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changbunnies · 1 year

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Connected (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight!Bang Chan x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: angst, fluff, royal au, historical au, knight x princess au, arranged marriage (for reader), forbidden love, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining (they are so oblivious)

♡ Word Count: 15.9k (oops lmao)

♡ Summary: Y/N, as princess of the kingdom, is destined to marry for politics and financial gain, but all she wants is to marry for love. Chan, her childhood friend turned royal knight, has to either come to terms with her inevitable marriage, or finally confess the feelings he's been harboring for years.

♡ Warnings: very brief minho x reader, extremely jealous chan, also lowkey possessive chan, (he's not in any toxic way at all but still), reader is implied to be plus size, old timey traditions and expectations of women to suit the setting, i think thats about it ??

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (princess (mostly as a title), darling, my love) loss of virginity (both reader and chan are virgins), nipple play, fingering (f rec), unprotected piv, creampie, overall very soft sex with some shyness and teasing sprinkled in, breeding kink if you squint

♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my a03 here and if you're interested, you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams ! and thank you so much for all the love my works have gotten so far, i appreciate it sm !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A sigh passes your lips as you stare out at the sprawling nature before you from up on your balcony. The sight of trees swaying in the wind, flowers blooming towards the sun, and animals skittering about on the earth below always helped to ease your troubled mind.

You always found yourself here when the worries of life and your duty proved too much for you. As the kingdom’s heir to the throne, you weren't often afforded the luxury of leaving your castle, or dirtying your soles by prancing in the nearby forest.

Instead, you often had to settle for the next best thing– simply observing it. Normally that was enough for you, but on days like today, where you were constantly bombarded with responsibility and expectations, you wished you could flee into the forest and never look back. It would be difficult to flee your life, but surely it would be better than this. You were tired of feeling so stifled all the time.

"All that sighing isn't going to help, Princess," a familiar voice speaks from the doorway of your bedroom. "I know that," you frown, turning to look at your childhood friend turned royal knight with crossed arms and a glare on your face.

You know Chan doesn’t mean to add to your frustration, and normally you wouldn’t snap at him over a comment made in jest, but you're really in no mood for it right now. You’ll apologize later when you’re less quick to anger; right now, you are currently too stuck in your feelings to respond kindly.

It'd been a week since you were informed of your inevitable marriage, and you still hadn’t come to terms with it to any degree. Your father, the current King, informed you that the eligible men who desired your hand would be arriving later in the month, and how you were expected to be on your best "womanly" behavior when meeting your suitors for the first time. You knew it would happen someday but you still loathed the idea of it.. It made you feel like an object, like a pawn to be used rather than a person with her own thoughts and feelings.

"My apologies Princess, but you've been really down these past few days. I thought you might enjoy some company," Chan explains with his perfectly rehearsed politeness that you haven't quite gotten used to hearing yet. "Stop calling me Princess when it's just the two of us, it's unnecessary," you complain while Chan looks at you with a playful smile.

"Very well, Princess," he teases in response, laughing when you scowl at him for it. Chan has been your knight for a little over a year now, and while you did enjoy having him around more often, the tone shift from friend to knight was jarring. There were times where you missed your old dynamic, when he'd speak to you with no pleasantries or titles (though it did often incur the wrath of your attendants for being 'disrespectful' to the princess.)

You never found him disrespectful however; you actually quite liked that he always spoke to you candidly and without pretenses. Even as a kid you'd noticed the way commoners treated you differently from everyone else, and you liked that Chan didn't. Though he was just a child like yourself at the time, and most likely did not realize the impact it had on you, you enjoyed being able to feel like a normal person.

He was often on the castle grounds due to his parents, his mother a maidservant and his father a horseman. And while he was never supposed to have met you due to the difference in station, you two often found yourselves in each other's path.

You learned to ride horses together under his father's tutelage, he would accompany his mother around the castle as she cleaned various rooms, and he’d always wave to you with a goofy smile while you were studying (even if it ended in a scolding from the adults around him.)

You had quickly become fond of him, your only friend in an otherwise lonely world. You can remember fondly the days where he would distract you from your lessons by making silly gestures behind your tutors' backs, and how he’d gift you trinkets from outside the castle’s walls, such as cheap dolls and freshly picked flowers.

They were “plain” by royal standards, but you still loved them dearly, as they were things you had never had in your life until he brought them to you. He would even bring delicious pastries and fresh bread made by his mother, which had become your favorite things to eat simply because it was so different from everything else you were allowed to have.

Chan steps onto the balcony, taking his place next to you. He leans against the banister, staring out at the scenery that held your attention moments ago. "I don't want you to get married yet either," he admits after a brief moment of silence. You look at him, taking in the sullen expression on his face. You are initially surprised he looks so sad, allowing you to catch a glimpse at his usually hidden vulnerability.

You know very well that he, like anyone, is capable of feeling a depth of complex emotions, but he rarely shows you that side of himself. You spend so much of your days stressed or tired or daydreaming about being anything other than what you are, so he chooses not to burden you with any feelings he has. You've told him many times that he could, even encouraged him to share with you, but he always said he'd rather focus on making you feel better because that would make him feel better too.

“You don’t..?” you ask, though you wonder what you are even expecting to hear in response. He’s your best friend and he cares about your feelings, so obviously he doesn’t want to see you go through something you hate. It obviously it saddens him to see a friend hurting– but despite yourself, you still hope for his feelings to go beyond that.

