of shit.

Aelin has been dealing with her issues for years, going to therapist after therapist, but she was still prone to bouts of anger and depression. She had it mostly under control, but sometimes it slipped from her. Being tired and skipping lunch hadn’t helped.

As Yrene always told her- “The first step in better mental health is taking care of your body” Something Aelin had never been good about.

Elide hadn’t deserved her ire, she would have to figure out a way to make it up to her. Aelin sighs in resignation, already knowing what she’d have to do.

Aelin finishes the shelves first, figuring Elide would need a minute to compose herself. Her phone dings with the reply to her text message.

Lysandra- Tonight at 6:00

“Elide?” she searches around the shop for her and finds her sitting behind the computer at the front desk.

“Yeah?” Elide replies, her voice is a little gravely and she refuses to meet Aelin’s eyes.

Aelin slinks behind the desk and wraps an arm around Elide’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t kind.” She wouldn’t lie, she felt a bit like a toddler having to apologize for her short temper. A little embarrassment was better than an unhappy friend.

“It’s fine, Lin. I know I’m a little much to handle,” Elide still doesn’t look at her.

“No, it’s not okay, but I’m going to make it up to you,” Aelin smiles even if inside she’s cringing.

“Yeah?” Elide finally looks her in the eye, curiosity sparkling there.

“I texted Lys about the party she’s having tonight,” Aelin starts and Elide’s grow wide. “Would you want to go with me?”

“To a party? You hate parties,” she questions but Elide is already thrumming with excitement.

Aelin grabs Elide’s hand and squeezes. She doesn’t hate parties. Contrary, Aelin loves night out a little too much. That was her downfall. Now she was wary of them, but it didn’t mean she hated them.

“Really? You will go?” Elide smiles and stands up. “I’m so excited. Wow. Okay. I’ll go do with you.”

“Great, we can walk over together at five-thirty?” They lived the in the same apartment complex, it was easy for them to meet up and go places after work.

Elide is grinning ear to ear now as she hustles to finish up her chores for the day. “Sounds great. I’m so excited!”

Aelin is feeling a little upbeat herself. Even if parties weren’t really her scene anymore, attending would be fun. Elide being there would keep her from getting into any trouble, so what’s the harm?