You want to hear him say he cares about your inevitable marriage not as a concerned best friend, but as a man. A man who loves you, a man who wants you, a man who would fight for your hand in marriage against all odds. It's foolish, you know this, but you can’t stop yourself but hoping for it.

Your heart ignores the logic your brain provides, disregarding that he'll never be allowed to marry you even if he did have romantic feelings for you and was willing to fight against tradition for you. It doesn't matter that he has devoted his life to protecting you, that he's extremely well read or gifted in combat, or that he grew up within the same castle walls that you have. He will always be "beneath you", his merits never good enough, all because he was born to commoners.

You always hated that. Why do the circumstances of someone's birth have to matter so much? Why does fate have to be decided based on what family you are born into?

And you can still remember vividly the day you realized you cared for him as more than just the best friend you grew up with. When he stood before you, handsome in his weathered training armor and practice sword in hand, smiling proudly as he devoted his life to your care, your heart fluttered.

Chan worked hard to be your knight, practiced with his sword to the point of exhaustion, spent countless hours reading about affairs between nations and studying combat techniques, all to be the one who protects you. He dedicated his life to you, to being by your side through everything, even if it meant putting his personal affairs on hold.

There were times where you still didn’t understand why he sacrificed so much of his freedom for you. The life you lived was so stuffy and restricting, and he could do anything. He could do whatever he wanted with life, live anywhere in the world, choose from a myriad of careers, yet he chose to be stuck in the castle with you for the rest of his youth.

The day you turned 14, you confessed to him that you were dreading the day you both became adults because you knew your lives would take you different places. Even if he followed in his father’s footsteps and became the castle's horseman, you'd likely rarely, if ever, see him. It was something you thought about a lot, as you were often reminded by your elders of your responsibilities to the kingdom, but that day it was hitting you particularly hard.

That day sticks firmly in Chan's head as well; he can still remember the way tears pricked the corners of your eyes, the reality of getting older and the responsibilities that were soon to follow already bearing heavily on you.

That was the day he decided he’d work hard to always be near you, as he never wanted to see you cry over his separation from you. If there was no reason for him to stay, he would make one. If it meant freedom and choice was taken from him, he was willing to let those things go. If it was for you, it would be worth it.

When you asked him why he decided to become a knight despite the sacrifice and responsibility it entailed, why he was willing to give up so much to stay in the castle with you, he simply smiled at you. “It’s where I am meant to be,” he replied, dimples lighting up his face in an expression so sweet it made your stomach flip.

You fell in love with him that day. Or maybe you always loved him, and that was the day you fully realized it. That intangible feeling that always lingered whenever you looked at him, that you couldn’t hold and understand but knew was there. It was love, all that time. You knew it then, and you still know it now. Chan is the only person you will ever love.

He spends the rest of the afternoon comforting you, as he always does when you are feeling unhappy and indignant. Giving you kind words or gentle, comforting silence when you need it, transitioning into his goofy side who makes jokes and does his best to make you laugh as soon as you show that you are feeling better.

And it does help, but in a way it also makes it worse. Because unbeknownst to him, he’s just reaffirming your love for him. For every gesture that endears you to him, it also makes your heart sink even further. And worse of all, you can’t even be upset about it– because he doesn’t know your feelings, he doesn’t know how his kindness feels akin to a knife in your gut.

And it’s likely he’ll never know. Because when can you tell him? How can you tell him? It’s not meant to be, and it never will be. For as long as you are royalty, he’ll never be allowed to love you, and you’ll never be allowed to love him. The sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be, but you don’t know if you ever can.

How do you make yourself stop loving someone so perfect? How do you put aside your feelings, how do you pretend that they never existed in the first place? You’re lost, you’re stuck, and you know nothing will change it.

You suppose the best you can do is enjoy the little time you have remaining. Live in the moment with him instead of worrying so much about the future, because once it’s here you won’t be able to get this time back.

That’s why you smile for him, earnestly. You laugh with him the way you always do, you reminisce about your childhoods, you talk about all your favorite things instead of wallowing in what you hate. You don’t allow yourself to frown or cry until he’s gone for the night, the setting of the sun beckoning him out of your room and to his own.

You cry as you wash off the day's grime in the bath, you cry as you towel off in front of the mirror, and you cry as you lie in your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you think about all the joy you will never have.

Because you will lose Chan before you ever even had him. Never being allowed to hold his hand, to kiss him, to lie with him.. Because he is your knight, and a princess isn’t supposed to fall in love with one.

It’d been over a month since your suitors first started arriving at the castle to meet you, settling into their guest rooms and (frustratingly) occupying your days. You were as respectful as you were expected to be, but you really didn’t put in any effort to get to know them more deeply. You just weren’t interested in any romantics with them.

If the situation were different, and these were men you were meeting with the prospect of friendship or strengthening ties between allied kingdoms platonically, you would be much more susceptible to the pleasantries. As it stands now, you can’t put yourself out there for them the way you are expected to.

Most of them seem nice enough, and for the ones with gentler personalities you do feel bad for your standoff-ish attitude, but showing your disinterest firmly is the best way to not give anyone false hopes. You know you won’t fall in love with any of them, and wouldn’t it be worse to lead them on by having no backbone?

Sure, you could be a bit nicer, but why would you be? They are all here with the intention to marry you, they all have a goal in mind– to win you over by any means necessary. Even if they had the purest of intentions, it wouldn’t sway you to change your mind so easily.

At the end of the day, no matter who is here for a chance at genuine love and who is here for political gain, you are being treated like an object, and it’s something you detest with your entire being. And even leaving aside your feelings for Chan (which undeniably also plays a part in your disdain for your situation), you still wouldn’t enjoy this process.

Maybe it was your own fault for idolizing fairytales and spending your free time daydreaming about what your perfect life would look like, but what can you say? You’re a hopeless romantic, even to a fault, it seems. Is it truly so bad for you to want genuine love with someone? A love that happens organically, unforced by any outside factors pushing for it?

And now here you are, letting your maids prepare your attire and dress for tonight’s ball, where you will be expected to mingle with and accept the advances of your suitors, even if it is performative in nature. You try your best not to scowl in disapproval when your maids talk excitedly about your “romances”, who they think is most handsome out of your suitors, and who they hope you will choose.

You wish you could scream out, “I choose none! I don’t want to marry any of them!” You’d gladly let these girls take their pick of the men who came for you. It seems that the fan favorite, as it were, is Sir Minho, the handsome son to Duke Lee in the western lands. Apart from being attractive, he’s well-mannered, compassionate with animals, and skilled in battles of wit.

If you were being truthful, he was an easy pick. He was easily the most desirable of every suitor, not just from a personal standpoint, but also from a political standpoint. Keeping relations with the west positive would lower chances of revolt or separation into their own independent nation.

Yes, if you were smart and not at all stubborn, you would most certainly pick Minho. But stubborn you undeniably were; opinions firm and unbending, resistant to compromise or sacrifice.

And honestly, shouldn’t that be expected? Why wouldn’t the princess, who is capable of having everything material she ever wanted, not be selfish when it comes to love? You like to think yourself a reasonable person, one who makes sound decisions and goes through life with a firm sense of rationality. However, when it comes to Chan, all rational thought and decision making seems to leave you, replaced solely by emotion.

Your heart overtakes you, arguing fiercely with your rational and intelligent brain, as if making the logical, sensible choice would be foolish despite the reality being the opposite. You let out a sigh, that your maids thankfully mistake as one of exhaustion. While you arguably had the easiest job in the room, just sitting around and letting others doll you up, it was still tiring in its own right.

Layers upon layers of petticoats, chemises, and skirts, tight garters to hold up your stockings, squeezing into a corset and then adding even more layers on top of that.. If the end result wasn’t so gorgeous, you’d absolutely hate this process. And god forbid you needed to use the bathroom at any point– that endeavor in itself was hellish.

After the grueling task of fitting you into your finest royal blue ensemble, your hair and makeup came next. You begged for it to be on the simpler side, as you would be occupied for hours tonight and really didn't want to worry about keeping it pristine the entire time, and they thankfully obliged the request. There’s a few moments of downtime when they are finished, which gives you time to breathe and prepare yourself mentally for the night’s festivities.

There is a knock on the door, which the maids closest to the door don’t hesitate to open. It’s Chan, of course, as it’s his job to come collect you whenever it’s necessary for you to leave your room. That’s another reason this night you’re upset about tonight– you wish you could walk together to the ballroom as a couple, instead of as a knight and princess.

“It is time to go, Princess. The guests have begun arriving in the ballroom,” he says, keeping his gaze professional under the watchful eyes of the maids in the room.

But God, is that hard for him. You're so unbelievably beautiful it makes his heart feel like it's twisting in his chest. He’s lucky that no one in the room seemed to notice the way it stole his breath away, or the way his eyes lingered on you for far longer than they should have before he directed you to follow him out of the door.

You thank your maids for their help before you depart, and they all say some variation of “have fun!” as you leave the room. “Fun” is doubtful in this scenario, but you’ll certainly try to not be miserable. Try being the keyword– you make no such promises of how things will actually play out.

You put on the best smile you can manage when you enter the room, letting various guests greet you, briefly indulging them in small talk before Chan helps you move your way past them. You take a seat next to your parents, with Chan standing just a few feet away– a respectable distance as to not intrude on the royal family, but close enough to reach you quickly if something went wrong.

As is to be expected, sticking close to your parents and away from the dancing doesn’t spare you from any attention. Those who are permitted to speak with the royal family appear to you in a near constant stream, with monotonous questions about how you’ve been and how you feel about your inevitable marriage in tow.

God, the night has just begun and you’re already tired. Is it too early to retreat back to the safety of your room? You take a quick glance around the ballroom, taking note of all the guests you have an obligation to talk to and who you could feasibly get away with staying away from.

Unfortunately, it seems like your evening will be full of talking to people you don't want to deal with. You said you'd try to have a good time, but that didn't mean you had to right this second, did it? You're definitely staying at the table for as long as possible, even if it causes your guests to think of you disfavorably (and if you're lucky, it will.)

It's probably about two hours into the gathering when your parents seem to grow tired of you doing nothing but sitting with them at the head table. You can tell even before it happens that your mother and father have something to say about your silent protest.

"Why aren't you out there, dear?" your mother asks, taking a gentler approach despite the obvious frown of displeasure on her face. Truthfully, she understands your sadness and feels for your plight, but she can’t allow you to wallow in it.

You are very clearly sulking, proper manners ignored as you sit with crossed arms and a pout. “Don’t like to dance,” you lie, but everyone near you knows that isn’t true.

You normally loved dancing. You would attend your dance lessons enthusiastically, and later you would sneak Chan into the ballroom to teach him everything you learned. Although he loved music and followed rhythms easily on his own, his initial steps with you were always awkward. His excuse was that he was nervous to be dancing with the princess, but you would remind him that since being the princess never made him hesitate with you before, it shouldn’t matter now.