She should know that’s the question that always goes before the fall.

~~~

Aeljn was feeling good.

She pulled on her slinky, green-velvet dress, and braided her hair into a crown like Aunt Marion used to do for her. Dressing up felt like armor to Aelin and she was a warrior who would turn heads tonight.

Elide has also done a great job dressing up. Billowing black pants and a silver singlet. She didn’t enjoy dressing up as much as Aelin, being the center of attention made her anxious, but she didn’t give herself enough credit. Elide was beautiful and Aelin would make sure her friend new that this evening.

Lysandra lived in a loft in downtown Rifthold. She was old money and Aelin was a frequent of her outrageous parties in highschool. Some of her most iconic teenage memories happened in Lysandra’s family home.

Not her proudest, but memorable for sure.

It was already in full swing when they arrived. Music played over Bluetooth speakers, various concoctions were passed around in red cups and people mingles and moved against one another in every open space.

Elide looked a little overwhelmed, but Aelin smiled at her reassuringly.

“Lin!” Lysandra appears from the crowd like a leopard from a jungle. She filings her arms around Aelin’s neck and kisses her cheek. “I’m so glad you are here!”

“It’s been too long since I’ve been to one of your get together,” Aelin wrapped her arms tightly around Lysandra.

“This is my friend Elide,” she gestures to the girl standing stiffly behind her. “Elide this is one of my oldest friends Lysandra. Possibly my soon to be sister-in-law.”

Aelin throws and wink at Lys who immediately retaliates with a pinch to her arm. “I love you and Aedion but I’m too young for that,” she scolds.

“Sure you are,” Aelin teases sliding back to Elide’s side and wrapping a comforting arm around her waist. “Those two are stupid in love don’t let her fool you,” she wiggles her fingers and Elide laughs.

“Stay right here, I’ll go get us some drinks.” Lysandra smiles and disappears into the crowd.

Almost as soon as she’s gone, there’s a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, absolute dread fills her gut. “I swear you all are stalking me,” Aelin moans.

Rowan Whitethorn is standing behind them, drink in hand and a scowl on his face. “What do you mean? This is the first time I’ve seen you since you ran out on me.” There’s an edge in his voice and Aelin knows he’s there for trouble. “I just thought I’d say hello and ask what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Aelin is indignant. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Um,” Elide stammers. “Should I give you two space?”

“I really liked you, and you stormed out on me.” Rowan growls lowly. “I don’t know what I did wrong? You humiliated me in front of my friends.”

Aelin throws her head back and laughs. A sense of satisfaction brews in her chest when she sees the forest fire beginning in his eyes. “I embarrassed you? Your friends treated me like shit.” She hisses between her teeth.

Rowan’s frown deepens into a near snarl, “I’m not responsible for what those idiots say.”

“You-“ she jabs a finger into his chest. “Stood bye and let them say it, that makes you implicit. If you respected me in the slightest my comfort and dignity would have mattered to you.”

Aelin makes to jab him again but his hand catches her wrist and she can’t control the flinch.

His eyes widen, but a body appears in between them. Elide Lochan stands like a solider in front of the man who is twice her size. “You don’t touch her.”

Rowan backed off a step, his voice raising. “She was prodding me-“ he stops himself and takes a breath, a crease forming in his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ll back off.”

“What’s going on over here?” Lysandra’s voice cuts through the noise of the party. She doesn’t look happy.

“He put his hands on her,” Elide hisses and Rowan’s eyes go from anger to shock.

He holds up his hands and looks to Lysandra. “I didn’t. I swear.”

Lysandra stands next to Elide forming a wall between him and Aelin. As one of the few people who knew about Aelin’s drama of the last couple of years, the look of this situation boiled her blood.

“Lys, he didn’t-“ Aelin tries to douse the scene they were about to create.

Lysandra gives her a look that makes Aelin quiet. “I love you Lin, but I don’t trust your excuses.”

That hurt. Her heart feels like it was wrung in her chest. Aelin crosses her arms in front of her, suddenly feeling withdrawn from the situation.

Elide hasn’t broken her stare from Rowan. “You should probably leave.”

“What?” He flounders looking equal parts shocked and horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare her. We know each other.”

“I agree,” Lysandra tilts her chin to the door. “You aren’t welcome here any longer.”

Rowan looks at her for help, and she feels bad for him. Aelin knows she touched him first, but Lysandra’s comment was like a cold knife in her side and she was still bleeding. She didn’t know what to do or say.

“Rowan? What’s going on?” Lorcan appears behind Rowan, placing a hand on his shoulder. Aelin knows the moment he sees Elide standing in front of her, because his face deflated.

“You know him?” Elide’s voice is cold.

Lorcan, a beast of a male, cowers in front of little Elide. His mouth gapes like a fish. He can’t deny her question, but affirming it seemed worse. “Ellie,” her name comes out strangled.

“These are your friends, Lorcan? The people you seem to be keeping me from?” Elide darkens further as she looks at Rowan. “I guess I understand why.”

“Both of you can leave, then.” Lysandra smiles maliciously.

“I’m sorry, Aelin.” Rowan rubs both of his hands across his face then through his hair. “Damn it, I didn’t mean for this to go like it did. I wanted to apologize.” He says mostly to himself.

“Elide. He’s my friend. I don’t know what’s going on-“ Lorcan scrambles to cover his ass, but Elide isn’t having it.

“This is Lysandra’s house.” Elide says so calmly it would have been kinder if she yelled. “She asked you to leave.”

Lorcan looks at her, absolutely fuming and Aelin knows he’s beyond pissed. “I don’t know what this lying bitch-“

A slap broke like thunder between them.

Lorcan holds his cheek as Aelin gapes at Elide in shock. There are no tears to be seen in the younger girls expression. Her shoulders are trembling, not with fear but anger.

“Let’s go.” Rowan chokes out. He grabs Lorcan’s shoulder and pulls him away from the trio of women.

Lysandra watches them like a predator until they clear her front door. Her tense shoulders only relax when they leave. She releases a breath and looks at Elide.

“You are hella cool, Ellie. You deserve something better than that piss-poor beer I brought.” She nods to the solo cups that had been abandoned on the table. “I’ve got better shit in my room. Let’s go.”

Elide looks follows Lysandra with an elated look on her face. Aelin smiles dimly, she could see them becoming fast friends. Elide would be a good addition to the group.

They pushed through the crowd, and up the stairs. Aelin wasn’t in the partying mood anymore, which was disappointing. She’d been looking forward to it, and so had Elide.

Shaking her head, Aelin decides she will take a small reprieve in Lysandra’s room then suggest they go back downstairs. Elide was only comfortable coming to a party because she was going to be with her. Now not only was her night ruined, but she was on the outs with Lorcan because of her.

The very least she could do was make sure the night ended on a good note for Elide. Lysandra would be totally willing to help Aelin get her to let loose.

When they reach the bedroom Lysandra stops the outside the door. “You can go in, Ellie. I need to talk to Aelin for just a second.”

Elide nods happily and shuffles inside.

“Lys,” Aelin starts before Lysandra can. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“You promised me before,” her voice is hard but not unloving. “Who was that Aelin?”

She doesn’t miss the use of her full name. “Just some guy I went out for drinks with one time. I honestly don’t even know him.” Aelin assures.

“Has he been bothering you? If he is I will castrate him and feed his own-“ Aelin covers her ears.

“No, no. We just bumped into each other, it was a misunderstanding,” Aelin swears. “Honestly, you didn’t need to kick him out.”

“Yes,” Lysandra hisses. “I did. You aren’t going through that again, Aelin. Not over my dead body.”

“I appreciate that you love me so much,” Aelin whispers, not wanting Elide to pick up on their conversation. “But I can take care of myself. I’m not broken, Lys. Just hurt.”

Lysandra groans sadly, her dark lashes fan against her cheeks as if she’s fighting tears back. Suddenly Lys is hugging her again, and Aelin sinks into her embrace like always.

“I know you aren’t broken. I’m sorry that I’m so fussy.” Aelin let’s her tuck itself into Lys shoulder, aware that she was a safe person to be open with.

After a moment they pull apart. “Please. Just be careful,” Lysandra pleads.

“Of course,” Aelin promises. “Thank you for always having my back.”

“Never again,” Lysandra reiterates, reaching out to grab her hand.

“Never again.” Aeljn squeezes it.

“Lysandra! Your cat is so cute!” Elide coos from behind the door. The tension is broken and the two of them look at the other and laugh.

“Let’s go.” Aelin says, and Lysandra holds the door for the both of them.

Never again would Aelin submit to a cruel man’s will.

Not even for a man like Rowan Whitethorn.

Part Two of the birthday mass update! Thank you guys so much for reading 💚

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[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 7

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

As he walked through the halls towards his next class, he made a vow to himself to try and feel that unfamiliar emotion until he could name it, then keep feeling it, because, for Satan, it felt like Y/N was right next to them, with their signature smile on their face, proud of him for focusing on a feeling opposite of his wrath. Should he start to feel his wrath taking over, he would picture Y/N, holding his hand, encouraging him to feel that unfamiliar emotion. One he soon learned was called ‘Philia Love’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 7 - Virtue of Loyalty (4265 words)

Our trip to the palace was a quiet one. Michael didn’t seem to want anything to do with me since he flew quite fast and left me behind multiple times as I'd never flown before and flying was extremely difficult. No one offered any assistance so I tucked my wings away, which I managed to figure out how to do after I accidentally did so mid flight, and ran under him. Looking straight ahead after confirming that I was keeping pace with Michael, I spotted the Celestial Palace. My jaw dropped in awe as I ran. The thing was massive! At least 2.5 times the size of Diavolo’s castle and even more decorative. The white walls were adorned with varying shades of golden accents making the palace seem larger than it really was. As I got closer, I learned that it was sitting in the middle of a massive garden that was overflowing with different kinds of celestial plants and trees. Although both the palace and garden seemed to be overflowing with decorations, everything still fit perfectly and was quite pleasing to the eyes.

Approaching the marble steps of the palace as Michael landed in front of me, greeting some gardeners as they stopped and bowed their heads to him. Signalling for them to resume their work, he continued up the steps motioning for me to follow. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I followed him looking as unfazed as possible. Upon entering I found that the outside of the palace does no justice to the massive interior. Abandoning plan to remain as neutral and unfazed as possible, I gazed in absolute awe at the decor, my mouth opening slightly. There were no lighting fixtures as massive windows lined the wall letting in more than enough sunlight through. A massive chandelier was located in the center of the room with golden and silver chains decorating it. The marbled floor also had silver and gold accents as a beautiful floral pattern was outlined. Hearing a chuckle behind me, I turned to see Michael looking at me with a smug smile on his face.

“Well how can you not expect me to be amazed by all this?!” I countered while spinning and gesturing around the room.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your smug smile said it all Mike” I flashed him a wicked smirk of my own as I called him by the nickname. His face darkened significantly as his tone dropped to what would have been a dangerous level had I not have spent my life with demons. It just didn’t have the same undertones as Devilish.

“Watch yourself child”

Giving him an exaggerated mock bow I responded.

“My humble apologies Sir Michael. I will be sure not to repeat the same error in the future.”

“Very funny.” He scoffed and walked off. I got up and followed him through the palace until we stopped between two massive golden doors to what I assumed to be the throne room. Michael addressed himself and stated that he brought me with him. 2 angels donning Celestial armour opened the doors. Michael walked in with his head slightly bowed and his gaze lowered. I walked looking straight ahead as I subtly took the room in. It wasn’t as big as I expected it to be. A golden carpet leading from the door to the throne was the most extravagant thing in the room. In contrast to the rest of the palace, the throne room was quite modest. Even the throne wasn’t extravagant, built for comfort instead of elegance. God himself looked to be a 6’8 man in his late fifties with chestnut coloured hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a simple white robe with gold accents. His eyes, a light blue colour, were emitting a slight white glow as we approached. Michael stopped a short distance from the throne and kneeled.

“Father, I have brought Y/N on your orders.”

“Thank you my son.” He turned to look at me.

“Y/N, you have caused quite the commotion in the 3 realms.”

I kept my tone playful as a polite smile made itself home on my face as I spoke with God.

“What can I say Father, trouble likes to follow me, wherever I may be.”

“That may be my child, although I am quite confused as to how you ended up here especially as a seraph. In case you didn’t know, that position must be earned here in heaven, so please explain to me, why I shouldn’t forsake you and have you fall to the Devildom?” He raised his right eyebrow and relaxed into his throne as he asked his question.

“Oh make no mistake, I didn’t want to come here in the first place, had I actually had a choice, I would have gone to the Devildom where I belong. Unfortunately, circumstances never seem to be on my side.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you came to be here, in that attire nonetheless.”

“Does it upset you that I come donning Lucifer's clothing and wings? I assure you, I didn’t have a say in my appearance. I am only staying here as long as necessary after all. I still wish to fall and return to my family.”

“Tell me child, how is it that a human finds comfort in the likes of demons rather than angels?”

“Whoever said I didn’t find comfort in angels? I find Simeon and Luke to be quite comforting whenever I get stressed with this whole 3 realms stuff. I just find the darkness of the Devildom more appealing as you and I both know what lurks underneath this “bright” soul of mine.”

“And yet you came here to me, why?”

“I presume you know the details regarding my untimely end?”

“Yes I am, although you weren’t due to perish yet, I do not dictate the souls within the Devildom realm. What of it?”

“I sacrificed myself for the brothers whom I have grown to call family so that they may continue to live despite being ruled by a tyrant whom you rivel for the title of “Devil””

“Watch what you say child! You are still addressing Father and not some random person off the street!” Ignoring Michael, I continued.

“I do not wish to return to the Devildom while it is ruled by King Abandon.”

“Child, I am aware of your relationship to the brothers as well as your loyalty to those you call family. I am also aware of the feelings you have for my eldest son. I ask you, has anyone told you about his duties while he was serving me?”

“Yes, Simeon and his brothers would speak about his time here as the leader of the council. Lucifer himself preferred not to talk about it but he answered my questions whenever I asked. I have also learned his work habits and often aided him whenever an overflow of work had come in due on a short notice.” God seemed to contemplate something. With a thoughtful look on his face, he addressed me.

“I have a proposition for you. You wish to fall and reunite with your family in the Devildom. I do not wish to have you up here, although you do not want to serve King Abandon.”

“That is correct.”

“I will grant your wish on one condition. I will allow you to return to the Devildom after Abandon’s reign is over, on the condition that you take Samael’s position on the council. You are to take over his responsibilities without attempting to sabotage the realm or abuse your power. Should you not be able to meet my expectations, or should you abuse your position, I will cast you out regardless of who is currently ruling the Devildom.”

Michael, who had stayed silent while his Father was speaking, was shocked by God's proposition.

“Father, are you sure this is the right way to go? Y/N doesn’t even belong here. Are you sure trusting them with Samael’s old position is a good idea?”

“Do you disagree with my judgment Michael? Do you believe me incapable of determining Y/N’s fate in my realm?”

Michaels face visibly paled as he realized the implications of his words. Bowing his head in mortification he answered his Father.

“‘O-of course not Father! I just don’t think that Y/N is qualified or ready to lead the council. They are unaware of how the Celestial realm operates and doesn’t have the experience that Samael possessed.”

Scratching his chin, God thought about Michael's words.

“You’re right Michael, you and the rest of the council as well as Simeon and Luke shall serve as their guide during their time here. You are to teach them how we operate and train them as to how to properly fulfill Samael’s role. You are to step down as the leader of the council once they have learned how to fill in the role themselves.”

Not being able to object to his Father's words, Michael agreed, although he tried to hide it, you could see how he clenched his teeth, obviously disapproving the entire idea and his new role as your babysitter.

“How about it Y/N, will you accept my proposal?”

“I have a few conditions of my own I’d like to add. I will accept on the condition that I return as soon as Diavolo is crowned king, no later and that other than the obvious changes that come with falling, no other changes will be made to me. I will follow your rules while I am up here and will serve you as long as it doesn’t result in any harm coming to the Devildom or Earth and their inhabitants. I will fulfill my role as Lucifer’s replacement during my time here, no more, no less.”

“Of course, that goes without saying. I will also add that you are to have no contact with any being outside my realm during your time here. We wouldn’t want anyone coming up here to retrieve you before our deal has ended now would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t. I accept your proposal to be Lucifer’s replacement until the time comes for Diavolo's crowning. Until then, I shall serve you and the council to the best of my abilities.” I stepped closer and kneeled before him as he sealed the deal.

“Alright then, as you are no doubt aware, each angel on my council represents a virtue. You shall as well. While Humility does not suit you quite right, I shall grant you a new virtue. One that could be considered a sin should it be applied incorrectly. I think you’d like that. Rise Y/N, Virtue of Loyalty.”

I rose to my feet as an invisible force caused my wings and halo to appear. They glowed a light blue as whatever magic God was using to tie me to the Celestial realm ran its course. Once the glowing dimmed down, I tucked my wings back in and bowed my head once more towards the being I now served for the time being and exited the throne room, making my way back to the House of Honors with Michael close behind. As we reached the front door, Michael turned me around. A hard and unforgiving expression on his face. A look of outright hatred in his eyes.

“Listen Y/N, just because Father has accepted you into the Celestial realm, doesn’t mean the rest of us have. You are still an outsider and I frankly do not trust anyone who has spent so much time around demons. I will follow Father’s orders in training you, but know this, Y/N, if I so much as suspect you of doing anything to upset the balance in the Celestial realm, if you hurt any of the angels here, I will take matters into my own hands. I will not allow a being as tainted as you to wreak havoc among the angels. Am I understood?”

Meeting his gaze, a smile made its way to my face as I responded.

“I will hold you to that.”

He took one last hard look at me and walked through the door. Left alone on the steps, I thought to myself, ‘Soon my demons, I’ll be back, soon’. I walked to the gardens and spent the next few hours tending to it until dinner.

In the Devildom. After they lost Y/N

As soon as they got home, Mammon went straight to Y/N’s room. How could he let this happen? He was their first damn it! He should have protected them, he should have stopped Lucifer, he should have done something! He entered Y/N’s room and immediately sat on their bed, made messily in their excitement to meet the king. He held their pillow, hugging to his chest as he started crying. Too lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear Asmo following him. Upon entering the room and seeing the state his older brother was in, Asmo put aside his own grievances and sat next to Mammon and embraced him, letting him cry on his shoulder. This reminded Asmo of a time in the Celestial realm. They were playing with Levi in the gardens when Levi tried to show off his tree climbing skills. As he was nearing the top, Mammon noticed the branch Levi was climbing looked ready to snap. He tried to warn Levi but was too late as the branch snapped and Levi fell. Mammon wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Levi ended up dislocating a wing and spraining his right shoulder. Asmo remembered walking by Mammon's room that night and heard quiet sobs, he knocked and opened the door revealing Mammon sitting on his bed, hugging his pillow crying. He sat next to his older brother and hugged him, assuring him that it wasn’t his fault and that Levi would be just fine. Coming out of the memory, Asmo did the same now, hugging Mammon and reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have stopped Y/N from giving that order and that everything will be ok.

“Will it be though? It just won’t be the same without them.”

“I know. It will be hard, Y/N was our family, but we’ll be there for each other.”

They slept together, holding each other in Y/N’s bed comforting each other until they fell asleep.

Present

It was an ordinary day for Mammon. He had just gotten back from a modelling gig at Majolish and was thinking up ways to spend the money he just earned. He was thinking of treating himself to a night out as he’d also gotten a math test back that day and passed with a 90%! Just as he was thinking about where to go, he felt the pull of a summoning. Mammon opened his eyes to find himself in an old cold basement. He scanned the room noting that the only lighting provided was a small bulb with a pull down string in the middle of the room and 3 small candles near the summoning circle. He found that the room was practically empty save for a thin mattress in a corner and some stairs leading to a door. He then spotted the one who summoned him, a little girl. She looked to be no older than 5. She was wearing stained and ripped overalls, one of the straps was missing. A light pink t-shirt underneath. Her brown hair was relatively short, only reaching her shoulders and was a tangled mess. Upon looking closer, Mammon noticed that she was covered head to toe in bruises and there were deep scratch marks on her arms and legs. He looked at the hastily drawn circle under him and found out that she drew it with some chalked rocks. She held an old summoning book close to her chest. Her big brown eyes looked so scared, yet if he looked closer, he could see what looked to be hope sparkling in the background. He could tell by looking at her that she held vast magical potential. Whoever put her here obviously knew the same.