In all honesty, a majority of his nerves came from being afraid of making a mistake in front of you. Chan could normally dance very well, often being complimented and told he was a natural at it, but doing it with you made him especially nervous. What if you felt how sweaty his palms were becoming just from having you closer than usual? What if you could hear how loudly his heart was pounding? What if the nerves made him do the steps wrong?

He really liked you, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in your presence. Chan is often goofy, yes, but it was always willfully. He liked making you laugh and smile, but he didn’t want that side of him to be out in that moment. He found himself wanting you to see a different side of him, he wanted to impress you with how easily he picked up what you taught him, he wanted you to compliment him with your sweet voice.

To his own relief, Chan eventually managed to conquer his nerves, and he was able to pick up the steps and lead the dance without making an embarrassment of himself. Soon enough, the two of you would regularly spend hours in the ballroom together, dancing until late into the evening. With no band to play music for you, the both of you would take turns humming melodies, though you always preferred when Chan was the one doing it as his voice was so melodic and beautiful to you.

With your memories of each shared, secret dance so clear in your mind, how can you dance with any of these men and not think of Chan? How do you look at any of them and not compare their differences? How can you be with them without thinking about how you’d rather be with Chan instead? Even if they were lovely, even if they were without flaw, they weren’t who you wanted to be with.

You glance at Chan, who has to remain stone faced in these moments. Your parents are aware that you became friends with him well before he was inaugurated into knighthood, but they don’t realize to what extent.

They don’t know about the countless hours spent together, how you’d disregard rules to be near him, or how you’d sneak him into spaces he normally wouldn’t be allowed in. He can’t make them aware of how close the two of you truly are by reacting, and you know this well, but you still can't help but seek him out in every moment.

Noticing you looking at him, Chan shoots you a small look of sympathy before your parents can notice, doing his best to ease you despite the restrictions. He knows you don’t want to do this, and that you hate being scolded and reminded of how “important” it is to have a “good” husband.

“Good” meaning having power, or wealth, or a prestigious lineage in this case. You don’t want to care about formalities, traditions, or responsibilities. You don’t want to prioritize superficial qualities or be in a loveless marriage purely for alliance.

Is it really so terrible for you to just be in love with someone for who they are instead of what they have? You don’t care about what they have to offer or what legacies their families hold. You want to be with the person whose smile lights up your world. You want to be with the person who sacrificed so much just to stay within your realm. You want Chan.

“Your suitors would love to dance with you,” your father says, “You should at least try to get along with them, don’t be stubborn. You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.” Chan watches your expression change, the mix of anger and sadness bubbling within you becoming increasingly more apparent. He wishes he could rush to your side and help, but he can't. So instead he stands in place, fists clenched in a vain effort to ground himself as he remains frozen to his spot.

“Of course father,” you say as you stand, biting your tongue so as to not make a scene in the middle of an extravagant ball. Despite your tumultuous feelings, you're not foolish enough to disrespect the king with an audience. “I need a moment, if you’ll allow it,” you say and your father nods, finding it a reasonable enough compromise.

You bow politely before you go despite how badly you wish you could storm out and give a bitter display of resentment. Chan moves to follow you, (which he would do even if it wasn't his job,) but your mother calls for him to wait a moment. “I’m aware my daughter is unhappy about this, but try to talk some sense into her for me, will you? I doubt she’ll listen to us, upset as she is. She may find it easier to listen to someone unattached to the situation.”

‘Unattached.’ If only she knew Chan was terribly, terribly attached to the situation– attached to you. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he answers politely, bowing before he steps away to follow your path out of the ballroom. It doesn’t take him long to find you despite his delay leaving; he knows you well enough to know where you prefer to be when upset.

You are outside, sitting on the steps leading to the garden, arms hugging your legs with your head against your knees. You feel trapped, and looking out at nature always helps (even if in this case said nature was still confined within the castle’s walls.) You lift your head when you hear Chan’s footsteps behind you, wiping stray tears from your eyes as he approaches. “Y/N..” he speaks softly, heart tugging at him painfully; he always hated seeing you cry.

He sits next to you, deciding comforting you was more important than worrying about who would see the two of you being close. If he gets in trouble, so be it; you need your friend right now, not your knight. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you carefully to his side. “I hate this,” you mumble with a trembling voice, burying your face in his shoulder.

Chan swallows, trying to find the words to say. He hates it too– unbearably so. Every time he pictures you being in love with someone else it makes him physically ill. He doesn’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be hearing you say ‘I love you’ to another man, how excruciating it will be for him to watch from the sidelines while you build a future with someone he can never be.

He knows his heart will crumble when he sees you make your eternal vows to someone else, so beautiful and demure and forever out of his reach. He made his promise to be your knight for the remainder of his days knowing this is what it would entail, but fuck, it still hurts.

Chan has always considered himself a strong and resilient person, and he felt like he could handle this inevitability, but maybe he was naive to think so; nothing could have prepared him for how painful the reality actually was. His mistake wasn’t falling in love with someone unattainable– his mistake was thinking he could survive the heartbreak.

In all his life, he’ll never regret falling in love with you or becoming the knight you need, but he’s still human. A selfish human, who wants more than he can be granted, who wants to marry his beloved princess more than any treasure or title in the world.

Chan does his best to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to alert you that he was affected by this way more than a friend or knight should be. He thinks about what your father said to you shortly before you left the ballroom. ‘You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.’