“A-are you Mammon?” By Diavolo, she sounded so broken, like if he spoke too loud, she would shatter. Kneeling down to her level, Mammon put a soft smile on his face.

“Yes I am. What’s your name?”

“Cynthia”

“Ok Cynthia, what can I help you with.” Mammon doesn’t know what it was about the little girl, but he found himself genuinely wanting to help her. Maybe it was the way they looked at him with hope. Maybe it was because they were just a kid, or maybe, it was because her eyes reminded him of Y/N’s.

“I want to leave. My parents locked me in here. They don’t care about me. They only use me for their spells. Please Mammon, help me. I’ll give you my soul if you want, just please!” Tears came to her eyes as she pleaded with him to help her. Mammon upon hearing what these sorcerers were doing with their daughter, became enraged. He held his hand out to Cynthia with a smile on his face. He took the book from her hands and put it on the ground next to him.

“No, no, no. I won’t take your soul. It’s alright Cynthia, I’ll help ya. Why did you think I’d need your soul to help you?” “That’s what my parents said. They’ve been using me to try and summon you. I heard them arguing about who’s soul they would give to form a pact. Then they decided that they would give you mine.” Mammon didn’t think he could get madder, but by now, he was seeing red. Not only did her parents lock her up, they used her to try and summon him thinking he’d just accept a child’s soul to form a pact with them! Mammon was beyond angry.

“Don’t worry Cynthia, the Great Mammon will take care of your parents! You’ll be out of here in no time.” Sensing his rage Cynthia grabbed onto his legs before he made it to the stairs.

“No, don’t hurt them!” Mammon looked down at the girl in shock.

“Please don’t hurt them. They may have done all these awful things to me but they’re still my mom and dad! I don’t want you to hurt them, just get me out of here!” Mammon looked at the girl like she’d gone crazy. Her parents, who have locked her up in a basement, used her for spells, hell even tried summoning him in exchange for her own soul, she wanted them alive?! He saw how genuine she was being and he couldn’t find the heart to say no to her. Instead, Mammon knelt down to her level and took her hand. Cynthia looked at him with tears threatening to overflow. Mammon brought his other hand to cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“Ok Cynthia, I won’t hurt them. I am mad at your parents for doing this to you, but if you don’t want me to hurt them, I won’t.” Mammon then brought Cynthia’s right hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently. A yellow seal formed on the back of her right hand and a matching pink one on the palm of Mammon's right.

“Now we have a pact Cynthia. I didn’t take your soul, I took your sadness. Did you know that demons could also take emotions to form a pact?”

“N-no. Does this mean you’ll take me far away from here?”

“Yes, and it also means that you won’t ever feel sad again. I know a nice witch who can take care of you. She will teach you how to use and call me with the pact. This way, whenever you’re in trouble, you will be able to summon me without drawing the circle again and I can come protect ya.”

“O-ok.” Mammon then picked Cynthia up and walked up the stairs, kicking the basement door down he walked through the house towards the front door. Before he reached it though, he heard a scream behind him. He noticed that Cynthia tensed considerably in his arms as he set her down, hiding her behind his legs. He turned around coming face to face with a middle aged couple who he preserved to be Cynthia’s parents. Her mom then yelled at Cynthia.

“Cynthia Maxwell Daemon! You come here right this instant!”

“Shut your mouth lady. She doesn't belong to you anymore.”

“Nonsense! She’s my daughter. She is mine to do with what I want!” Mammon's patience was running out. A scowl appeared on his face as he growled out.

“Listen here lady, I’ve got some choice words for you two that I wouldn’t care to say in front of the girl, but the fact that you thought you could summon me and exchange her soul for a pact with you? You're crazy to think I’d ever accept that kind of pact. Now Cynthia and I are leaving and you ain’t ever using her again!”

Cynthia’s parents then realized who they were talking to and their attitudes immediately changed.

“Please forgive us, Lord Mammon. We hadn’t planned for the girl to summon you. We apologize for the inconvenience the child caused you. If you would stay, we could reimburse you for your troubles.” Cynthia’s father bowed his head as he addressed Mammon. Mammon on the other hand outright laughed at that statement. Turning into his demon form he barked out

“You think her summoning me was an inconvenience?! You two are crazier than I thought! Now listen here and listen closely, neither of you are to come near or look for her. None of you are going to use her again. We are leaving and don’t ever bother trying to summon me again. Ya know, you should thank Cynthia. If she didn’t plead with me not to hurt either of you, you’d both be dead. Make no mistake, if either of you try to summon me or if I find you anywhere near her again, I will rip your hearts out and feed you to Cerberus. Kapeesh?” The dark undertones of Mammon’s voice got through to Cynthia’s parents as their faces paled in fear and they quickly agreed. They begged for his forgiveness and promised not to harm Cynthia again if he could just stay awhile. Not bothering with them anymore, Mammon picked Cynthia up and walked out, flying towards the one witch he’d ever trusted. When he landed, he realized that Cynthia was crying.

“Sorry Cyn, I didn’t scare ya, did I?”

“A-a little, but these aren’t scared tears. I’m happy. Thank you for getting me away from them and for letting them live.”

“Of course. The Great Mammon keeps his promises.” Mammon walked up to the door of the small cottage. He knocked and a young witch with long blond hair, green eyes, and freckles answered the door.

“Mammon what a surprise! What brings you here?” She opened the door gesturing for him to come in.

“Sorry, not today Kelly. I’m actually here for her.” Mammon stepped aside, revealing a scared Cynthia behind him.

“Oh my Diavolo! What happened to you, you poor girl?!” Kelly rushed forward cupping Cynthia’s chin as she inspected her body, taking in all the bruises and cuts.

“Kelly, this is Cynthia. She summoned me to save her from her parents. I was wondering if ya could take care of her. I know ya've always wanted a kid, so…”

“Of course! I could never turn someone in need away, especially a girl as cute as her.” She said while pinching Cynthia’s cheeks. Cynthia giggled in response.

“Ok then, Cynthia, Kelly here’s gonna take care of you. I promise that she won’t act like your mom and she will help you learn how to use both your magic and your pact.” Reaching into his pocket, Mammon pulled out the Grimm he’d earned that day. He then put them into Cynthia’s palm.

“Here ya go kid. Now if you ever visit me, you’ll have some money to spend.” Mammon turned to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Cynthia pulling him down to the ground. He crouched down. Cynthia then kissed his cheek, giving him one of the Grimm he’d given her.

“Thank you Mammon.” She then ran behind Kelly’s legs and waved goodbye with a massive smile on her face.

It’s been a couple years since Mammon saved Cynthia. She’d grown to be a strong and skilful sorcerer. He’d visit her often over the years with something in tow for her. Mammon never spent the Grimm that Cynthia gave back to him on that day. Whenever Mammon had a tough time with the numerous witches he’d find himself in debt with, he’d always find his way to her, and she comforted him, never asking for more than his company, something he was more than happy to give. His brothers would always know whenever he went to see her as he’d always come back with a content smile on his face. Deep down, he wished that Y/N could’ve met Cynthia. They would have made great friends as they were the only 2 people who could make him smile like this. Mammon may not have been able to save Y/N, but he swore that he would protect Cynthia, no matter the cost.

[fairyoftbz]

amour inscouciant | m. kevin

pairing: kevin x fem!reader word count: 1.8k genre: mostly fluff, attempts at making jokes, suggestive, mention of sex synopsis: you’re watching a movie with your boyfriend, but a special scene fires things up... a/n: Happy Valentine’s day to everyone!! 💐💕 I really tried my best for this one, even though I’m not really proud of it! Special thanks to @violethhj​ for requesting it, I hope it’ll be good enough!! 🙃 (the title means ‘carefree love’ if you are curious, i thought it’d suit Kev’ well!)

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend entering the room, stirring you awake. You groaned as you kept your eyes closed, not exactly ready to wake up yet. A louder grunt escaped your mouth when Kevin started playing with the curtains, drawing only one to let the sunlight hit you in the face. He laughed, proud of his little joke as you turned around to face the wall, trying to desperately go back to sleep.

Your stomach said otherwise when your man balanced a plate of pancakes under your nostrils, the sweet aroma forcing your eyes to flutter open. 

“There we go, I knew I could get you to wake up with food,” he proudly said as he rested the plate on the bedside table, giving you a glass of orange juice instead. Half-hoisted on your elbow, you downed the drink in a few seconds, Kevin smiling at your enthusiasm. “Yes, love, the oranges were freshly pressed, by me,” he said when you frowned, getting a few seeds out of your mouth.  “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still laced with sleep. You slightly rolled your eyes as your phone screen lit up, the digits showing 07:49.

“Why would you wake me up so early, though?” you asked with a pout, and Kevin laughed. “So we get to spend the entire day together!” he answered, gently slapping your hand when it was about to take the blueberry pancakes, looking delicious and appetising. “Give me a number between 1 and 5, quick!” he said, snapping his fingers while he waited for your answer. “Uh, I don’t know? 3?” you said, caught unawares. Kevin opened Netflix on his phone and sighed, showing you the film you randomly chose.

“Oh, nice! Starting the day by watching Top Gun, I couldn’t have asked for a better morning!” you said as you grabbed your boyfriend, forcing him to fall back in bed with you. He sighed but still managed to grab the remote before collapsing next to you, an arm wrapping around your shoulders.  “The things I’d go through for you,” he sighed before laughing as you playfully nudged him in the ribs. “But you love me, right?” you asked, eyes glued to the screen as Tom Cruise appeared in your field of vision. “Of course I do,” he smiled, seeing you already deep in the movie when it had barely started. Your love for this film was unconditional, Kevin was willing to get through it, just to see a smile on your face.

You cuddled further into his chest as he radiated a comforting warmth, only to have him kiss the crown of your head. You smiled as you felt at peace, arm wrapped around his middle with your legs tangled together. Kevin slightly grimaced when your cold hand went under his t-shirt to innocently caress his abs, fingers lingering on his warm skin. He paid no mind to your actions since it was your way to show affection, but he couldn’t deny that your touch didn’t leave him unbothered. 

You let out an excited gasp and giggled when your favourite scene appeared on the screen, laughing as Pete Mitchell was purposefully making his motor roar to block Charlie’s words. You clutched your boyfriend’s shirt, excited to see that scene, despite having seen it a thousand times already. It just gave you butterflies every single damn time, and you loved the feeling of your heart hammering in your chest, pulsating adrenaline in your entire body. 

Kevin smirked as he noticed your hand grasping his top even tighter, eyes rising to the TV. His hand started caressing your thigh, your body subconsciously snuggling up closer to him.

“I didn’t remember that-“ “Shut up, Kev,” you interrupted him, and his mouth fell open at your words, feeling him laugh as you increased the volume of the television. You squealed like a schoolgirl when Charlie confessed, Mitchell kissing her in the following seconds. Biting your lips as they started making out on the slow song that you cherished so much, you felt your boyfriend’s chest moving at your foolish behaviour.

“You wish that were you, uh?” he whispered in your ear and you slapped his chest. “For the love of God, Kevin, keep it quiet,” you mumbled without even looking at him, eyes detailing every single scene. 

Your boyfriend had to admit that this part was pretty hot, his heart beating faster as he started imagining you two making out, just like the actors.  He grabbed your hand that was resting on his stomach and brought it to his mouth, laying soft kisses on your wrist. He progressively got lower, soon arriving at your elbow, following your limb up to kiss your upper arm. His head sank in your neck and kept on operating there, his caresses disturbing your attention from the film.  

“Kevin, I’m trying to watch the film,” you uttered as you held the hand that was about to lift the bottom of your top. “And I want you. Right now,” he whispered against your neck, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin at his words. Your hand slowly went up and met the back of his head, slowly pulling on his dark locks. You earned a low grunt from the man, knowing that it was one of his favourite things for you to do.

He patted the covers and grabbed the remote, pausing the TV right here. You were kind of frustrated, but he changed positions so quickly that you didn’t even have time to protest. He was hovering above you, hands finding your hips, slowly caressing the soft, warm flesh of your sides. You tugged on the edge of his t-shirt, a smile decorating his face as he pulled away from your mouth. Taking it off, he gently threw it at your face, softly giggling together before capturing your lips, hand wrapping around your throat to keep you from moving too much. That new sensation of light choking triggered a wave of warmth rushing south. You forced yourself to bit your inner cheek to stifle a moan, knowing that Kevin would be too content to have you wrapped around his fingers so quickly.  

Hands travelling down to his stomach, you caressed his toned abs and happy trail, feeling all excited and giddy at the sensation. Kevin slightly moved the two of you around, sitting up on his side of the bed, head and back resting against the frame. You were straddling him, one of his favourite positions, tongues dancing together it was his turn to tug on your top. 

"You're so beautiful," he said in a husky voice, some warmth of happiness travelling in your body. Your naked torsos touched the other as you were trying to take your time, but Kevin had another plan in mind. He never missed the opportunity to display hickeys all over your neck, earning beautiful moans as he licked and gently sucked on the sensitive skin. Mouth lingering on your collarbone, you softly gasped as his teeth grazed against your bone, grabbing the back of his head to push him further into your chest. He teased the skin right above your breasts, feeling your heart pounding against his mouth as things were spicing up. 

Sorry, no smut part because a) I don’t know how to write that and b) I’m already a blushing mess because of the make-out scene, I’m limiting the damage.

Kevin collapsed next to you, forehead pearling with sweat, the plate that was once filled with pancake now empty. You caught your breath back for a short instant and looked for your t-shirt, only to lazily rest your head back on the pillow as you noticed it magically hanging off the television. 

“You’re something when you want to,” your boyfriend said as he pushed his front pieces of hair back, hand then falling on his stomach while looking at you. You smirked as you noticed the hickeys in between his abs, shaking your head at his words. “You can talk! I don’t even have to see my neck to know how it looks like. The amount of time you spent down there, I probably look like I got into a fight,” you curled up to the side and stared at your boyfriend in the eyes, his touch lingering on your mind. 

“But you look so pretty like that,” he replied, and you shook your head with an amused smile on your face. “Proud of your art?” you teased, and he nodded, suddenly becoming all serious. “Of course I am. Out of all my artworks, this one is the prettiest. The canvas was already so gorgeous, I just added a personal touch,” he sat up and put on his sweatpants back on before getting up. He hissed when you delicately touched the scratches you had left in his upper back, feeling kind of proud yet guilty. You watched him get up, grabbing his wrist so he could kiss you. He obliged, gently pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“I’m coming back in a minute, love. Just rest for a while,” he kissed your cheek before walking out of the bedroom while you grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on, continuing the film where Kevin had paused it. Noticing your boyfriend's t-shirt lying around at the far end of the bed, you wiggled under the covers to get to it and wore it, feeling all pretty and loved when his body and laundry scent invaded your nose. 

Your lover came back a few minutes later, a warm cup of tea in one hand for the aftercare, and a bouquet of roses in the other. You cooed at his reddened cheeks, taking the flowers from him after kissing his lips.

“I wanted to give them to you when you would have gotten up, but it got delayed for some reason,” you giggled at his words and sniffled the roses, a rush of warmness invading your heart, making you fall for your lover even more.  “They smelled amazing, thank you so much, Kev’,” you said, and he smiled, sitting down next to you. “Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he caught your earlobe between his teeth, gently tugging on it. Grabbing his chin to make him look at you, you stared at him in the eyes for a moment before kissing him, again.

“I love you,” you said, and he caressed your cheek.  “I love you too, baby, a lot.” You lost yourself in his eyes for a quick minute, your mouths stretched into smiles, blissfully happy to be with the other on this special day. 

[spvce-cowboy]

the hero’s shoulders

ch. 5 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x f!reader)

previous- ch. 4: “songbird” 

next- ch. 6: “two suns”

rating: explicit

6.2k words

warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, oral sex f-receiving, unprotected PIV sex (don’t do that!!!), cum eating, slight choking, very soft, then rough, then soft again, both parties are not good at communicating

a/n: i feel so incredibly grateful for all the responses i’ve been seeing from you all--thank you all for being patient & i hope you enjoy !! chapter title inspired by “snow and dirty rain” by richard siken.

**

“Din.” The word sounds fresh and light coming off your tongue. And there it is, hanging between the two of you, his name. There’s a flurry of movement in the pit of your stomach. You take a breath and push forward. “Din Djarin, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

His hand quickly lowers to brace over the back of your neck again. He traces the corner of your jaw with his thumb. The song on the radio continues its lament of promises, the female vocalist releasing a breathy devotion that fills the space of the hull.

“I’ve,” he clears his throat. You’ve been around him long enough to recognize he does that when he’s nervous. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Is it against the rules?” You try to hide your surprise with a question, grateful for his hand still pressed against your skin. His need to still touch you, despite the topic, feels like a small reassurance.  

“No, no it isn’t. Technically.”

“Okay,” the word leaves you quietly. At a loss for what to do after that, you stay exactly where you are, face tilted up towards his, lips slightly parted.

And then there are lips pressing against yours. Warm and hesitant at first, but when you begin to kiss him back—a part of you so shocked and thrilled you can barely process that it’s happening holy shit it’s happening—they quickly move against your own with a fervor unlike anything you’d ever been lucky enough to experience.

You break away, catching your breath. “Mando—I—Din, can I—your hair?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, impatiently leaning back down to capture your mouth against his once more. Your fingers eagerly tangle in his hair as his arms seal back around your body to crush you against his chest. It’s longer than you expected, slightly tangled with dried sweat but soft. You catch the edge of his bottom lip with your teeth, tugging at it in a small taunt. Din growls something low in his throat, pulling you impossibly closer.

He follows your lead, ever the good student, pressing his tongue into your mouth, tasting you before pulling back and coyly retracing your lips with his own. He’s far better at teasing than you are. Maybe his restraint shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you want him. You’ve chased enough, held back enough. You feel him smile against you, sensing your frustration.

The kiss eventually eases into something slow. Languid. You take your time with each other, until your breathing slows, until it no longer feels like your chest is about to burst.

Din pulls back, holding the back of your neck again as he curves to roll his forehead against yours in a lazy nuzzle. “Need you,” it’s a hoarse whisper. He audibly swallows, just the tips of his fingers tracing the edge where the makeshift blindfold meets the skin of your cheek. “Pel kar’ta. I’ve—” he cuts himself off, unable to continue for a reason you don’t know. “Please.”

You nod without hesitation. Then there is a hand against your ass, the other reaching for the back of your good knee. Once he gets the proper grip, Din lifts you up so your belly presses against his chest. Your squeak of surprise quickly transforms into a giggle as Din kisses you again, your legs immediately wrapping around his torso. You lock your ankles together to keep yourself in place.

Din is now the one to tilt his head back for you, holding you up with both arms as he carefully walks forward. You don’t think you’ve ever been in a situation where you’re the one looking down. It fills you with a feeling of power you aren’t expecting, snaking one of your hands over the crown of his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling, pulling his face back even further to deepen the kiss.

He only breaks from you when he stops walking, pressing two more kisses against the length of your neck before loosening his grip slightly. Taking the hint, you unwrap your legs from around his waist and allow him to ease you back onto the floor.

You blindly reach out a hand, trying to figure out where he’s carried you. He takes it, gently tugging you forward.

“In here,” he says. “Watch your step.”

It’s his quarters, you can tell by the smell of it alone. Sweat and musk and leather. The oil he uses to care for his armor. In all your months on board, you had only ever set foot inside his bunk to give him the new blanket you bought him. Besides that, all you’d seen of the room was captured in stolen glances when the he left the door cracked open.

His room held the same lingering objectivity of seeing his facial razors in the bathroom, a quiet reminder that he isn’t just a figure from some fearsome legend. Wasn’t just metal and blaster residue. There was something impossibly soft under it all. Defiantly human.

And now you were here. Now he has led you here.

Just the feeling of his hand holding yours in this space, in his space, felt like a new kind of intimacy. Like you were being invited into something with a depth you could not possibly understand. Where your feet would never touch the ground.

Was it all coming a bit fast? Yes. Were you worried about that? Also yes. But then his hands are snaking around your waist again and you couldn’t possibly care less. You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, bringing him back down to you.

His hands continue their drift over your body. You don’t dare interrupt his exploration, savoring the feeling of his skin against yours. Smoothing his hands over the sides of your torso, he slips his fingers under your shirt, pushing the worn fabric up to dance the tips of his fingers over your stomach. They continue up, over your ribs, just barely grazing your skin.

You think he’s teasing you, playing coy, until he breaks your kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing his hard, slightly pained. It feels like he’s reining something in, trying to talk himself down while tracing looping circles over the skin of your lower ribs.

“We can stop if you need to take it slow,” your eyebrows knit together, the movement only partially visible with the swath of fabric covering your eyes.

“No,” Din nuzzles his forehead against yours. “No I just…”

“You can touch me however you want,” your voice is low, a hoarse whisper. “I’m not fragile. You don’t have to worry about me.”

And he grabs you, crushing your body against his again, palms flat over the length of your bare back. It feels completely different without the barrier of fabric between the two of you. You sink into him again, gladly, as his hands slide down your body again, firm and assured this time. He pushes the waistband of your sleep shorts down a fraction of an inch, definitely teasing you this time.

His fingers trace the lines of the underwear you’re wearing. “What’s is this?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s the only undergarment that worked with the dress Febhana leant me. There would be,” suddenly his lips are scraping against your neck and you let out an unintentional sigh, head lolling back to give him better access. The next words are difficult to muster, “oh… lines in the fabric, otherwise. Something about…” you give a moan as he nips at your ear. The feeling of his hands sliding against your bare hips alone is enough to render you unintelligible.

And then he retreats. In the moment, it’s a loss so great you can’t help but give a quiet whimper. His mouth seals over yours, briefly, in assurance.

“Give me a second, pel kar’ta,” his voice is all gravel and honey. Dark liquor and the warmth of a hearth.

You nod, licking yours lips and keeping your back against the wall of the room. You hear him leave the quarters then return, the rustle of fabric tells you he’s doing something with the bunk.

You play with the edge of your nightshirt as you wait for him to finish adjusting the bed, grateful for the blindfold in concealing at least a little bit of the shyness you are certain is plainly evident, regardless if he could see your eyes or not. You try to say your next words as casually as possible, too curious not to ask. “Have you done this before?”

He pauses whatever he’s trying to fix. “What?”

“I just, um… since I was your first kiss I thought maybe…”

The gorgeous sound of his laugh almost makes up for the heat of embarrassment that has quickly spread from your face to your chest. The sound of it is small, but it’s something totally relaxed. You can picture him shaking his head in that amused way he does when his helm is on.

You feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you against him again in order to steal another kiss, despite the fact that his chest is still shaking slightly with amusement. You eventually can’t help but laugh against his mouth too.

“I’ve… you don’t have to worry about that, gentle girl,” he murmurs. You feel his fingers brushing alongside your cheek. There’s a low growl to his voice that gives a definitive answer to your original question. The dull pulse at your center quickly turns into an indescribable ache.

Din picks you up again, effortlessly placing you back on the edge of his bunk. You immediately recognize the blanket beneath you as one of your own. Your chest fills with a warmth when you realize how he is trying to make you as comfortable as possible. It was one of many small intimacies you would have never expected from the bounty hunter when you first found him.

Up on the bunk like this, the two of you are eye level. You wrap your legs back around him, kissing his neck as you pull his shirt up. He takes the hint, leaning away slightly to pull it off. You’ve stitched up enough of his cuts and bruises to know the territory well—you basically had it memorized at this point—but you’ve never had opportunity to take your time with it.

Your thumbs explore the lines of his abdomen, the light trail of hair leading down...

And oh.

Like, you had a feeling it would. There’s something about the domineering attitude of him in his suit that just radiates a kind of confidence of someone who does. But oh.

You palm the rigid length of him through his pants, gasping into his open mouth when he starts to lift your shirt, the pads of his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts. You quickly pull away to take it off, tossing it to the ground and reaching out to pull him back to you. He stops you with a hand at your bicep. You lower your arms slowly.

Taking the hint, you rest your hands on the mattress behind you, biting your lip as you let him look at you. Swallowing, you try to calm your breathing so your chest doesn’t move so rapidly with each inhale. It doesn’t work.

“Maker,” he breathes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands cup your waist as he presses his lips to your shoulder, his next words barely a whisper against your skin. “I’ve waited so long to tell you that.”

And he’s kissing your neck again, the scrape of his unshaven face against your pulse is enough for your eyes to roll back into your skull, a tingling feeling running through the column of your spine.

You grab the back of his head again, forcing his lips back to yours as you recline onto the bed behind you. He follows your lead, smoothly climbing onto the bunk to cover you with his body. The feeling of his bare chest pressed against you is at once grounding and surreal. It lasts for a fleeting moment, until his lips break from yours and begin to retrace what they had started not moments earlier, licking against the pulse in your neck, a gentle nip at the curve of your clavicle, another wet kiss where your heart is beating, all too fast, in your chest.

When his mouth envelopes your nipple, your back arches off the mattress with a gasp. He slides his tongue over its sharp peak, lazily sucking it before moving onto the other.

By the time Din has traced his patient trail down the length of your body, you’re literally panting, lifting your pelvis in desperate search for his hips—for something, anything, to move against. You feel him shift back, his fingers resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“Is this okay?” There’s a tinge of a warbling weakness to his voice. Like his slow process was just as taxing on him as it was for you. As if, asshole.

“Please, Din,” you’re so wound up you don’t even care that your words come out as an unabashed whine. His hands quickly remove the last pieces of clothing off your body, both the shorts and your underwear being rolled down your legs and thrown to the floor with a soft thump. He pauses for a moment, there. Now understanding his process, you let him.

Breathing just as hard as you are, Din fits the curve of his palm to the back of your good knee, pressing another kiss to your calf as he gently bends your knee towards your torso. The stretch of it only adds to the pulsing ache at your center, and you readily mirror his motion with your other leg. He kisses, licks, and nips his way up the length of your leg.

You’re genuinely shaking by the time you feel his lips against the soft space between your inner thigh and your cunt. He laps the skin of that small space as he guides both your legs to hook over his shoulders.

Desperate for contact, you try to shift your pelvis to find his mouth yourself. Din’s hands seal over the backs of your thighs, keeping them spread and immobile. You make a whimpering sound you can’t control. He might have just given a small smile against you. You couldn’t possibly process it if he did.

Din presses the tip of his tongue at your entrance, dragging it over the length of your slit in one fluid motion. To describe what you see behind your eyelids as sparks wouldn’t even begin to capture it. You’re practically incoherent, hands fisted in his hair, using your legs to press down on his back in order to beg him to continue.

Circling your clit with the flat of his tongue, he uses the tips of his fingers to tease your entrance, gathering your wetness at an agonizingly slow pace.

You press your cheek into the pillow—it’s one of yours, some far, detached part of your brain vaguely recognizes, the fabric soft and familiar against your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you give another moan, the barely coherent plead of “please, Din, please” leaving your lips without thought.

And he pushes a finger into you, first one and then two. Both are slightly hooked, dragging a devastatingly line of pure pleasure onto your inner wall. The sound it makes is so obscene you nearly come from that alone. The gasp you give is nearly a sob, grinding your cunt against his face to urge him to keep going.

Din fucks his fingers into you as his tongue increases its pace. For seconds or minutes you have no idea, it feels like you’d lost control of the ability to speak hours ago. Without warning, something deep in your stomach pulls painfully tight.

You’re barely able to recognize what’s about to happen before your orgasm snaps through your body. You can’t muffle the strangled sound that leaves you, reflexively trying to close your legs as you ride through it. He keeps them pressed open with both hands, gently lapping at your clit as you shake with what feels like your own muscles twisting around themselves.

He expertly draws the orgasm out, keeping the rhythm of his fingers and his tongue at a steady pace. You’re practically a puddle by the time the last pulses of it go through you, his tongue working at your raw bundle of nerves until you flinch away with a whimper. Din pulls away, gently kissing your inner thigh as he eases your legs back down.

Still panting, you impatiently pull him back up to you, shaky hands messily working to push his pants down. He pulls away for a fraction of a second to pull them off for you, then plants a forearm beside your head so he can hover over you again.

Your hand almost goes to cradle his face but you catch yourself before you can, quickly pushing it back through his hair to push his face back down to you. You take your time, tasting the wetness still coating his chin, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip before resuming the kiss. The moan he gives into your mouth is electric. A flock of birds takes flight in the confines of your ribcage.

Feeling down the length of his body, your fingertips trace over his collection of scars. You relearn him through touch alone, relishing in the poorly muffled moan he gives when you rediscover the trail of hair below his bellybutton. 

You take his cock in your hand, jerking it off slowly as you adjust your hips to bring him closer to your pussy. It’s messy and impatient, but Din still stutters something unintelligible as you rub the tip of him up the length of your entrance.

“Is this…” he’s breathing so hard it sounds like he’s in physical pain. “Ngh, fuck you’re so wet.”

“Fuck me,” you breath into his ear, hooking your legs around him in order to urge his hips to forward.

He presses his nose into the crook of your neck, easing himself into you as soon as the words leave your mouth. You inhale sharply, relaxing into the near-painful stretch of him inside you. You think you might be cursing, or pleading, it feels too good to keep track of what’s leaving your mouth.

Din steadily increases his pace the longer he’s inside you, every stroke chipping away at some resolve he was attempting to maintain. He seals a hand over the back of your thigh, pressing your leg back to reach somewhere deep inside you. This combined with the small sounds he makes as he fucks you—the sharp inhales, the restrained grunt of an exhale that eventually follows each one—are enough to have another pulsing wave of desire roll through you.

“Harder,” you’re able to gasp before his mouth is slamming against yours again.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach. You barely have time to prop yourself up on your knees before he’s snapping his hips back into you, one hand gripping your hip so tightly you think it might bruise, the other reaching around to rub your over-stimulated clit.

“Maker I—Din,” you’re incoherent, eyes in the back of your skull as his hand releases your hip to snake around your throat, forcing you to crane your head back towards him. Din’s teeth dig into the exposed, tender skin of your neck as he continues his ruthless attack on your clit. The rhythm of his cock pushing into you is unceasing, despite the way he’s twisted your body to accommodate his. You take it.

“Good girl,” he growls in your ear. The praise is taught with desire, razor-sharp. “Such a… fuck—such a good girl. Look so pretty with my cock in you. T—take it so well—”

You come a second time, unable to contain the ragged cry that leaves your already exhausted body. This one picks you up and slams you back down again, hard and fast and unexpected. Din releases his hand from your throat when the height of your orgasm passes. You’re barely able to hold yourself up by your forearms as his hips press into you for a few more hard strokes.

Din pulls out, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other jerking himself off with your slick. With a low moan, you feel his come spray over your back.

For a moment, there’s only the ragged sound of your joined panting. Din stays kneeling behind you like that for a second. You feel his come begin a slow drip down the concave arch of your spine. And then his tongue, warm and wet, presses against the small of your back, lapping at the length of it. Cleaning you off.

Finishing the job, he collapses against you, forehead rested against the back of your shoulder that’s beginning to ache again.

“Was…” he clears his throat, breathing fast. “Was that okay?”

It was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced and you’re so wrung out you can’t muster anything but a breathy, I can’t believe that just happened, laugh.

“Yeah, Din,” you huff through your giggle. You’re able to reach your arm back to give his thigh a reassuring pat with your bandaged hand. “I’d say a little more than just okay.”

Din joins you in exhausted laughter, kissing your shoulder to stifle the jerk of his chest before easing onto his back on the mattress beside you. You gladly collapse onto your stomach, head still shoved in the pillow below you.

You only rouse when his hand begins to run up and down your back, giving a little hum low in your throat. You turn your head to face him, closing your eyes under your blindfold out of an abundance of caution.

His hand lifts from your back and hesitantly—so, agonizingly hesitantly—brushes the pads of his fingertips against your cheek.

The motion is tiny and brief. But it quiets something within you—a sudden, sacred stillness that comes with an intimacy you’d never felt before. Your breathing goes low and shallow.

Din pulls his hand away, shifting up for a moment to pull one of the blankets he’d taken from your mattress around the two of you. You shift your body to face his as he does, resting your head on a bent arm. He gathers you back in his arms in order to press you tightly against his chest. It feels like a distraction. You readily play into it, even if it is. Especially if it is. You say the first thing that comes to mind, oddly desperate to fill the silence.

“Thank you for bringing this over,” you wiggle into the fabric he’s pulled around you.

“For someone who complains about how cold it is,” he says, propping his chin back at the top of your head. One of his fingernails traces a ticklish line where your hip meets your thigh. “You sure don’t wear a lot to bed, usually I mean.”

You grin against his chest, nipping his collarbone in joking reprimand. “I know you don’t do the whole ‘creature comforts’ thing, but being in a warm bed when it’s cold out is probably the best way to sleep. Highly recommend it.”

“I’ll have to give it a try, then,” he murmurs.

You nestle against, savoring the way his torso feels against yours. His hand continue to trail over your body as you settle, up and down the length of it. There’s something so innocent about the way he touches you, the soft nature of it, that’s hard to wrap your head around.

That isn’t to say he wasn’t gentle or kind. You knew he was more than capable of both of those things. He leads with kindness. That fact has become increasingly clear the longer you’ve been able to spend time with him. In any situation he can, he will. He’s just unafraid to correct that kindness whenever the recipient proves themselves unworthy. After that, Maker help them.

What you really mean is that his ability to be this gentle remains jarring in terms of where he comes from. What it has taken for him to get here, in this moment, with you. All that bloodshed and loss. When you start to consider that, his capacity for compassion becomes a marvel in its own right.

It’s the first time you’ve really noticed that, or at least thought the whole thing through. There’s the feeling as if something was opening somewhere in your chest. You gladly settle into it, relaxing your body fully as your eyes drift shut.

Din inhales deeply before speaking, voice low but casual.

“I saw your project, in the cockpit.” Your body is fitted so tightly to his that the low tenor of his voice reverberates through your chest. You can’t help but sink into the sound of it, an embarrassed smile inching its way up your lips. “You had one like it, at Am’ile’s, right?”

“Yeah,” you wrinkle your nose, stifling a yawn. It seems silly now. “It was something we would do at home. It’s like… a house warming gift, where I grew up. They’re supposed to be given to you but I made my own.”

“Have you ever considered going back?”

The question is so unexpected you half think you’ve misheard him. It pushes off the heavy droop to your eyelids a few moments longer, too intrigued not to stay awake longer. “Huh?”

“Have you ever considered going back, to your home planet?”

“I haven’t… really given it much thought,” you confess. “Honestly never really wanted to. I’m lucky enough that I don’t remember being captured, so it’s not like I have any real reason to be avoiding it. With my parents gone I just... I don’t want to accidentally ruin what little memories I have by chasing after them like that.”

“What do you remember?” As he asks, you feel his fingers trace the shell of your ear. There’s something relaxed about the way he questions you, slightly out of character with the ease in which he continues conversation. Maybe you’re only attuned to it now considering the circumstances. You decide that you like this version of him, whatever that implies.

You tilt your head up from where you’ve laid in on his chest, as if to look up at him. With the blindfold, it’s more of an act of presentation.

“You don’t have to say,” he clarifies, rubbing your earlobe between his thumb and index finger. “I just like the way you describe things.”

“How’s that?” You ask earnestly.

Din thinks for a moment, toying with your ear as he does so. “When you describe things you do it like you’re trying to get whoever you’re talking to right there in the memory with you. It’s generous.”

Your brow furrows. You think that might have been the best compliment anyone has ever given you, and you’re not exactly sure what to do with that fact.

So you tell him what you remember: the cold nights by the fire, trees so thick with moss and fog that the forest would remain a hazy, dull green color throughout the winter months. There were summer festivals, where your mother would braid your hair with long lengths of ribbons. You and the other kids would make a point to try and jump in the lake with all your traditional clothes on in retaliation for having to dress up in the first place. Your father’s joy was always something loud and boisterous enough to fill an entire room. You had long forgotten your mother’s face, but you knew she was beautiful.

Din’s breathing pattern changes slightly once those words leave your mouth. You can’t exactly determine from what, but you shift your stories away from your family after that.

You tell him how you think you needed your time with Am’ile because you understood her desire to retreat from it all. Her cabin reminded you of the one where you were raised, but there, with her, you were your own person. Living with her was a homecoming in its own right, you think.

A part of you knows that’s why you sought her out after escaping. You were arrested by Republic officers--for good reason, you clarified when Din bristles protectively at the idea of you in cuffs. You’d been caught as a stowaway, caked in blood that clearly wasn’t yours so they obviously weren’t going to hear you out until they got you under control. They took you to a med-bay after you were able to tell them what happened.

One of the officers mentioned serving with a Bardottan woman as they interviewed you. He told you how she’d made a name for herself helping those like you. How she now lived a solitary life in the mountains of some remote planet when it got to be too much.

You think he told you that to give you solace in the fact that there was still a life, even after being reduced to what you were reduced to: a shaking mess sitting on a hospital bed, barely able to stutter out a name for yourself, let alone any details of what happened. It was hard to imagine anything beyond the next few seconds, back then. But something in your brain locked onto that story. The promised hope in his voice.

When that soldier came by again to fill out more paperwork, you pressed him more about the healer he told you about. He looked at you strangely, but gave you the information you needed to begin your search for her. You escaped the hospital that night and left, hidden in the cargo of a ship, by that morning.

When you finish, there’s a few moments where you just match your breath to his, unwilling to fill the silence. You’ve never said it all out loud before. Din had stayed quiet the whole time, expect for the occasional squeeze of your shoulder when you plowed through the messier details.

Then, there are two fingers pressed to the underside of your chin, tilting your head upwards towards him. He kisses you, long and slow. It feels like he was thanking you, but it’s too weighted of a feeling for it to be just for the stories alone. You accept it, graciously, regardless.

And there’s a rapid sound of beeping coming from somewhere within the Crest. Din gives a frustrated grunt, pulling away.

“Sorry. Give me a second, we’re almost at Nevarro,” he speaks as he disentangles himself from you. You quickly wrap yourself up in blankets before the cold air of the cabin has the chance to reach you. There’s the soft sound of his bare feet hitting the ground, a pause while he dresses before opening the door and disappearing into the hull.

You dose until you feel the Crest rumble in descent, the ship jerking sharply once landed. A few minutes later, you hear Din enter the room again, sliding the door shut.  

“Is the kid still asleep?” You speak through your yawn, propping yourself up on your forearm. You hear him drop something that sounds like fabric.

“Out cold. Febhana must have spiked his dinner with something,” he sighs with relief as he settles back beside you, naked. You giggle as you open the blankets for him, to which his face immediately presses into your neck. He scoops you up again, settling your chest against his again.

You take a deep breath before you open your mouth to ask what you know you have to. For some reason you think you’re going to need it.

“Din?”

“Hm?”

“What’s next?”

“Drop the quarries off. Hide out somewhere remote for a bit. Karga might give me more fobs but I’m positive he’ll send us somewhere remote. Wait this out a bit.”

“I um… Didn’t mean in that way. I uh—I mean, what happens now…” you gesture at your entwinned naked bodies. “You know.”

The truth of the matter is that you don’t think you’d be able to keep this casual. You care about him and the kid too much to be able to corner this off as a meaningless fling in your head.

And that’s fucking terrifying. Genuinely fucking terrifying.