As much as he hated to admit it, your father had a point. And he could see why your mother wanted him to make you understand, but did he really have it in him to follow her request? Could he encourage you to try to fall in love with someone else knowing how it’d tear him apart?

It’s the last thing he ever wants to do, but devoting his life to you meant he had to put aside selfish desires. He couldn’t let his love for you cloud his judgment, he couldn’t sabotage your chance at happiness to make himself feel better. How can he be a proper knight if he puts his selfish hopes above what is best for you in the long run?

“Listen.. I know you might not want to hear this but.. Your parents have a point. You should get to know them better,” Chan speaks cautiously, trying to prepare for whatever reaction you might have. It kills him to say it, not just because he doesn’t want to see you with someone else, but also because he knows you won’t want to hear this from him. He watches you freeze, staring at him in something akin to saddened disbelief.

You feel as if your cracked heart has now completely shattered. If there was any doubt before, now you know. Chan doesn’t love you the way you love him. He wouldn’t be okay with this if he loved you, he wouldn’t want to see you marry someone if he wanted you the way you want him. Your feelings have always been one sided. You swallow, trying not to cry any more than you already have or show how hurt that made you feel.

“So you agree with them then..” your voice is quiet and defeated. What do you even say..? Should you admit that one of the reasons this is so hard for you is because you’re in love with him? Would that even change anything? You always knew being in love with him was a fool’s endeavor, and now that truth was solidified.

“It’s not that. You know I don't want you to, it’s just– I know you’re miserable right now. And the reality is that you’ll have to marry one of them. If you get to know them and grow to love one of them, it’d be better for you. The way things are now, you’ll never be happy, and that's all I want for you.. Just to be happy,” he says, trying his best to show you how earnest he is.

He’s so fucking in love with you, of course he doesn’t want to see you marry someone else, it’s the last thing he ever wants. He doesn’t want to watch you fall in love with one of them, he doesn’t want to sit on the sidelines while you give your love to someone else, but he can’t keep denying the reality before him. Despite how selfish he is, he can’t put himself and what he wants above you.

And putting those selfish desires aside, he just wants you to have a good, happy life, even if that happiness comes from someone else. No matter how badly he wishes he could be the one you spend your forever with, it’s not the life that is meant for him. He has to come to terms with that, now more than ever. He has to, because it'll break him apart if he doesn't.

You look at him now, and as much as it hurts, you can see the sincerity. Even though it’s not what you wanted to hear, you know how much he cares about you. Even now, he’s looking out for you and trying his best.

Maybe he doesn't love you the way you love him, but it is a form of love nonetheless. His actions have never shown you anything different, and even if it’s not the sort of romantic love you want it to be, you should be happy with what you already have with him.

You separate yourself from his gentle hold, standing quickly as you do your best to wipe your tears without ruining your makeup any further. “You’re right. I’ll try,” you say, forcing yourself to find the resolve you desperately need to get this night over with. He smiles at you, albeit strained as he suffers with his own tumultuous emotions, and rises to his feet as well.

Chan gives you one last gesture of comfort, a gentle squeeze to your hand, before he leads you back to the ballroom where everyone waits for you to return. “Are you ready?” He asks when you are both stopped in front of the doors.

You sigh, taking just a small moment before you nod and allow yourself to enter the bustling room. You’re not ready, but it will never get any easier, so you suppose you’ll just have to accept that and get on with it regardless.

You leave Chan standing with your parents, where he can still have you in his line of sight while not intruding upon anything you need to do. You suppose if you’re really going to commit to this, you should go with the obvious choice– Lee Minho. It doesn’t take you long to spot him either; all you had to do was follow the gaze of infatuated maids to see him standing in a bubble with other high society guests your father invited to the event.

“Sir Minho, are you occupied?” you ask as you step forward to him, the crowd that had gathered around him easily dissipating to allow the princess closer to her suitor. “Of course not, Princess. Would you like to dance?” he smiles politely as he holds out his arm for you, and you accept it, letting him lead you toward the center of the ballroom.

Another thing you suppose you should do if you’re really going to commit to this is apologize. You doubt anything will genuinely come of it on your part, but it’d be best to not have a marriage start off with bitterness in your heart if it does miraculously develop into something more.

Honestly you’d rather scream and kick than offer an apology you don’t entirely mean but.. What other option is there at this point? "Listen, I'm sorry for how cold I've been towards you. It's not due to any fault of your own, it's just.."You pause briefly, trying to think of how best to continue that line of dialogue, but Minho speaks up before you can.

“It’s just that you are being forced into a marriage you don’t want?" Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you desperately try to find a way to dismiss his accurate assessment. Were you that transparent? 'Of course you were, idiot,' you curse yourself. Maybe you should've practiced subtlety.

"I get it. You aren’t the only one unhappy about this,” he continues, further surprising you. He chuckles at your shocked expression, amusement in his voice. “What, is that hard to believe?”

"I.. I guess I just assumed everyone is here because they want to be. It didn’t occur to me that you would be in a similar situation to myself,” you answer truthfully. Maybe you would have realized sooner if you hadn't been so stuck in your ways, so quick to ignore and dismiss every suitor that came close to you.

“I don’t blame you for thinking that. I’m sure most of the men are here because they want to be. I consider myself an outlier,” Minho speaks nonchalantly, but now that you are really looking at him, you can tell he is just as unhappy to be forced into this as you are. You also get the impression that he’s good at keeping a cool exterior, likely due to years of experience at suppressing his actual desires, the same as you.