You feel him swallow. Something in the air shifts. You brace yourself.

“Could we talk about this in the morning?” He’s using his normal voice. You hadn’t realized the tone switch before, but now—contrasted against the gentle hum of his tone just seconds earlier—it’s jarring. Enough for you to physically stiffen.

“I’d like to get an overview,” you keep it short, steely.

Din waits for a long time before speaking again.

“I’m still figuring that part out,” he finally says. “Things were simpler, before the Mando’ade scattered. Before my covert was destroyed. So I don’t know, anymore. I really don’t.” He swallows. You feel it against your temple. “This life, the dedications that come with… with our faith, there’s so many ways you could be hurt--along with the danger you would be put in, if those I associate knew about you. About this. None of it affords room for relationships in the traditional sense. Not anymore.”

You take three deep breaths. You know because you count them, it’s the only thing that keeps you from screaming or weeping or both.

“Would have appreciated that little speech beforehand,” you do your best to keep your voice even, but it warbles slightly on your last word. You sit up to distract from the fact, clutching the blanket to your chest, suddenly mortified by your nakedness. To think you’d just spent the past… however long, giving him some longwinded story when all he wanted was to get his dick wet. Maker, that’s embarrassing.

“I’m sorry—hey! Hey, darling, I’m sorry,” his hand slides over where yours has made a fist in the bedsheets, you snatch it away. He has the balls to keep running his mouth. “I’m just as at a loss for what to do as you are. It happened. We can… we can figure something out. Deal with it later. Please.”      

“Bold of you to call me darling and say some shit like that in the same breath,” you snatch your hand away. You deflect hurt with anger--it was the safest thing to do. The easiest. The most familiar. It hasn’t failed you once. Not once. “Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk me right now, asshole. It’s cheap and something you would never call me and you know that.”

He starts to say something. You ignore him, pushing yourself away from his body and sitting on the edge of the bunk. Your spine curves with exhaustion as you try to will away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, grateful for the blindfold that wipes them away as soon as they appear.

“Stars,” you scoff. You do a good job keeping the warble out of your voice this time. “You corrected that nursery worker when she mistook you for the kid’s father. Couldn’t even manage that when he’s your damn foundling. Why should I be surprised.”

He’s quiet. Because of course he fucking is.

“You know,” you’re babbling. You know you’re just talking to fill the silence but you can’t help it. “I wouldn’t have asked if—I… You don’t… Maker, you shouldn’t have been so kind if you…”

“Pel kar’ta.” His voice goes gravelly in a way you can’t place. You turn your head slightly as he runs his knuckles down the length of your spine. “Please don’t leave.”

“I—” the fire within you is extinguished almost as quickly as it appeared. You’re so tired. “Mando, I don’t want this to get complicated either, I just don’t think I should...”

“Don’t call me that anymore. Not when it’s only us.” You flinch with how sharply he corrects you. He seems to register your surprise, his next words more soft. If you didn’t know any better you’d say pleading. “Know that I care for you, deeply. Don’t ever think otherwise. I’m only trying to do what’s best.”

You pause, taking a few deep breaths. You know it would be best to just walk away, curl up in your own bed to lick your wounds. Yet, against all rational judgement, all you want is him. The raw comfort of his body against yours. His distinct kindness, though conditional.

His voice again. It’s a supplication, low and taut with some withheld emotion.

“Just… just this one time, stay. Please.”

Collapsing back into him is one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. Din seals both arms around you, pressing you so tightly against him that the pressure is almost uncomfortable. You bury your head back into the side of his jaw, breathing him in. If it were even possible, he curves further into you, a hand threaded through the hair at the back of your skull keeping your face against him. When you breathe, it feels like a shared act.

Closing your eyes, you’re met with a dreamless sleep.

**

taglist: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907​ @dinsbeskar​ @mandoandyodito​ @kyjoraven​ @ineffableloveforyou​ @hotsforrob @pointy-sharp​ @ironbabey​ @mufflerfluffler​ @pedropascalownsmysoul​ @carbonite-cruncher​ @daddydjarinxx​

[kalee60]

If it inspires you... maybe you could write an established relationship Steve and Bucky where they are completely in sync when it comes to the battle field and the kitchen but there’s one place they are like fumbling idiots. I don’t know where. No hard feelings if this sparks no ideas lol 😂💖💖💖

Oh Kay - this wonderful prompt you gifted me could have gone in so many different directions. And it most definitely inspired me to write something...

But it's neither a clever take on your words or a twisted storyline, therefore I have no apologies and I went the obvious route when filling your idea 😂 (why does my brain always try and get these boys naked?)

So this turned into something a little longer (of course), a little more ridiculous than anticipated, and features some very well intentioned Avengers and two idiots helplessly inept in love...

The fic made it to almost 5.5k and is also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - 'Sex Magic' and rated E for explicit sexual content 😉 so proceed below with caution...

Oh it's also the first time I've ever tried established relationship... hopefully I've pulled it off!

Steve was happy. 

He finally had a home to call his own, a brilliant team of coworkers, a place in the future and he had Bucky Barnes. After more years than Steve could count, Bucky and he had finally found themselves on the same page - different century, but on even ground. They’d kissed in the heat of the moment after a brutal mission, stated their affections clearly and decided after a breathless confession - to give forever a go.

Having been on the battlefield together for years, Bucky at his six and always there for Steve when he needed, and Steve, having had Bucky’s back no matter the situation (or trouble it got him into) - meant they had a solid base to grow from. And as soon as Sam took over the mantle of Cap, Steve was free to be himself for once, and although Nomad made appearances on the odd occasion, he and Bucky still fought flawlessly together, seamlessly, almost at one in their movements.

It was magical.

But not only were they in sync when under pressure and danger, that same energy continued into their modest but homely kitchen in their brownstone as they unlearned that boiling was the only way to prepare food. They wove around each other, hot pans and knives flashing in a dance as intricate as fighting while they spun about the kitchen, preparing dish after dish, including sweet treats for themselves and cat treats for Alpine.

Bucky and Steve were essentially one unit, an extension of the other in every aspect of their lives - except one…

They’d shared their first kiss, a declaration of intent less than a month earlier on the battlefield in the midst of chaos, and Steve had never felt sweeter lips against his. But it wasn't just the kiss that floored him, it was the all-consuming knowledge that Bucky was his, would always be his, that they were made for each other - that's what made it a perfect moment.

Afterwards, when they'd arrived home tired from the week-long operation, 'congratulations' and 'about times' ringing in their ears, they sat on the sofa staring at the other until Steve leant in, cupping Bucky’s cheek and slowly pressed forward. Bucky having the same idea, lurched up and they smacked heads hard enough to see stars. Chuckling with small smiles, they tried again, with Steve accidentally biting Bucky's tongue, and the third was a kiss so awkward and sloppy, it made Steve feel like a thirteen year old practising on the back of his hand again.

Steve wasn’t sure how he'd got it so wrong.

Bucky had laughed it off at the time, asking Steve if he wanted to watch TV, and with nothing left to do, he agreed. For two overly large war-torn men, they fit wonderfully; wrapping limbs around the other, holding tight like they'd never let go again. It was soothing, comfortable - right. And as Steve pressed soft lips to the crown of Bucky's hair while a documentary played in the background, he wondered why their attempt at kissing when alone, without an audience hadn’t worked.

Steve could only put it down to nerves.

Bucky was his best friend after all, he was the only one who remembered and knew Steve, knew everything about him in fact, there were no secrets - except for the almost one hundred year pining between them. The awkwardness had to be because of a change in dynamics, they were now more, they wanted more, and were so nervous and scared to adapt to something new, it had become an issue of self-confidence.

It would get better.

It had to.

The next morning when Bucky left for a briefing, he placed a kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth, and when Steve jerked his head to the side to capture Bucky's lips, he somehow managed to press his teeth into the soft pink flesh, tasting blood. Bucky pulled back with a huff of laughter and licked his lips to capture the red stain before leaving with a wink and a goodbye. Steve flushed red, the heat on his cheeks burning enough that he jumped up and organised an impromptu run with Sam to escape the memory. The whole time Steve lamented to a cackling Sam, that he'd somehow forgotten how to kiss.

Sam was a dick.

It had officially been three weeks, three full weeks of 'dating' and even though their actual dates were wonderful, full of laughter and fun and exploration, it was when they crawled into bed next to the other that suddenly every kiss, every touch was fraught with danger and peril. And maybe it was because they were both supersoldiers, both familiar and unfamiliar with some of their strengths, they'd overlooked they were still prone to the usual calamities that befell non-serumed folk, they just bounced back quicker.

So when Bucky ground down hard enough it bent Steve's dick practically in two - well, it wasn't pleasant, and took over an hour for the tears to stop streaming, all while he yelled to a panicked Bucky there was no way he was calling Dr Cho over it and that it would heal.

It healed, but Steve winced each time he went to the bathroom for the following two days.

The love bite Steve sucked into Bucky's upper thigh on the way to taste his gorgeous dick for the first time, erupted into a blood blister almost immediately and Bucky instinctually jerked away, kneeing Steve in the temple.

He only saw stars for two minutes, but the mood died in a flurry of apologies while the mark on Bucky's skin disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

By Steve's count, they'd tried a total of ten times to initiate sex, to make each other feel good, and every single time something had happened to thwart their attempts.

Steve wondered if the universe was trying to tell them they were not supposed to get physical. That they were destined to be best friends without any benefits.

But Steve wouldn't give up without a fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You can stop laughing now,” Steve said with a sigh, taking a sip of his espresso while trying to ignore the spluttering of his other best friend.

“Oh I know, but I can’t. You kicked Bucky in the hip so hard it somehow threw his body out of alignment and he was walking with a limp for two days. And not the type of limp you want.” Sam was practically heaving in mirth by that stage.

“Why did I come to you for advice? I'm leaving.”

"No, no don't. I'm glad you came to me. But Barnes? I understand your reaction because I'd kick him so he couldn’t walk for days too - but obviously under different circumstances,” Sam added when Steve scowled at his words.

"I don't get it though," Steve complained with an exaggerated shrug. "We sync so well everywhere else. Christ, we even snuggle in such a natural way, that neither of us have had a real nightmare in a month. We are more than ready for the next step. Sam, you have no idea how much we want to take it - but the minute we try to get… intimate - it falls flat."

Sam took a long sip of his iced coffee, thick cream bobbing over the surface as he tilted the glass up. Steve winced at how sweet it had to taste, but he said nothing, remained quiet, knowing that Sam would have some advice at least.

"Maybe it's the way you say intimate? I'm joking, jeez Steve, don't give me your disappointed face. Look, I think you should set the mood, you know - music, candlelight, silk sheets and no distractions. Maybe some aromatic oils too, do the whole, 'I think you're sexy and I want you' gesture - make it obvious you find him desirable.”

“Aromatic oils?”

Sam smirked and waggled his eyebrows, “for a special massage of course.”

Steve flushed at the thought of having Bucky’s naked skin and hardened muscles under his hands, sliding and slipping as he loosened him up, ready to make Bucky fall apart, make him languid and hazy with want. Sam coughed and Steve realised he was letting his imagination run too wild, especially in front of company.

“You know what? I think I chose wisely for my replacement.” Steve grinned as Sam ducked his head, a pleased look gracing his features. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sure it’s a timing thing, we just need to make it sexy.”

Sam clapped his back, and with a wide toothy grin and a wink, said in a low deep voice, “you’re an overachiever Steve - you’ve got this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve in fact, did not have it.

Maybe his first mistake was to massage Bucky on the sofa, not in their bed. He used too much oil and when Steve raised himself up, eager to flip Bucky over and finally take his hard dick in hand, the vinyl fabric in conjunction with Bucky’s skin was soaked and slippery. Steve found himself sliding and flailing uncontrollably, right off the sofa to smack his face into the coffee table, the mood disappearing in a peal of Bucky’s laughter. Steve couldn't even blame him, it would have looked a sight.  

After a long hot shower where Steve contemplated his choice in friends and their terrible advice, Bucky and he sat on a freshly cleaned sofa and watched Animal Planet while eating Thai. They ended up cuddling under Bucky's weighted blanket, falling asleep entwined, and just before Steve blacked out, he wondered if maybe Sam wasn’t the right choice for Cap after all. His plan stunk.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You do know I’m not that kind of Doctor, right?” Bruce reiterated for the third time, and Steve shrugged in response.

“I know. But at this stage it’s worth a shot. So Doc, any advice for me?”

Bruce sat back on the lone stool in his lab, hand cupping his chin as he thought. At least Bruce appeared to be more contemplative than Sam had been. “Have you tried to romance him? Take Bucky out for a nice dinner, partake in some Asgardian wine to loosen things up, before dancing, showing him that you're a gentleman - prove to Bucky how special he is to you. In my limited experience, the rest will flow from there with no problems.”

Steve nodded along as Bruce spoke, holding Bucky against his body as they danced across the floor wouldn’t be too different from fighting together, and they were in perfect harmony while out in the field. Bruce’s idea made perfect sense to Steve, had more of a familiar feel from Bucky and his early life, before the war than what Sam’s had. Sam's suggestion centered on the physical between Steve and Bucky, whereas Bruce was suggesting something subtle, emotional.

“You know what Bruce? Thank you, I think it might just work.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It did not work. 

Halfway through their fifth dance as their bodies started to meld together, barely moving on the dancefloor, holding each other's gaze as they whispered words of desire to each, Steve leant forward, their lips barely touching. And as Steve took in a breath, feeling Bucky’s returning exhale on his lips, the back wall blew out in an explosion, Bucky headbutting Steve in surprise, and suddenly they had Hydra operatives swarming them. Steve, as he took out three hostiles with his shield, wondered if he should talk to Dr Cho about the effects of concussion and if he could suffer them, due to his head seemingly taking the brunt of recent mishaps. 

Bucky and Steve fell into tandem together, their natural ability to fight kicking in, keeping the other safe. It was much more natural than dancing and Steve sighed, knowing romantic nights out might not be the right course of action for them. 

It took three days of intense fighting to take down the Hydra faction, and afterwards they were both too tired to speak more than a sentence, and fell into a deep sleep curled around the other immediately. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve ignored Tony's unsolicited advice to take Bucky to a ski chalet and teach him how to toboggan, knowing freezing conditions and a small metal tube wouldn't be the best way to loosen them both up to get frisky. Plus Steve was still trying to work out how Tony even knew Steve had asked other people for advice about sex? Maybe JARVIS was spying again, though the AI had promised Steve he wouldn't.

But what was worse, was Peter Parker, at barely even twenty years of age coming to Steve, red faced and stammering, saying that he thought Steve should take Bucky to laser tag and the arcade to have some old fashioned fun. 

Steve at that point was at his wits end, so he tried Peter's plan. When Steve was confronted with all the bright, colourful and confusing machines, he almost gave up. Actual 'old-fashioned' and Peter's idea of it, were poles apart. Though, Steve found he was really good at Tetris and Bucky excelled at zombie shooting games. But it was when playing laser tag it all fell over, Bucky and Steve getting too competitive, and a tad physical, which ended up with them being kicked out and banned, after having to apologise to a bunch of wide-eyed yet excited fifteen year olds. 

Bucky's exclamations that there wasn't that much blood, fell on the deaf ears of the twenty year old manager who reprimanded them, saying that at their age they should know better.

It did not induce a night of passion afterwards. Although, Bucky purchased a console online and a bunch of zombie games that evening, including a bundle that included Tetris, so it wasn't a complete bust.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So basically what you’re saying is that nothing has worked? You’ve been tiptoeing around each other for what? Almost two months now?” At Steve’s nod, Nat grinned, crouching down and did a handspring, legs wrapping around his neck, pulling him to the floor. “The way you are with each other, I honestly would have guessed you’d been screwing for years. If I didn't know you better.”

“That’s not helpful. I’m serious. We have a real issue.” Steve looked up from his twisted position directly into her green eyes and sighed, she loosened her legs and Steve ran a hand over his face and stayed on the ground. “What if we’re just not meant to be?”

Nat’s expression softened as much as it ever did, meaning her left eyebrow turned down for less than a second before reasserting itself into a perfectly sardonic position.

“Okay, my advice for what it’s worth, and just note that I’m extremely offended that you didn’t come to me first, I mean Sam - come on. But let it happen naturally, organically. Just like it took you a hundred years to own up to your feelings, wait until it feels right to have sex.”

Steve groaned, and stood up, “I’m not waiting another hundred years, Nat.”

“Jesus, Rogers. Fine. Go see Wanda then.”

“Wanda?”

“Use that big brain of yours, not the small one. She’s a witch, I’m sure she can help you out.”

Steve knew the surprise on his face wasn’t feigned. He’d not actually thought Wanda could do spells or the like, but the more he thought about Nat’s words, the more it appealed. Could some magical interference help them?

“Thanks, Nat - I’ll definitely think about it.”

In the space of him finishing his words and a smile forming - Steve was on his back again, Nat’s thighs wrapped around his neck as she squeezed with intent.

“You’ll see that I was right.”

~*~*~*~*~

That night when Steve tried to let things happen naturally, organically as Nat had suggested, Steve slid a hand up Bucky’s side, light as a feather, only for Bucky to squirm in laughter and throw his head backwards, smashing into Steve’s poor battered nose - which broke. It healed within seconds, but blood spurted out in a gush, coating the back of Bucky’s hair and neck. It took an hour to clean up.

~*~*~*~*~

He went and saw Wanda the next day.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, I’m one lucky girl, first a visit and latte from James this morning and now you this afternoon with a pastry.” Wanda took a bite of the flaky dessert, one Steve knew was her favourite. “Alright Steve what can I do for you today?”

Steve’s immediate reaction was to ask why Bucky had been there, but knew that the two of them had a strong connection, Wanda helping Bucky through some of the residual trauma with her powers, and then their fast bond over Alpine - Bucky’s terror of a stray cat that took up residence in their apartment. Or took over would be more apt.

“I… err, I need your help with something... delicate.”

Wanda gave Steve the smallest smile, a knowing look in her eyes and Steve lost his train of thought for a moment, not sure he really needed another Avenger to know about his intimacy issue with Bucky. He almost chickened out, but Wanda leaned forward and grasped his forearm.

“It’s okay, Steve - you can tell me, ask me anything.”

Sighing heavily, Steve steeled himself, he was out of options.

“Alright -” Steve laid out plainly what had been happening, the awkwardness, the injuries, the sheer unluckiness they’d suffered each time they’d attempted to move their relationship forwards physically.

“And you came to me for...?”

“Help, I guess,” Steve said and looked at Wanda pleadingly, “Can you? I mean, with a potion or a spell or something of the like?”

Wanda slumped back in her chair, mouth opening to speak, but nothing came out, she remained silent. After a minute, she swallowed audibly then looked up at the roof, and if Steve didn’t know better, he would have thought she was rolling her eyes at him. Yet he knew that wouldn’t be the case, Wanda was polite to him, always had been, they were a team. Friends. Only Nat would take those liberties with him.

“Alright,” Wanda finally spoke and stood up, walking over to her kitchen cupboards, pulling out jars and bottles holding different liquids. And before Steve knew it, he was holding a small glass vial filled with a substance that smelt like vodka, but had rosemary and a slice of orange and a few other items bobbing around inside.

“What’s this?”

“Well you asked for a potion, didn’t you?”

“Really? I actually didn’t think you’d -”

“- Do you want the sex magic or not?”

Steve grasped the tiny bottle in his hand, careful not to crush it in his huge meaty hands.

“I do,” he said quickly and stood, pulling her into a warm hug, which she returned readily.

“Just take half an hour before you want to… well, you know.”

“Thanks, Wanda, you were my last hope.”

And as he walked out  the room, Wanda called out after him, “you’ll be fine Steve. I know this will work for you.”

~*~*~*~*~

It worked. 

Bucky was on his knees, mouth wrapped around Steve’s thick dick, swallowing and licking like his life depended on it. And Steve, well, he couldn’t articulate, could only stare down into those familiar grey-blue eyes that gazed at Steve like he was a conquering god, stare at the way saliva dripped down Bucky’s chin as he drew in as much of Steve’s hardness as possible, Bucky’s plush lips stretched taut until they’d lost most of their colour.

It was the most glorious sight of Steve’s entire life.