“Is there someone else? Someone you love, back at home?” you ask, and Minho smiles sadly as he nods. “There is. They mean the world to me. I asked them to wait for me, I told them I wouldn’t leave them but.. I don’t know what will happen, if I'm being honest.” He tries to mask how upset he is to admit that, but you can see it.

Maybe you’d be as oblivious to it as everyone else seemed to be if you weren’t dealing with similar emotions. You feel a strange sort of kinship with him now, realizing how parallel your situations seem to be. “I’ll make sure you can be reunited. I may not have much power as it stands now, but I can do that at least.”

Minho smiles at your reply, but shakes his head, as if your act of kindness would be futile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it would only be temporary. I’m sure even if I don’t marry you, my father will just send me off to another castle to find a spouse. It’s all he cares about.”

You frown, about to speak reassurances or some other comforting statement, but he stops you before you can. “What about you, Princess? Is there someone you love?” Minho asks, easily shifting the focus off of himself.

You hesitate a moment, debating on whether it would be wise for you to talk about. But, Minho already shared with you even if it could be a risk for him to admit, so.. You decide to be honest. “There is. He.. is the best person I've ever known.”

“I thought so. Not to sound overconfident, but most women fall at their feet for a chance to speak with me,” Minho smirks and you laugh, the first genuine laugh you’ve had all evening. “Well, you are handsome. I may love someone else, but I’m not blind.” Your reply makes Minho laugh as well, the conversation turning into something you can actually enjoy.

“It’s good to know the Princess isn’t rejecting me for my looks. I can sleep assured about my handsome features tonight,” he jokes, and if you weren’t in public you’d most certainly slap him on the arm. You didn't expect his personality to be what it is, but you suppose that's one of the charms that draws people to him.

“The person you love– do they know how you feel?” He asks after a beat, and you frown, trying not to let too much emotion out as you speak. “I’ve never told him, nor my parents. I’ve wanted to, but.. I’m scared he won’t return my feelings, and.. He was born a commoner. People won’t approve of that.” Unconsciously, your gaze shifts away from Minho and turns towards Chan.

Minho notices, of course, and follows your gaze, seeing the way Chan is overtly staring at the pair of you dancing. Oh, he is in love with you, if the way he’s staring daggers into Minho is any indication. He almost wants to laugh at how oblivious you seem to be about it, but he also sympathizes.

He was there once– afraid to confess, afraid of what the reaction would be. And even now he’s still afraid of how his father will react if he ever confesses to his hidden relationship, so he’d be a hypocrite to tell you to not worry about it.

But at the very least, he can be on your side. He can be a friend, an encouraging presence, a person who understands what you are going through. “I think you should tell him how you feel. Even if things don’t turn out how you hope, at least you tried. I think that’s better than having never tried at all, and living with regrets.”

Honestly, he hopes you do confess your feelings, because he feels like he might burst into flames any second if your knight keeps staring at him with fire in his eyes. He’s so obvious, Minho isn’t sure how everyone else seems oblivious to it. But maybe he only recognizes that look in his eyes because he was there himself not too long ago, when others made advances on the person he loves most.

There’s a brief moment of silence as you contemplate Minho’s words. What is better? Accepting your fate as it is now and never telling a soul how you feel about Chan, or confessing your feelings and experiencing what it’s like to openly love Chan, only to have it ripped away from you when your family doesn’t approve? You really don’t know..

“Hey, if it doesn’t work out, maybe we do get married and act as each other’s cover,” he says jokingly, hoping it can make you feel comforted to some degree once he notices you being trapped in thought about what to do next. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you say with a small laugh, “Though if there is anyone I’d choose to be in a fake marriage with, it’d have to be you.”

Honestly, despite the unorthodox way it came to pass, it felt good to talk about your feelings for Chan. You didn’t have anyone to talk to about them, always keeping them completely to yourself. And you felt like you had a real friendship with Minho blossoming, one that could be maintained for years to come. “I enjoy your company. Platonically, of course,” you say with a smile.

“As do I, Princess,” he smiles back, “Want to cheer to a good friendship?” “Let’s!” You say enthusiastically, letting your dance come to a close and allowing him to lead you to toast refreshments.

If there was ever a time in Chan’s life he wishes he could disregard everything he’d ever been taught about rules and decency, it was now. He’s never felt so bitter in his entire life, the first time he’s ever felt spiteful at the unfairness of his situation.

“Thank you for talking to her, she looks to be enjoying herself much more now,” the queen says with delight as she leans towards Chan, ensuring that he hears her thanks. All it does is effectively rub salt into his open wound.

“..Yes, she does,” Chan says, having to put effort into sounding anything other than gutted. The jealousy sizzling in his veins, envious desire stuck like bile in his throat.

He knows you well enough to know what a genuine smile looks like on you. He recognizes your body language, can see all the minute and subtle changes. It makes him physically ill, watching you be so happy with a man he knows you are likely to marry. Chan knew he was selfish, but he never realized how jealous he was capable of being.

It was a luxury he didn’t realize he had– never having to see you in the arms of someone else. Sure, it was bound to happen, and he assumed he would be devastated when it inevitably occurred, but this? This all encompassing jealousy, this unadulterated greed– he doesn’t know how to process it, he doesn’t know how to calm himself down or mask it.

A realization zaps him suddenly, shocking his system as the feeling settles over him. He can’t let you go, he can’t put his feelings aside the way he thought he could. He’s not as strong as he thought he was, not as mature or as reasonable as he always thought himself to be. He can’t watch you be with someone else and be okay. If this is how he reacts to a situation so small, how will he feel when you actually marry?