He didn’t want to think about Wanda in that moment, but he was eternally grateful to her. Bucky had disappeared into the bathroom about half an hour earlier - leaving enough time for Steve to drink the potion in one go, and before he knew it, almost half an hour to the dot, they launched at the other. For once there were no injuries, awkwardness, or pain - just hungry kisses, curious hands and moaning. A lot of moaning and grinding.

Then Bucky dropped to his knees, yanking impatiently at Steve’s pants until they all but ripped off, and sucked him down in the same breath.

Throwing his head back, Steve looked to the ceiling, fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair as Bucky hummed and gasped around his dick, sucking loudly, slurping and choking at times. But Steve couldn’t keep his eyes away for long. Bucky was too compelling, too perfect.

“God, you have no idea how you look right now do you, on your knees, mouth full of me?” Steve husked and involuntarily pumped his hips a few times. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered shut as he listened to Steve’s words, not complaining about the added pressure. “Born to take me, weren't you, Doll?”

Bucky practically squirmed on the spot, moaning and whimpering and Steve realised through the haze and bliss of what Bucky’s clever tongue was doing to him, that Bucky clearly had a thing for pet names.

“Do you want this large dick inside of you sweetheart? Do you want to sit on it? Take it deep into your body, let you take control and ride me until you come?” Steve should have been taken aback by his words, about where his filthy mind was taking them. But he was running his mouth, not thinking, letting what felt good flow off his tongue. And Bucky - he loved it.

Popping his mouth off the end of Steve’s dick, tongue immediately lathing up and down the shaft so as to always have a point of contact, he moaned loudly, wantonly. “God yes, Stevie - want you to fill me up, stretch me, want to feel you for days after, I want you to own me…”

Steve growled possessively, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair, pulling back so Bucky was jerked away from his dick, Bucky whining at the loss. Oh christ - that jar of sex magic needed to be marketed - it was phenominal. Steve had never felt so in control of a situation, so ready for anything, not scared, just willing to make Bucky feel good. “I want that too, baby, want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Yanking Bucky upwards, Steve devoured his mouth in a kiss, completely surprised that the potion had worked so well. Not only were they finally on the same page, they were doing it with no shame, telling each other exactly what they wanted and when, pleasuring with sensations and not overthinking, and the teasing - it was natural, it felt right. And Steve knew he was forever in Wanda's debt for the gift of her magic.

“I want to watch you prepare yourself, gorgeous. Want to see your fingers sliding in and out of your tight hole - a hole I’m going to own from tonight onwards.”

“Jesus, Steve, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Not quite yet, I’m not. Give me an hour and we’ll circle back to that.”

“Don’t speak to me like a rookie learning the ropes.” Bucky grumbled.

Steve smiled, “But aren't you?”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve swallowed the rest of his retort when Bucky stripped naked to crawl up on their bed, spinning around to lay amongst the pillows, spreading his legs wide like he couldn’t wait to be railed. And Steve was unable to tear his gaze away from Bucky’s hole, his gorgeous and perfect entrance, one that would be puffy and leaking before the night was out - the superficial damage caused by Steve and no one else. A tight sensation welled in Steve’s gut, lurching when Bucky grabbed the lube, pouring liberally before starting to finger himself.

That was the point where Steve knew he'd made a grave mistake.

He wasn’t going to be able to watch Bucky open himself up, Steve was too wound up, too impatient and also too much of a control freak. He needed to ensure Bucky did a good enough job, knowing his girth alone was more than most people were used to. So when Bucky was two fingers in, sweat beading, eyes never leaving Steve’s face, Steve jerked forward and climbed up on the bed, positioning himself between Bucky’s legs. He lubed up his fingers to test the tightness himself, Bucky’s eyes opening in shock at the probing.

“Steve…” he stammered, “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

Bucky sighed out a breath, relaxing into the intrusion as Steve pressed a finger in next to Bucky’s, and Steve shut his eyes, groaning; Bucky was so tight and hot, perfectly wrapped around Steve’s finger. Steve knew he was going to lose himself in Bucky’s body, was going to transcend, never be the same again and he couldn’t wait.

Steve ensured Bucky was a writhing panting mess before he even contemplated sliding into his tight heat. No matter how much Bucky asked for it, no matter the pleading, the begging (of which Bucky did so prettily, especially with the beginnings of frustrated tears in his eyes), Steve wanted their first time to be free of pain and injury, and by god was he going to deliver.

When he deemed Bucky ready, who pouted back to declare he was, hours ago, it only confirmed a surly Bucky was absolutely gorgeous to Steve, and Steve pulled him down the bed, spreading Bucky’s legs wide. Bucky sank back, allowing himself to be positioned, holding Steve’s gaze hotly as Steve pressed the tip of his dick against the loosened muscle of Bucky’s ass.

The first testing push felt like Steve was going to split Bucky in two - there was no way he would fit. But Bucky grabbed Steve violently by the back of the head, holding him tight in his superhuman strength.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop - not now.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve said placating, “just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Bucky replied adamantly, and Steve still wasn’t sure until Bucky husked out, “Trust me.”

And Steve did. He trusted Bucky more than anyone else in the world, the universe, and so he continued to press past the tight muscle and...

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He wasn’t expecting Bucky to feel so good, so tight, so perfect. Steve kept pushing, further and further, almost endlessly until he had to pull out an inch to gain more leverage, and the whole time he did this, the whole time he tested and pressed forward again, Steve watched Bucky’s face, looking for signs of discomfort. He saw none.

Bucky was slack-jawed as he stared into Steve’s eyes in a completely blissful state, and pride welled up inside of Steve, he was making Bucky look like that, giving Bucky what he wanted, desired. Steve and no one else.

It was both heady and compelling.

When Steve could push no further and was fully seated within Bucky’s body, he took a breath, then another, and although his instinct was telling him to thrust, take, pound, he didn’t. He’d promised Bucky something.

Grabbing Bucky’s waist, he spun them quickly; Bucky yelping suddenly at the change in position, and looking a little dazed, he ended up straddling Steve, thighs stretched taut over Steve’s large frame.

“Ride me baby.” Steve said simply, and Bucky melted, falling forward to kiss Steve’s lips passionately. Steve held Bucky close as a tongue snaked into his mouth, lips frantic and hot on his, so Steve jerked up into Bucky’s body, reminding Bucky of what he was supposed to be doing, earning him a gasp directly into his mouth.

Sitting up, Bucky pressed his hands against Steve’s stomach for leverage, and tested his breadth of movement, wiggling side to side before he started to move in earnest. Soon Bucky was bouncing on Steve, pulling up and slamming down, taking the pleasure he wanted for himself, and Steve, he lay back and watched the love of his life take every inch he could, and adored it.

After a while, sweat started to pour down Bucky’s temples, his eyes squeezed shut tightly in concentration as he speared himself again and again on Steve’s hardness, wringing pleasure out of every pore, and Steve knew Bucky was close - could tell by the shortening breaths. Licking his palm, Steve reached forward to grip Bucky’s gorgeously rigid dick as it bobbed freely before him, mesmerizing in its movements.

Bucky snapped his eyes open, capturing Steve in his intense gaze, a pleading spark in them, and what Bucky was asking for, Steve wasn’t sure - so he grasped harder and began to stroke. He was methodical, brutal, unrelatening and soon Bucky was clenching around him as come erupted from his dick, coating Steve’s stomach in sticky stripes, and Steve was desperate to taste. So he did. 

Trailing a finger through the mess while Bucky caught his breath, Steve relished Bucky holding him deep within his body, clenching and twitching around him as Steve slid one wet and come soaked finger between his lips, moaning at the unique and tangy taste. It was pure Bucky. His essence, and Steve was addicted already.

“Oh Buck, I’m going to suck you so good one day. You’re the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded his head in return, sated and hazy, his breathing returning to some semblance of control, and with a refractory period only superserum enhanced soldiers experienced, Bucky’s dick started to fill again, not quickly, but enough Steve knew from experience that the sensitivity would have abated enough to touch - to continue.

“My turn,” Steve growled, spinning them back over, crushing Bucky into the bed under his weight.

Steve didn’t wait for a response, just immediately pounded hard into Bucky’s limp, open and languid body. And at odds with the rest of his self, Bucky’s dick hardened against Steve’s stomach with every stroke, but Steve had become lost in the sensations, in how good it felt to be encased in Bucky’s heat, his warmth, of finally being closer than ever before for the first time and he couldn’t think straight.

Grabbing Bucky’s chin in one hand, Steve pressed their mouths together, panting into Bucky’s as he whispered words of love tempered with a stream of filth that had Bucky’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Thrusting harder again and putting all his strength behind it, able to without hurting Bucky, Steve went into a frenzy as Bucky writhed and moaned underneath him, nonsense words falling from his throat. Steve held on as long as he could, but it was too much, had taken too long to finally be inside of Bucky, and with a litany of ‘oh god’s’ Steve came deep inside of his lover, his friend, his forever and basked in the moment, knowing it was all thanks to a little potion bottle. 

As he caught his breath, inhaling Bucky’s scent, smiling down and kissing his lips reverently, Bucky looked up at him grey-blue eyes full of wonder and happiness.

Their smiles couldn’t be any larger.

Maybe magic wasn’t so bad after all.

~*~*~*~*~

“Judging by the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other this morning at the team breakfast, I assume you gave Steve and Bucky some help and advice?” Nat asked Wanda as they sat in a wine bar downtown that night on their weekly catch up.

Wanda smirked, holding her glass up in a cheers to Nat. “Yep, Bucky came to me yesterday morning and Steve in the afternoon. Both seeking the exact same help.”

“And did your ‘sex magic’ work?”

“Of course it did - I used my best Vodka.” Wanda affronted that Nat would even question her, knowing the redhead was really teasing.

“What about the spell you used?”

“Well, I wriggled my nose for theatrics, added a sprig of dried rosemary that was stuck to the back of my fridge, and made my hand glow for a second. Some of my finest acting work I think.”

“Those boys just needed some inner confidence - I knew it would work.”

“Of course you did.”

“Damn straight. Tequila shots here please!”’ Nat yelled to the barman who looked way too eager to assist, even though the bar was packed. Nat left a hefty tip when their drinks landed before them less than a minute later, and picking up the glasses she handed one to Wanda. Wanda knew she was going to regret their night the next day. 

Clinking their glasses, Nat declared, “to sex magic and dumb idiots in love.”

“And to us for being excellent enablers and smarter than the lot of them.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

Wanda woke up the next morning wishing she could infuse potions, if she was able to, then her headache might not be so epic. She hid under the covers for the rest of the day. 

Romanoff was a bad influence.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Done Pretending

Hi all,

I did a post-Per Manum ... I’ve had the quote ‘you and I are done pretending’ in my head for awhile and finally found a way to use it ... go me!

Anyways, enjoy :)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

He hugged her for what felt like forever, the light fading in the room as he heard her heart break over and over, thudding erratically against his chest, body hitching as a poorly contained sob snuck through her cracking exterior.

She had come so close to kissing him at first, lips stopping at the corner of his mouth, before they traveled over cheek to ear, “I don’t know what to do.”

Whispering back as he tightened his hold on her, “we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

So, there they stood, until finally, Scully moved her head back, sliding it along his shoulder, “how are you doing?”

“Crappy. You?”

Sad chuckle burbled from her chapping lips, “I meant your back. You’ve been hunched over for,” looking at the clock on the VCR, “a good half hour.”

“Back? What’s a back?”

Pulling away, she stayed connected through fisted bunches of his sweater, not willing to give up contact completely but knowing he needed to stand upright or he’d never do it again. He took this correctly as a hint to stop playing the Hunchback of Notre Dame and slowly, he straightened out. His face showed every damn cartilage crack and screaming muscle and Scully couldn’t help but give him a frowning smile in sympathy, “would you go sit down, please?”

Mulder continued his stretch beyond vertical, leaning back as far as he could. twisting side to side, “if you were just, maybe, four, five inches taller or we had a set of steps or something, this would be so much easier.”

“Steps?”

“Yeah,” finally standing, wince clear on his face as his muscles finally began to calm, “I go down two steps, you stay at the top and I can hug you for a half-hour without dying.” Taking her by the hand, “come on. Let’s go find some stairs.”

“Mulder …”

“What? I’m not done with you yet. I need another hour at least.”

She loved him for trying, “how about we just order some pizza and sit down?”

Quickly taking her face in his hands, he kissed her forehead once again before she could swat his hands away, “make sure to order one of those useless veggie-tarian ones for yourself. I won’t say a word.”

Exhausted by her life, she gave him a sigh fitting someone much larger than her 5’ 3” stature, “screw vegetables. Tonight is extra cheese and as much sausage and pepperoni as they can pack on … and three-cheesy bread with at least four of those Ranch cups.”

Amused and terrified at the same time, “salad?”

“If you want me to throw bits of lettuce at you, sure, but otherwise I’m not touching it tonight.”

“You’re scary sometimes. I like it.”

Conversation gave her the distraction she needed to change into pajamas, toss Mulder some of his own from the stash she had managed to accumulate over the years, then listen to him order an obscene amount of greasy food. She made tea, a big kettle of it, knowing Mulder would consume at least half as well as all her ice cubes making it iced. She started a load of laundry and watered her last living plant. She calculated her half of the pizza bill and had a short argument with her partner when he refused to take her money.

Slow night for the pizza industry, their food arrived in under 30 minutes and once they were settled on the couch, steaming plates in hand, “are we taking tomorrow off?”

“Why?”

Mulder gave her a look, “this is food coma territory we are about to venture into. Just saying.”

And suddenly she started crying again, plate shaking in her hand, cheesy avalanche threating her lap. Taking the plate, Mulder set everything down on the coffee table and pulled her close once more, swiftly twisting so he was leaned against the arm of the sofa, Scully snuggled against his chest, sobbing into his t-shirt and kneading cotton between her fingers.

He didn’t know what to say so he cried with her, quiet but steady, until again, Scully was back down to random sniffles, "our pizza’s cold now.”

Mulder kissed the crown of her head, keeping his lips on her as he responded, “thank God you have an oven. Five minutes at 350 and we’ll never know it wasn’t fresh from Senor Jack’s House of Cheese.”

One long sniff later, Scully pushed herself up, using the back of her hand to wipe her nose, then, realizing what she’d done, “that was disgusting. Sorry.”

“Disgusting is what you did to my shirt.”

Glancing down at the large wet spot spread from collar to mid-chest, sternum to shoulder, “sorry.”

Tilting his head to look at her, wanting her to see the remnants of his own crying jag, tear streaks, bloodshot eyes, “don’t apologize. I’m not going to.”

She hadn’t realized he was crying as well and that filled her eyes once again, but blinking rapidly, she didn’t let the tears fall this time, “what was that about 350 degrees?”

He gave her possibly the saddest smile she’d ever seen, “are we going to talk about this at all? I’m not pushing, I swear, I just want to know.” Seeing her muscles tense to stand, he snagged the arm of her t-shirt, “It doesn’t have to be tonight but I’d like to at some point.”

“Can I maybe say tomorrow but reserve the right to change my mind?”

Still holding her in place, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her gaze drifted from enveloping green eyes to full mouth, before struggling north again, watching intently as he studied her, pupils expanding and contracting, trying to figure her out. She gave him a wannabe smile, corner of her mouth turning up a microscopic notch before she managed, “I’m sorry, too.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Pizza re-heated, crust still crispy, cheese melty as ever, they ate while watching Jeopardy, then Wheel of Fortune. At eight, stuffed to the gills and both yawning, Mulder switched off the TV, asking into the darkness, “are we secure enough in our sense of self that we can go to sleep at 8pm and not feel really, really, and I mean, really old?”

“Well, I’m secure enough to know that we’re both going to need a handful of Tums before any kind of sleep can happen.”

“We are fucking old, Scully.” Standing up, “back in a minute.” He was indeed back in a minute, a little less, actually, pillow, comforter, and bottle of Tums in his hands, “catch.”

Snagging the bottle from the air, she chewed three before shaking the same amount out for him, holding them up to his now empty hands, “three for the old man.”

With a grin, glad some semblance of her sense of humor remained, “you should probably just leave the bottle on the table.”

She did, then stood, opting to clean up in the morning. Eyeing the bedding Mulder had dumped on the couch, she hesitated, her thoughts race-stumbling over one another, squishing their way to an undistinguishable mess. Fingered the corner of the deep-blue comforter, she had words fighting on the tip of her tongue, which she inexplicably ignored as she told him a soft ‘good night’ and skirted by him down the hall.

Mulder’s eyes shut, breath in, breath out, his own words fighting for freedom, to be called after her, to be spoken like they should have been hours, years, centuries, before. Instead, he waited, hearing her brush her teeth, wash something, face, hands, he wasn’t sure, then, not hearing the bedroom door shut, he instead heard the creak of her bed.

Finally opening his eyes again, he took in the shadowed living room, dimly lit kitchen, detritus of dinner for two, and turning on his heel, moved to walk down the hall. He made it three steps before he saw her come out of her bedroom door, stopping when she saw him.

He didn’t care anymore, “why do we keep doing this?”

The denial response automatic at this point, “doing what?”

Mulder took the deepest breath he could, holding it for a second before long, drawn-out exhale, “this. All of this. You there, me here, all of it.”

Her clenched fists fought down the denial this time, “it’s how we survive.”

“It’s shitty survival and getting shittier by the minute.” Tilting his head, he let his eyes bore into her, watching the flush on her skin crawl from small spots on her cheeks down her neck, and around past her ears, the hall nightlight providing everything he needed to read her clearly, “I’m done pretending, Scully. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Her voice nearly failed her, she formed the words, which cracked as they came out, “what are we pretending?”

One pathetic chuckle later, head still shaking, “Pretending I don’t want to sleep next to you instead of on this couch. Pretending you don’t want me to sleep next to you instead of on this couch. Pretending that the only reason I’d like you to stand on some stairs is so I can hug you without dying. Pretending I haven’t wanted to be with you since three minutes after I met you. Pretending that I’m not dying just as much as you are about our child not being inside you right now. Take your damn pick.”

“Mulder …”

About to start bawling all over again, he bit his cheek, realizing his confessions had escaped the confines of his mind, “what?”

“Why are you still standing over there?”

His legs wouldn’t budge, rooting to the spot, needing a question answered before he moved his life forward, “are we done pretending?”

Eyebrows scrunching, lips a tight line of fear, she nodded, “I think we need to be.”

His muscles remember the act of walking and seven strides later, he was in front of her, “you need a place with steps in it.”

“How about we worry about steps later?” Smiling the smile of someone who’d been through the proverbial wringer several times in one day, she reached out, took his hand, “maybe we’ll start with forgetting about you sleeping on the couch.”

Because he was Mulder, he looked over his shoulder to do one last front door lock check before letting her lead him into her bedroom, “you got another non-crusty shirt for me?”

Ticking them off on her fingers, “I’ve got Power Puff girls, Brady Bunch, Tetris, or the one with the Easter Peeps.”

“This feels like a Tetris kinda night.”

“If that’s not a metaphor for our lives, I don’t know what is.”

“They get lined up eventually, Scully. I promise.”

Exhaustion hit her like a freight train and handing him the shirt, “I need some sleep, Mulder. Can we worry about our puzzling lives tomorrow?”

Exchanging one shirt for the other, he headed to the opposite side of the bed, pulling comforter back, “as long as we can order some more pizza while doing it.”

She gave him a curt nod that made him smile, then silence settled while they did, shifting, pulling covers, straightening pillows, giggling once on Scully’s part when Mulder’s cold feet hit hers. Once quiet, comfortable, Scully slowly reached across the expanse between, 14 inches feeling like a mile, stopping when her fingers reached his cheek, “I love that you wanted this child just as much as I did.”

His hand drifted across the same expanse, palm on her cheek, closing the circle between them, “I fell in love with the idea of him the moment you asked me.”

Fingers to his lips and endlessly tracing, “I fell in love with the idea of him three minutes after I met you.”

“I love you.”

Scooting forward, she breathed her ‘I love you’ back, running firmly into his chest, arm up and over his side in a hug.

Tetris, my ass. They’d fit together perfectly from the beginning.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Training

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: After being attacked in the woods, you ask Geralt to train you in self defense, and he puts an interesting twist on your first lesson.

Warning(s): mentions of rape, gore, violence, anal, some fluff (if you squint)

Word count: 2,732

The ambush comes quickly. Neither you nor Geralt have time to realize what’s going on before you’re surrounded on all sides by ten men. Every last one of them is tall and wide with muscle, strong enough to make even Geralt look like a normal-sized human. There’s lust in their eyes as they take in the sight of you. You have no doubt they plan to kill Geralt and take you as a trophy, or just rape you before killing you too, leaving yours and Geralt’s bodies to rot.