He’s fucked. Truly, unequivocally fucked.

His body and mind scream at him to act, to do something, do anything, but what is there for him to try? What can he do that isn’t hopeless? No, even if it is hopeless, even if it doesn't change a single thing, he has to regardless. That’s what every nerve in his body screams at him– if there was ever a time for him to conjure his bravery and win you over, it was now.

You breathe a sigh of relief when the night's festivities finally draw to close, eager to finally relax after hours of dancing and talking. Minho made the night more bearable at least; it was much easier to get through the evening when you had a friend to cling to and keep a good deal of your other suitors at bay. As soon as you finished bidding your goodbyes to the guests that were in attendance, you rushed over to Chan so he could finally lead you back to the privacy of your room.

“Princess.. I’m sure you’re tired, but can you wait for me here for a bit..?” Chan asks, hoping the nerves he feels aren't being conveyed in his voice or facial expression. You tilt your head, slightly confused but agreeing anyways. You really have no reason not to after all, especially if it’s a request from Chan of all people. He smiles and thanks you, running off quickly while promising he wouldn’t take too long.

You stand in the center of the ballroom alone, wondering what on earth Chan is having you wait here for. He could also get in trouble for leaving you alone here without anyone to watch over you, but whatever he has planned must be worth the risk he’s taking.. Is he trying to make sure no one is going to come back so that the two of you can dance together?

The thought makes you excited if you're being honest– you always love dancing with Chan, but you hadn't had many opportunities to after he began training to be a knight. And you’d happily do so if he wanted to, even if your feet were screaming at you from exhaustion.

You also have to admit, you enjoy the idea that after watching you dance all day, Chan wanted to have one with you too, even if it had to be once the event was over and within privacy. You wait as patiently as you possibly can, watching the doors to the ballroom, eagerly waiting for them to open.

And when they do, and your eyes fall on Chan entering dressed in what is possibly the most beautiful suit you've ever seen, your heart feels like it's going to burst. "You stayed," he smiles as he steps closer, his dimples on full display. His unruly hair that normally falls over his face has been tamed enough to show his features more clearly, the full extent of his handsome face on display just for you.

“C-Chan, you– I, wow, you look–” You try to speak but you stumble over your words, his beauty leaving you even more speechless when viewed up close. It really is the most beautiful suit you've ever laid eyes on. Or maybe you only think so because he is the one wearing it? Either way, he looks so incredibly handsome that you feel almost dazed, your brain quickly malfunctioning as you stare at him.

Truthfully, he had to save his salary for months to afford a suit this nice. You lived in a world of extravagant gowns and beautiful jewelry, and he knew that if he ever got the chance to dance with you again, he wanted to look like he belonged with you– even if it was just this one time. You don't care about aesthetics, he knows that, but it's still something he wanted to do. Looking at him the way you are now, he knows it was all worth it.

He always wanted to belong in your world, to look like someone that a princess could be with. Soon enough, you’ll have to decide which of your suitors to marry, and on that day he will lose you. If this is the last opportunity he has to share a dance with you, then he wants to make the most of it. Even if it's just for this short moment, he'd like you to see him as something more than a friend or knight.

He wants to live in a bubble where it’s just you and him, where he can show you the side of himself he always wanted you to see. A bubble where only the two of you exist, where everything but each other is background noise. His every moment, all he sees is you, and he wants to be the only one you see in turn. No one in your eyes but him, his every word hanging in your ears and gesture embedding in your heart.

He will allow himself this final selfish act before he lets you go, before he has to bury his feelings and lock them away for good. He will dance with you not as your best friend, your knight, or your student who is still learning the steps, but as a man in love with his princess.

“May I have this dance, Princess?” Chan asks, smiling up at you as he bows, holding out his hand to you. You feel like your brain is short circuiting, all dance etiquette and rules leaving your mind as you stare at him. Your face has turned bright pink and your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, but you manage to nod and let your hand reach for his. How will you even survive this dance when he’s smiling at you like that while looking so devastatingly handsome?

Despite the glaring fact that all your knowledge is lost on you as he holds you closer, he leads you through your daze well. Humming melodies with his beautiful voice while he guides you through the steps– you feel like you’re in a dream. He’s looking at you so intently, smiling so charmingly between melodies, you feel like you’re melting. His eyes are sparkling with an emotion you’ve never seen on him before.

No, that’s not true. You have seen it. Fleetingly, in quick moments where it would flash on his features, a moment so small you’d miss it if you blinked. Moments like now, where it was just the two of you, free to be yourselves, to talk and laugh and dance with no restriction. Every time you noticed that look in his eyes, his expression would change in an instant, or he’d turn his face away and not let your eyes linger on it.

Affection? Care? Love? Is that the feeling that shows on his face when he looks at you? Is love the emotion that always makes him smile bashfully before he looks away from you? The one you sometimes catch, but is gone before you can really commit it to your memory? This is the first time you’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing it on his face for more than a few seconds, and it makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.

All you can do is stare as he leads you through the dance, the entirety of his being capturing your undivided attention. A shyness bubbles underneath the surface, neither of you used to staring at one another so overtly, but you couldn’t possibly turn your gazes away. You decide that if you did somehow fall asleep at some point and this is a dream, that you’ll enjoy it for all its worth.

You don’t know how he feels about you, really. At best you can guess, you can hope, but there’s no way for you to truly know. But what you do know is how you feel about him, and that’s enough, you think. It’s enough to make this moment the most special you’ve ever shared. It’s enough to lift up the shattered fragments of your heart and reconstruct them into something beautiful and new.