Stupid plan, considering they’re going up against a centuries-old witcher.

Geralt is on them in a second. The four men closest to him keep their eyes trained on him as he slices through each body like they’re made of butter. Two of the men stalk towards you. Instinctively your feet carry you backwards--until you collide with the thick, unmoving bark of a tree. You’re trapped. The two men smirk and chuckle as they near you, noticing your predicament just as you do. With your heart in your throat you brace yourself for their cold, unkind hands to do what they want with you--

Nothing happens.

And then--

Warm, gentle, loving hands on you, cupping your face. You open your eyes to find yourself staring up at Geralt. His pupils are wide with the heart-racing blood lust that comes after a fight. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl, revealing teeth as sharp as vampire fangs. He’s shaking with power and energy, ready to fight an entire army now. Danger floods off of his body so strongly you can nearly smell it.

You’re his opposite. Startled and struggling to breathe, feeling small and weak after what almost happened to you. Your entire body is shaking with fear and adrenaline and you feel tired and weak. Falling asleep right here sounds like a good idea, save for the bloodied bodies all around you.

“You’re alright.” The way Geralt says it tells you that it’s more a relieved realization for himself than an assurance for you.

“G-Geralt--” Shit, even your voice is shaking. What is wrong with you? It’s not like you’ve never seen Geralt fight before. But you’ve never been so close to becoming a victim of wild, selfish men like that. Fear shocks your system until you can’t even move.

Geralt notices and picks you up in his arms. He begins to walk in the direction of the nearest town, holding you like you weigh nothing. At any other time you’d be turned on by this; you love how small and dainty you feel in Geralt’s thick, powerful arms. It makes your heart race and your core burn with aching desire. But right now, all you can think of is the attack you just escaped.

You find enough strength in your legs to walk on your own again when you make it back to town. You’re as silent as Geralt as he leads you to the nearest inn. You catch a glimpse of the stables in the back and hear Roach neigh at the sight of you and her master. Normally you would stop to stroke her mane and feed her apples while Geralt talks to her, but right now you want nothing more than to take a warm bath and fall into the safety of a new bed with Geralt wrapped around you.

The inn is nothing too impressive, and the room is small and cold, but you’ve stayed in worse before. There’s a small tub at the opposite corner as the bed. Geralt announces he’s getting pails of water to fill it before leaving.

You sit on the edge of the bed and look down at your hands, still shaking. That’s when you notice your dress is stained a dark red at the top of your thigh. One of the men must have cut you in the middle of all the chaos. Your adrenaline had been running so high that you hadn’t felt it when you were cut. There’s a slight sting now and a warmth around the open wound, and you know the pain will get worse by morning.

Geralt returns with enough water to fill the tub. You watch as he pours the searing liquid in, admiring the flex in his arms, shoulders, and back as he lifts the pail, empties it, and sets it down before reaching for another one.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice almost inaudible to your own ears.

But his witcher hearing picks it up and he pauses in his chore of filling the tub to look over at you. The cold, feral look he’d worn earlier is gone now. His eyes are soft as they take you in, but he wears no more expression than that. You’ve grown used to his masks of indifference and have learned to see past them. He’s grateful you’re not hurt, that you’re staying with him tonight, and you can read that all from that tiny flicker of light in his eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me for protecting you.” He rises to his feet and moves across the room in three large strides. He’s in front of you a moment later, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. “I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you by my side.”

You look up at him incredulously. After having known Geralt for a year--slowly becoming friends with him by bonding through your obscure knowledge of rare creatures and monsters; hearing him confess the depth of what he feels for you; being intimate with him as often as you can--after everything you’ve experienced with him, you wonder how people can believe witchers feel nothing. Geralt feels so much it’s overwhelming. Not just for him, but for you too. He makes declarations like this in the middle of a casual conversation, and it’s enough to take your breath away because you know he means every word of it.

But you don’t have a chance to respond to his words before his eyes move down your body and stop at the dried blood on your clothes. “Shit, you’re hurt,” he realizes.

“It’s nothing, just a scratch,” you insist, but he ignores you.

Once you’re undressed and in the bath, letting the burning water turn your skin a bright pink, Geralt helps you wash off. He’s mindful to clean out your wound before doing anything else. He washes your hair--something you would normally insist on doing yourself, if you didn’t know how much Geralt liked to do it, rubbing his fingers in circles over your scalp as you relax more and more with each passing second--and as soon as you’re out of the tub you switch places with your witcher. He has to sit up straight to fit inside the tub and you hold back a giggle. You forget about the horrors of today as you lose yourself in cleaning him off. Geralt must be feeling the same way too because he lets you massage his shoulders and neck. He has most of his scars on his back, and since they’re what he’s most self-conscious of, he doesn’t typically like it when anyone looks or touches that spot on his body. But he trusts you.

“You should teach me how to use a weapon,” you murmur as you begin to kiss your way up his neck.

He tenses. “Why?”

“So I can defend myself,” you explain. “If something like today happens again--”

“It won’t,” he growls, though you know he’s growling more at the thought of you being in danger than actually growling at you.

“You’re a witcher,” you point out, “and your lifestyle is a calling card for danger. And since I’m not going away anytime soon, learning how to defend myself is the smartest option.”

“So you want to learn how to fight,” he concludes.

“Eventually. I think I’ll need a lesson or two on how to hold a dagger properly first.”

Geralt finally rises from the tub, using the same cloth you’d cleaned yourself off with to dry himself. He steps out of the tub and closes the distance between your bodies. You don’t bother moving away from him. There’s no point to that when he has this look in his eyes--the look that turns the air between you electric and makes a fire lick up the inside of your body in the most delicious way. In one quick movement he picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist. You’re both naked, and without any layers of clothing to divide you, his hardening cock is already brushing against the folds of your pussy, growing wetter by the second.

“First thing about fighting,” he says as he throws you onto the bed and moves to hover over you, “find your opponent’s weakness.”

His mouth goes straight to the hollow of your throat, the spot that, when his mouth brushes against it with a featherlight kiss, makes your legs fall open and your nipples harden. You can’t stop the blissful sigh that escapes you. He loves that sound, if the way his cock twitches against your thigh is anything to go by.

You can’t help but grind your hips up against his. It’s an involuntary response, your body already desperate for the hot friction Geralt’s cock provides against your core. You moan as his tip brushes against your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure through you, but before you can grind against him again Geralt’s hands are holding your hips down.

He nips at your ear as he says, “The next thing: always let your opponent know you’re in control.” As if for emphasis, his grip tightens on your hips, really pinning you down now.

“Geralt--!” you cry out, desperate for what you’re not quite sure, but feeling the need to call out his name anyways.

If he can’t see the way desperation ripples through every inch of your body, he can definitely smell it. That witcher nose of his has been known to pick up the scent of your arousal before you’re even fully aware that it’s there. And now you’re dripping with need for him to fill you; you’ve no doubt that your scent is flooding his senses right now.

With one hand still locked around your hips, he brings the other to your pussy. He doesn’t bother to wet his fingers before running them between your folds; you’re soaked enough already to not need a lubricant. You jump when he pulls his hand away before he can reach your clit. It’s a teasing touch, and if that flicker of mischief in his golden eyes is anything to go by, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Geralt…” you cry out again, this time with enough desperation in your voice that you should be embarrassed by how pathetic it sounds, but your mind is already coated in a thick layer of need, and you’re past the point of shyness.

“And most importantly,” he says as he moves down your body, his breath making goosebumps rise on your stomach, “don’t stop until they’re begging you for release.”

A second later his mouth is hovering just an inch above your core. You look down and watch as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He loves the sight of your pussy, especially when it’s dripping for him, and you realize he must be struggling to control himself right now. The way he looks down at your wetness tells you he wants nothing more than to fuck you with his mouth and then lick you dry.

“Please, Geralt!” you cry out. If he wants you to beg, you’ll beg. You just need his mouth on you. Or his fingers. Or his cock. Fuck, the things you’d do to have his cock inside of you right now--

His thick, talented tongue licks from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit. A shiver runs through your entire body. A curse stumbles out of your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on every tingle rippling through your body. He brings his tongue to circle your clit and already your legs begin to shake.

“Oh--!” You can’t manage to get out anything more than that.

“Your first training lesson’s going terribly, my love,” Geralt breathes against your sensitive folds.

Your right hand jumps to wrap around his thick, ivory mane. He growls as you tug at the roots of his hair, though you know he loves it when you’re so desperate you become rough with him. Your left hand clutches desperately at the bedsheets. You need something to tether your mind to reality, but the action is done in vain; you’ve already lost yourself to the pleasure that only Geralt can make you feel.

“F-fuck me,” you shiver, your tone begging, and you repeat the words over and over again until Geralt decides he’s had enough of your begging.

In one quick movement he flips you onto your stomach. Before you can fully process what’s just happened, he brings his mouth to your ass, giving a playful but sharp bite to each cheek. You moan out as the pain dances the line between unpleasant and euphoric.

“Such a fucking slut for the pain, aren’t you?” Geralt growls in that dominant voice that, at one point, you thought he reserved specifically for a fight. But the moment he learned that that tone makes you drip with arousal until your undergarments are completely soaked, he reserved it for the bedroom too. He lays it on thick now and you grind your hips into the mattress as a cry falls from your mouth.

Geralt wraps his hands around your hips and thrusts your body up until you’re on your knees. You rise to your hands, knowing he loves the sight of you on all fours for him.

“You didn’t even put up a fight for me.” He tsks before shoving two fingers inside of you. You gasp as your walls struggle to adjust to him; it doesn’t matter how often you two fuck--which, admittedly, is very often--his digits always prove too thick for your tight pussy. He chuckles darkly as you whimper in pain. “If you didn’t want me to have my way with you, little one, you shouldn’t have given in so easily.”

You open your mouth to reply. He doesn’t give you the chance, though. A second later his mouth is licking around your asshole, sucking on it like it’s his life force. A loud, whorish moan escapes you. Once he’s teased your hole enough, he plunges his tongue deep inside of you, stretching you out with such delicious pain. At the same time he begins to fuck his fingers in and out of your pussy at a ferocious pace. You’re shaking in less than a minute.

“Geralt, I’m… fuck, I’m g-gonna--” It’s a struggle to get all the words out but he doesn’t need you to finish. He can tell you’re close by the way your walls contract around his fingers and the way you grind your ass against his mouth. But, like the fucker he is, he pulls back half a second before you reach your orgasm. “Fuck!”

“You really think I was gonna let you cum before I’m even inside of you?” he asks. You hear rustling behind you but don’t turn to see what he’s doing. “You never learn.”

You jump when you feel his cock brush against your asshole. He brings his hand to your clit and begins to rub it in slow, teasing circles, a pleasant distraction as he slowly pushes his way inside your ass. He lets out a low grunt when he finally bottoms out in you. The entirety of his cock inside your tight little asshole makes you feel so full… there’s nothing better than that feeling. Geralt brings his hand to your pussy and slides his fingers back inside you, curling his digits with the same pace that he begins to fuck your ass.

“You’re going to cum around my fingers,” he orders, “and then my cock, and then I’m going to fill you up with my seed, and you’re going to keep it there for the rest of the night.”

You let out a shaky moan at his words, wanting all of that and thensome. And then Geralt gets to work.

...

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[thewayshedreamed]

Death Dance

Thank you for the prompt submission, Nonnie! I really liked this one.

Prompt: Can u write a Nessian fic involving Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down for the first time? 🙏

A/N: This starts with an excerpt from A Court of Wings and Ruin, page 408. That scene was my inspiration for this prompt <3

acotar masterlist

——————————————————————————

Cassian had been born for this—these fields, this chaos and brutality and calculation.

He didn’t stop moving, seemed to know where every opponent fought both ahead and behind, seemed to breathe in the flow of the battle around him. He even let his Siphons’ shield drop—to get close, to feel the impact of the arrows that he took in that ebony shield. If he slammed that shield into a soldier, his other arm was already swinging his sword at the next opponent. 

I’d never seen anything like it—the skill and precision. It was like a dance. 

I must have said it aloud because Mor replied, “For him, that’s what battle is. A symphony.” 

Her eyes did not stray from Cassian’s death-dance.

------

“STOP!” Cassian bellowed.

At his instruction, the clashes of steel ceased. Two flaps of his grand wings, and he was airborne, traveling the 100 or so yards to where Nesta stood. He landed firmly on the ground in front of her, sending vibrations through the earth beneath her feet. His brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, and his shoulders were tense as he assessed her.

“Problem, Commander?” she asked him dryly.

He huffed a breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders for the verbal sparring that he knew was coming.

“Nesta, who was your target?” he demanded.

“Cassian, I don’t understand the problem. You have trained me for battle, shaped my skills into what they are. Now, you scold me for employing them?”

It was true. The General Commander had started training her all those months ago, refining her physical competencies in battle as well as her strategy. Although resistant to his help when they originally arrived in Illyria, Nesta had been a talented pupil, her skills increasing at an exponential rate. Her wit and propensity for strategy served her well, and her mental tenacity helped fuel her progress through her lessons in technique.

Today was a day of group trainings, including battle drills designed to expose the legions to various strategies and threats alike. Nesta woke with an excitement on drill days, the opportunity to practice her skills pulling her from her bed earlier than any other day. She came alive in combat scenarios, as they allowed her to employ her newly honed skills without giving her the time to ruminate too much over which strategies to utilize. Only times of crisis were strong enough to compete with the brutality of her thoughts.

Additionally, she felt a compulsion to never find herself in another situation like the war with Hybern.

“Your skills are fine, and you know it. But you aren’t alone, Nesta.” His wings twitched, exposing his irritation. His voice was all rasp and intense focus; nothing of the pure and genuine male that existed off the battlefield.

“I’m fully aware, but I was disarming them easily. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take care of it.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, the end of it landing on her leathers just above the small of her back with a soft slap.

“You are engaging every enemy, but they are not your intended target. You need to evade them and allow your legion to support you as you move,” he reminded her firmly. “So I ask you again, who was your target?”

“How am I supposed to make peace with leaving my comrades behind me, unsure of their fate?” she spat.

His nostrils flared, his patience fraying by the second. “You have a responsibility to ensure your specific skill set is where it needs to be when it needs to be there. You are not a hero for clearing the field ahead of them, only to exhaust yourself prematurely or get yourself killed,” he seethed. “Your death leaves them unprepared for your intended target and increases the odds that they die as well.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered his words.

“So should I have left you there, too? Bleeding out on that battlefield?” she hissed.

He recoiled as if she struck him, obviously surprised to hear her mention the moment they shared during the battle with Hybern. This was the first and only time she had done so.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Who,” he asked through clenched teeth, “was your target?”

“You,” she said through a snarl.

“Correct. Move through this field, allow your fellow soldiers to support you. Save your energy for when you get to me.” he ordered, leaving no room for protest. He took off without waiting for her reply, the wind from his wings blowing back the loose strands of hair around her face.

He repositioned himself in the target location, his shield in place. Once he lowered it, they were to begin. Nesta fell in line with the other soldiers, steeling herself for when that red shield disappeared. She was still angry, but she felt a sense of calm wash over her as her focus shifted. Cassian waited for the opposing soldiers to move to their positions, then he dropped the shield.

Nesta ran, opting to pull a long dagger from the sheath along her thigh rather than pulling the sword from across her back. She knew she could move faster without the weight of the sword in her hand, and if she were meant to evade those she confronted, she felt her dagger would lend enough defense until another soldier arrived.

She never imagined that she would feel so at home on a battlefield, that these drills would become almost therapeutic. She moved forward, deftly knocking her first opponent off their center of gravity and causing them to stumble. She didn’t hesitate to move forward as instructed, daring to glance back quickly to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was pleased to see her comrade engage the soldier, halting any plans they may have had to pursue Nesta.

She slipped into an eerie sort of calm, evading soldier after solder in her pursuit of Cassian. She could see him where he stood, waiting. She’d yet to best him in combat, and honestly didn’t hold that expectation in the absence of using magic, but she knew she was being assessed purely on her ability to get to where he was. She continued to move, only glancing back when absolutely necessary, and she was filled with a sense of honor that her back was covered every time.

She continued to feel a certain serenity surround her as she moved from one opponent to the next. She glided through them with grace and precision; as if she had learned this battle as choreography. After successfully blocking the blows targeted at her, she was already extending her dagger to the next, carrying herself through the field. There was a certain rhythm thrumming through her; her heartbeat akin to the cadence of a battle drum. She let it guide her and propel her forward, tugging her closer and closer to her target. She let it pace her, her footfalls coordinating in time with the fall of her daggers and her transitions between soldiers. Her movements came together in perfect harmony, an art form all their own.

She moved so briskly through her opponent's forces that her last obstacle to Cassian seemed to be caught off-guard by her arrival. She had him disarmed in less than a minute, promptly turning to lock eyes with the Illyrian warrior that awaited her.

He met her gaze with sheer focus, finally raising a scarred brow to her in challenge. She felt it like a blow straight to her chest; felt compelled to make her way to him. The steady beat of that battle drum pulled her once again, urging her feet forward toward the General Commander. She meant to break into a full run, but she felt a sharp tug on her long braid, snapping her head backward.

She risked a small glance at who held her. She didn't rotate her body being that she was unsure of how much that would compromise her ability to evade the attacker, but she turned her head to the side and dared a peripheral look their way.

The very last solider she'd disarmed had managed to grab hold of her braid, almost all the way at the bottom, near her lower back. She cursed herself for opting to wear it this way rather than her usual crown braid, but it seemed like an incredible amount of work for an activity that provided minimal appreciation for intricate braiding.

She saw her ally engaging with the enemy who was gripping her hair, so she knew it was not their failure to cover her that got her in this position. She had likely stopped too soon, not allowing enough distance to be created between them before pausing to assess Cassian. In those seconds, the soldier had regained access to his weapon and reached for her. It didn't surprise her, considering who had trained him. Even small opportunities could change the direction of a war, and he capitalized on her misstep in a way she had to respect, if she were honest.

All of these things burst through her brain within a couple of seconds before she started to scan it for a possible solution. Had she ever learned how to get someone to release her without getting hurt or killed in the process? The thought was pointless, because even if she had, it wasn't serving her at the moment.

And so, she moved.

— — —

From the second Cassian had lowered his red shield, his eyes were glued to the female meant to engage him at the end of her pursuit. She had arrived in Illyria with almost no skills and even fewer battle instincts, but when he had introduced her to training, she came alive. The idea that wars were ever fought without women like her was almost comical to him as he watch her graceful figure glide straight through enemy lines.

He couldn't, nor would be, discount her improvement or her skills in general. She had worked tirelessly for months, never wanting to find herself in a position similar to the day she was Made. She was strong, beautiful, and lethal with the blade in her hand. It was almost as if she were always intended for this.

He was relieved to see that she had taken his feedback into consideration rather than engaging every single soldier in hand-to-hand combat to spite him. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had being that she loved nothing more than to irritate him, but he felt touched at how seriously she was taking her training.

He watched her move through the crowd, entranced by her movements. He stood with his arms crossed, shield and Illyrian blade across his back, assessing Nesta and the others. Her team was supporting her beautifully, and he couldn't fight the smallest smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. She was almost to him now, disarming the man in front of her and pausing to look his way. He had just schooled his face into one of neutrality, thank the Cauldron, but his expressive brow quirked up of its own accord as he continued to monitor her.

That is, until the very last opponent she faced resorted to cheap shots, latching onto Nesta's hair. He gripped it as if she were the personification of his pride, floating away from him on the wind. He held a firm grip down at the bottom, yanking her head backward in the process. It took every ounce of his training to fight the vicious snarl that threatened to erupt out of him at seeing someone touch her in such a way. She paused, but she wasn't motionless for long.

Cassian knew his eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he watched in disbelief. As fast as lightning, Nesta turned on her heel, blade in hand. The Illyrian steel went through her thick braid like a knife through warm butter, sending the offender stumbling back.

Her golden strands unraveled as she whipped around and broke into a full run toward where Cassian stood. Her hair billowed around her face, framing it in a way that took his breath away. His breath was suddenly ragged, heart pounding through his chest as she ran toward him. When her steel blue eyes raised to meet his hazel ones, he had to take a step back and steady himself from the blow of emotions that roiled through him.

He knew it then, had suspected it for some time. That one word that changed everything, and by the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected she knew it, too. She was almost to him; had already prepared the daggers in her hands to ensure she was ready whenever he deigned to attack.

Before entertaining a coherent thought about his actions, he raised his right hand in front of him, palm toward her. She slowed to a halt about 6 feet away from him, the look in her eyes a combination of determination, frustration, and something else altogether. He couldn't breathe.

He could see his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his blood singing to close the distance between them. He wanted to lie to himself and claim the call of battle as the reason for his compulsion. Battle, however, was the last thing on his mind.

The wind circled the both of them, and Cassian thanked the Mother for the soothing gesture across his wings. His blood was raging, sweat pouring along the inside of his training leathers. His wings twitched with anxious energy as he continued to look at her.

Her hair was blowing around her face, a few strands slanting across it. She was a vision, the strands looking as if they were perfectly placed to frame her delicate features. Her blue eyes bore into him, made even more stunning by the contrast of the brown whipping around them. He was both angry and relieved that he'd never seen her this way before. Had he, he would have never been able to train her properly, her hair and beauty wonderfully distracting. She was the one to break the silence.

"What now, Cassian?" she scowled. "I've made it, haven't I?"

Her voice was much quieter than before the drill, almost breathy. She was looking intensely at him, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He tracked her movements as she ran her hand through her strands, from her forehead to the crown of her head, to attempt smoothing them.

"Nesta." he managed, his voice a whisper.

She continued to look at him, that unidentifiable emotion worn all over her beautiful face.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say what he needed to through his nerves.

"You're my mate."

——————————————————————————

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[kopikokun]

Fabric Softener༄ mark l.

↳ Having a boyfriend who happens to be an idol isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, in fact, sometimes, it’s quite the opposite.

pairing: idol!mark x reader

genre: fluff, angst

wordcount: 1942 words

Request 30: Mark + “I wish I’d never met you.” (27) + “You’re an asshole.” (137) (A2F)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

Of course you knew what you were getting yourself into when you and Mark started dating a few months ago. There’s no denying that Mark is an incredibly busy man. Any time you try to contact him, there always seems to be something preventing him from coming to see you. With shoots, rehearsals or just the arduous hassle of going anywhere with a swarm of fans constantly on his tail, Mark barely has any time left to spare for himself, constantly caught in the dizzying world of being an idol.

And of course you understand that. You understand that so well. But it’s so… frustrating. It’s so frustrating only being able to look at your boyfriend’s face from the screen of your dimly lit phone, it’s frustrating to consistently read the phrase, ‘I’ll talk to you later’ and never get a text back, it’s frustrating how Mark seems almost disinterested in you nowadays.

You know it’s incredibly selfish of you to have these thoughts, but no matter how hard you try to smother them, they always find a way to resurface, picking and tearing at you slowly—torturously—from the inside out.

What if he’s just intentionally blowing you off? What if he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if, what if, what if: those spiteful words keep taunting you.

The last time you saw Mark was what? A month and a half ago? You see your damn cousins more often than you see your own boyfriend at this point.

You sort of wish you had someone to relate to, but who can you possibly divulge this information with? Tattling to someone that you’re dating Mark Lee will only burden him, and again, while you understand, the thought pains you. Burden.

Are you only making Mark’s life harder?

And even when the front door shuts and Mark’s arms snake their way around your waist, that all too familiar yet all too agonising smell of fabric softener and faint sweat floods your senses, you can’t find it in you to be happy.

Mark leans into you from behind, his shoulders loose as he inhales deeply, his nose buried in your hair. “Hey, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You shrug Mark off, straightening your loose shirt. You don’t mean to sound bitter, but your tone isn’t exactly the kindest.

Mark’s soft footsteps seem deafening as he stands before you, firmly rooted in his spot and a prominent crease in his thin brows. “What does that mean?”

You hold his willful gaze for a moment before you look away, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides. You walk past him towards your bedroom, slightly bumping his shoulder. “Nothing, Mark. It means nothing.”

You can audibly hear Mark following after you, his steps morphing from light ones to more forced and heavy ones. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” you say, “but I shouldn’t get my hopes up because you’ll be leaving in like an hour anyway.”

Mark laughs incredulously. “Excuse me?”

You swivel on your heel, facing Mark once again yet not daring to fully stare him in the eyes. “Yeah, and you’ll ghost me for two months again.”

“Ghost you?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “I was busy. You know that. We just had a comeback recently.”

You frown. “Well, you could at least have called me.”

Mark sighs in exasperation. “I was—”

“Busy. Yeah, trust me. I know,” you deadpan.”

“Well, what do you suggest I do?” Mark challenges. “Since you’re being so demanding.”

“Demanding?” you hiss. “Calling me back and texting is doing the bare minimum, Mark. I can hardly call you my boyfriend.”

“So, what? You want me to spend all my time on you? Slack off on my job, disappoint thousands and drop my source of livelihood? Is that what you want from me?”

You’re fuming now. A raging fire has ignited, lapping at your insides, wreaking havoc and burning down anything in its path. It fills your lungs, the smoke ashy and dense, suffocating you and cutting off your airways. It clouds your senses, hindering your sense of judgement and all those emotions that you’ve kept in check for this past month finally break free, spilling from your lips with no remorse.

“That’s not what I meant! God, Mark, you’re infuriating.” Angry tears blur your vision and you have to physically restrain yourself from swiping at them with the back of your hands. “You’re - You’re being unfair.”

“Me? Unfair? You’re one to talk,” scoffs Mark. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying to clear up my schedule to see you! You’re making me sound like the villain here! If anything, you’re in the wrong. God, I can’t believe how self-centered you’re being! I wish I’d never met you.”

You’re stripped of the air in your lungs. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Wait,” Mark’s outraged expression crumbles, “no, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” Your stomach plummets and the room around you spins. “You’re an asshole.”

Your feet move on their own volition. Your shoulders are heavy, weighing you down, yet your feet find no trouble in dragging you across the floor, bringing you to your room. Your mind is fogged, your shoulders are slumped and the pit of your stomach churns. Something has gotten hold of you and its grip is relentless, grabbing and twisting with everything it has, refusing to even allow you air to breathe.

Mark’s cold fingers wrap around your wrist, coaxing you back to him, desperately attempting to reverse the damage he’s done. “Please, hear me out. I was just frustrated, I didn’t—”

You shake your head. “Just leave me alone, Mark.”

Mark tries one last desperate attempt at making you stay, his eyes pleading, his gaze sincere and vulnerable. You turn away.

His grip on your wrist loosens. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than Mark.

Suddenly, even your own room feels asphyxiating. You fall into your mattress. It smells like fabric softener.

You can’t help but cry.

There’s a soft, rapid knock on your door. Oddly, even the knock sounds unsure.

You ignore it, hugging the covers closer to yourself and keeping your eyes glued on your phone. Though your gaze is set on the show playing, your mind wanders, preoccupied with other thoughts which you have tried to dissipate, to no avail.

There’s a short pause, before there are more knocks this time—louder ones. You scowl, tossing the crumpled and used tissues in your palm into the bin, one missing the mark completely. It lands dejectedly beside it.

“What is it?” you spit, menacingly.

“Can I come in?” Mark’s timid voice is muffled through the door.

“No.”

“Please?”

You bring your knees up to your chest, arms tightly wrapped around them. After what had happened, a bit of time had made you feel a little bad for what you had said. Well, perhaps more than a little. But that doesn’t mean Mark hasn’t done anything wrong either. You think you were being reasonable, expecting at least a call once in a while is far from being greedy, and you know you’re not wrong on that one.

Your door creaks open and you hear the shuffling of Mark’s feet as he inches closer and closer to you, waiting for you to do something. Does he think you’re going to bite him? What the hell’s taking him so long?

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh, can I sit next to you?”

You grunt lowly in response and Mark audibly heaves a trembling sigh of relief. He takes a seat, crossed-legged beside you with enough distance to let you know that he’s still a little hesitant.

The consistent hum of the show’s soundtrack playing from your phone is the only thing that pierces the strangling silence between you two. You stare at the moving blurs, unable to focus on what’s happening. You pull on the material of your pants awkwardly.

“Uh,” begins Mark, eyes darting to the stray, crumpled tissue near your bin, “were you, uh, crying?”

You glower at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Mark swallows dryly and you roll your eyes. The screen of your phone goes black as you switch it off with a click. You lay back onto your pillows, your hair messily crowning your face. You screw your eyes shut, crossing your arms over your chest. A dull ache persists there and you gulp. Your eyes are still swollen.

The mattress dips beside you beneath Mark’s weight. You turn your body away from him.

“Babe…” he sighs. “I’m really sorry for what I said.”

You don’t offer him the pleasure of a response. Instead, your body goes rigid.

“It was awful for me to say it and I regret it so much.” He continues despite you being adamant on paying no heed to his words. “I’m an asshole and you were right. The very least I could do is call you back, and you deserve so much more than the very least. It’s selfish of me to expect that you’ll be satisfied with having a boyfriend who’s barely your boyfriend, because nobody would. I shouldn’t have gotten so unreasonably angry at you, and I should have listened to what you had to say before lashing out on you like that. I’m sorry I treated you like shit and I’m sorry that you have an asshole for a boyfriend.”

Mark wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. The air is dense with repentance and apprehension.

“Can we talk?” asks Mark quietly.

You flip onto your other side, facing Mark and staring up at him, your puffy eyes glassy with fresh tears which threaten to spill. Mark’s expression shatters at yours. You allow him to snake his arms around you and pull you into him.

“Baby...” he coos, smoothing down your hair as you tremble and wail into his chest. You fist the tear-soaked material of his hoodie with all your strength, your knuckles becoming a ghostly white. Yet again, all you can think about is that tender smell of fabric softener. “I’m so sorry. I’m a dick.”

“Yeah, you are a fucking dick,” you sniffle, “I hate you. Dick.” You peer up at him, your burning cheeks wet with tears. You chew on the flesh of your inner cheek. “I’m sorry too. For being inconsiderate.”

Mark shakes his head, a few strands of his silky hair falling into his eyes. “No, it’s okay. But thank you for being understanding.” He gently swipes your tears away with his thumb. “I love you.”

You nuzzle your face into his hoodie once more . “I love you too.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, basking in each other’s presence and warm embrace. Mark takes the opportunity to scatter fleeting kisses all over your head.

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” asks Mark.

“I don’t have any leftovers to heat up.”

“I can cook something.”

You snort. “You can cook? Really?”

“Okay, we’ll just order takeout then.”

The end of Mark’s sentence fades into a yawn, and you can’t help but yawn alongside him.

“Can we just take a nap?”

Mark hums. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

And just like that, the embers of your argument sizzle into nothing. They become the remnants of a once wrathful fire. The room is warm. The glow of the early morning sun pours through the cracks in the blinds. Mark holds you closer to him, his soft snores and your even breathing being the only sounds in the room.

It smells like fabric softener.

[fi-chanwrites]

Read at 19:00 Part II

Osamu x reader

Warnings : Angst. fluff. hurt/comfort

Wordcount: 1.7K

Part I

A/N: I know I’ve been gone for a while but I do be back boissss

You were broken, completely and utterly. Osamu was there to pick up the pieces once more, just like he always was. He found you on the floor, crumpled together, broken porcelain surrounding you, shattered on the ground just like your heart. You had texted him just before, telling him what you had sent to Atsumu so he made his way to your apartment, already sensing the heartbreak to come. He lifted you from the kitchen floor where you sat, he held you close to his chest as he cradled you through the sobs, his hand finding its way into your hair, massaging calming circles into your scalp, quietly shushing your tears. Osamu was always there, so why did you never see him? 

He had dragged you to the table in the centre of the room, sitting you upright as best he could before he began banging around your kitchen. The only comfort he knew was food so maybe some onigiri would help you through this funk, he knew it was silly, as if food would make you forget his idiot brother, but he had to try, he couldn’t not try, he had to help you.

You didn’t say anything when he placed the plate in front of you. You didn’t say anything when he sat down next to you. You remained silent as the onigiri he made for you began to go cold. You said nothing as he raised the food to your mouth prompting you to take a bite. Your mouth moved to eat from Osamu’s hand but you still said nothing. You were silent, and you were broken.

Osamu managed to get you into the bathroom to shower, he tempted you with the promise of more onigiri waiting for you when you got out. He watched your phone light up with Atsumu’s name multiple times, and each instance he deleted the notification so you could have a few more hours without being disturbed by the heart break his brother brought in his wake.

It was two (2) whole hours later when you finally spoke up, your voice bringing so much joy to his ears, the sweet melody of your speech sounding like a sweet symphony to his ears. 

“Thank you ‘Samu” You mumbled into his chest as he held onto you. “Thank you for always being here for me. I know we don’t say it to each other enough but I really appreciate you.”

He chuckles and just holds you tighter, laying a soft, sweet kiss onto the crown of your head.

“Ya know I’ve always got yer back.” He pauses for a second “There’s no one I’d rather be here for, it’s always you”

It took months for you to get back on your feet, but with Osamu as your crutch nothing could go wrong, but he knew deep down that that is all he would ever be, he would only ever be a support system. He would only be put into action when some other man broke your heart in a way he would never dare to do. He would never hurt you the way they did, but then again, he would never get the chance to as you would never be his. 

Osamu checked on you almost every day for a month, making sure you were eating, taking care of yourself, showering, brushing your teeth. He wanted to make sure you were keeping yourself put together, making sure you were moving from your bed in the morning and getting yourself dressed. He wouldn’t let you fall into another depression. Not again. Not when his own DNA was the cause of it.

He loved you, he had admitted that much to himself, he honestly admitted it years ago, before he had even introduced you to his brother and the way you looked at him crushed him. He knew you were looking at Atsumu in the exact same way he looked at you. His heart sank, an overwhelming feeling of dread sinking into the bottom of his stomach. He wanted, no he needed you to look at him like that. He wanted that radiant smile that broke your face into halves to be directed at him but he knew deep down that that would never happen. He wanted to be the cause of your eternal happiness but he knew, with a heavy heart, that day would never come, he would never be the person who you woke up next to, he would never be the man that you clung onto when he came home in the evening, and he knew that you would never love him the way that he adored you, wholeheartedly and with no regard for the pain he was causing himself.

You didn’t know the turmoil that you were causing him, if you did you would have never even called him that day. You wouldn’t have reached for his hand, you would have wallowed on your own, that would’ve been better than watching your best friend pull himself apart slowly but surely in order to put you back together.

You didn’t really see Atsumu over the months and you were thankful for that, although his brother's face acted as a constant reminder of that day. You couldn’t look Osamu in the eye for days, when you looked at him your face contorted in pain, tears filled your eyes and fell down your cheeks, leaving tracks that stained your skin with salt. Everytime Osamu saw that look cross your face he felt a pang in his heart, he never wanted you to look at him like that ever again

However, as the months passed, as hours turned into days, that turned into months, your friendship with Osamu blossomed. It was like a sweet bloom on a spring day, he brought the sun into your life that dried away the morning dew. He brought a sweetness into your life that you knew you couldn’t find anywhere else. He was a bright blue sky, banishing the dark storm cloud that others had hung over your head, and, slowly but surely, you realised that you loved the feeling of that sweet spring sun. You wanted it to stay. You never wanted to live in a world where Osamu was no longer your spring. You needed him in ways you had never realised before, but now you knew.

You healed, the gash that had been torn into your heart had been stitched up by him. Your knight in shining armour, your saviour. Your Osamu. 

“How’re you feeling today petal?” He asked, pulling you out of your reverie, pushing your thoughts back to the present. You sat up straighter in your seat at the table, clutching your tea even tighter in your hands. Knuckles turning white on the handle as you held it in a death grip.

“You know what?” You sighed contently “I’m feeling pretty good today ‘Samu.” 

He smiled at that, excited to see a small smile break across your face for the first time in a while. He loved that smile more than words could say. Osamu looked at you that day, really looked at you, and he thought you had hung the stars. You had at least hung them in his universe, and at this point you were his universe.

“I’m glad to hear it, wouldn’t want it any other way.” His smile grew, his heart fluttering in his chest. He looked down, avoiding your eyes, missing the light blush that crossed your cheeks.

You sat across from each other in Onigiri Miya, your favourites laid out on a platter before you, a small pot of tea sat in the middle of the table stewing slowly as you spoke. You were both leant in close to one another, speaking lowly between the two (2) of you. The store was empty, you didn’t have to be that close to one another. You needed to be that close to one another. You both needed the other person more than words could describe, he needed you and you needed him but you were both blissfully unaware of the other person's feelings, continuing to sit close, to lean in, to whisper when more people walked into the store, to hold the other person’s hand over the table.

Osamu continued to be your rock, your everything, for as long as you needed, but like all good things, it had to come to an end. He couldn’t always be there, he couldn’t constantly be right next to you. Trying to stop you from slipping, washing your cuts if you fell. 

He got busy, you got back into the swing of normal life, and slowly but surely you began to drift once more. You knew that he would be there if you needed him, something stopped you every time you went to reach out though. The pressing fear that you would just become a bother to him, that he would grow sick of you, that he would resent you

But like always, your knight in shining armour arrived, to save the day, to rescue you from the darkening blackness in your head, those all consuming thoughts that drove you right to the edge of sanity. All it took was one text and he was there. Right by your side, at your beck and call. Your best friend. Your Osamu had come once more to catch from the precipice, to cradle you, to love you, when you lacked any love for yourself.

All it took were those three words.

“I’m here petal” at the sound of his voice you broke once more, falling into his arms, feeling his form wrap around your own, taking you into him and supplying you with comfort as you cried.

“Osamu?” You asked, finally getting his attention, pulling his eyes to your own red, puffy, tear filled ones.

“Yeah petal?” he questioned, landing a small, soft kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you”

Taglist: @hajimies @airybnb @wheeshllumi