Does he love you as much as you love him? Regardless of the answer, you’ll never forget how you feel right now. A love beyond words, a happiness that transcends everything else.

Chan, who was feeling confident until now, begins to feel a stutter in his heart. He wanted to impress you, to show you the most ideal side of himself, to make you see him, really see him, in the way he desired to be seen. But now that you are looking at him with such ardor in your eyes, with his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck, he feels like his heart could burst.

Was he once again naive to think he could put his feelings to rest after this? Foolish to believe that this moment would be enough for him to part from you satisfied with what little he had?

Yes, he definitely was. Because the way you look at him now, he knows he can never go back to how things were before. He will want to see it again and again, paired with your sweet smile and cute mannerisms. Again, he realizes he's selfish. He doesn’t want you to look at anyone else this way, to give anyone else your affection, to smile at them the way you do at him. For better or worse, you’ll be there, in every thing he does and in every thought he has.

Most selfish of all, he wants to kiss you so badly, to claim you as his. He wants to pull you even closer, to feel your warmth against him, to tell you that you are all he ever has, and ever will see. It’s always been you that lights up his world, always been you that gives fire to his ambitions, always you that makes his heart race and palms clam up. Since he was a child, for as long as he can remember until now, you were his everything. You became his world, everything he does revolving around you, forever drawn to you.

Before he can stop himself, his lips are on yours, connecting with you in the way he’s always dreamed of. There’s no time for him to rationalize his choice or scold himself for giving in to his selfishness. Chan has always been weak when it comes to you, after all. Unconsciously, his hands hold you a bit tighter, though he himself is unsure whether that’s because he’s afraid to let you go or because it just feels right to have you in his grasp while he kisses you.

You blink in surprise, time feeling like it has slowed to a complete stop. You feel like the air has been knocked out of you, your brain desperately trying to catch up with reality and make sense of its own racing thoughts. When Chan pulls back, you can see a panic forming in his eyes, apologies lingering on his lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have, I–”

You pull him back to you before he can continue to ramble, continuing the kiss he started. He can’t regret this, can’t second guess letting the moment take him over; you won’t let him. You want to be lost with him, enveloped in his embrace and consumed by his touch, damn the consequences. You don’t care who catches you, you don’t care about what punishment either of you could receive; this is all you’ve ever wanted for so, so long.

And maybe you should care, maybe you should stop him, stop yourself, but you refuse. If pushing him away is right, then you’d rather be wrong. His world may revolve around you, but yours revolves around him just as much. You can’t live without him, can’t bear to be apart from him. You want to stay with him, even if it causes everything else around you to crumble.

You’re both breathless by the time you separate, his eyes searching over your face desperately for any sign of hesitation, because once he really has you, he’s never letting you go. “Princess, Y/N, I–” He pauses, words lodged in his throat, but his eyes convey everything. You see it, the clearest that you ever have.

“Do you love me?” You ask, watching intently as his face heats up all the way to his ears. “Please tell me. I love you, and I need to hear you say you love me too,” you all but plead, watching him swallow as he tries to conjure the words he wants to say.

He kissed you, so he can’t really deny it, but admitting it could make life even more difficult for you. Chan knows you well enough to know you’ll fight against your parents wishes, that you’d abandon your life here if it called for it, but can he let you do that?

This is the last chance he has to listen to reason and walk away, his last chance to bury his emotions down deep, his last chance to use even just a modicum of self control.. But no, that's not what he wants to do.

Selfish, selfish, selfish. That’s all he’s ever been with you, and maybe all he ever will be. Because as much as he logically knows he should let you go, he just can’t. Because the thought of anyone other than him kissing you fills him with dread. Because even if it makes your reality harder, it’s still all he wants.

All along, his answer has been there. He can’t turn away from you, and you won’t let him. Both of you are stubborn in your wants, both of you pulling to each other like magnets, unable to be drawn apart. That’s what makes you perfect for him, he supposes.

You're both a pair of reckless fools, willing to throw everything away for the other person. How can his answer be any different, especially when you’re looking up at him like this? Desperate to hear his answer, desperate to be loved by him and him alone.

“I love you. I always have, from the very beginning,” Chan confesses, “I know it’s wrong, I know I’m not supposed to love you, and I’ve tried to hold it back but.. I can’t stand watching from the sidelines anymore, I can't stand the thought of you being with someone else. I love you, and I want to be the one who spends his life with you.”

‘I’m not supposed to love you.’ You hate that he had that thought, but you understand why. No matter how close you became, even when he never treated you any differently from anyone else, he wasn’t oblivious to your difference in station. Neither of you ever let your circumstances affect your friendship, but that didn’t mean the difference between you wasn’t still there.

He recognized long ago that someone of his birth wasn’t meant to be with a princess, and he tried his best not to let his feelings for you show. You understood now too, why he became your knight despite all that it meant. Because he loved you, and that was the only way he could guarantee he would always be beside you. If he couldn't be your husband, that was the next best thing.

"If there is anyone in this world who deserves to marry me, it's you. It's always been you, I've never wanted anyone else," you say with full sincerity. There’s no one else you would ever pick, no one else you’d ever give your life to. No matter how much time passes, how your life changes and how far apart you may end up, the love you have for your best friend, your knight, will always remain.

He kisses you again, with all his love and affection poured into it. Years worth of repressed feelings bubbling to the surface like a wellspring. His self restraint dissolves, kissing you over and over again as if his life depends on the repetition of the action. He holds you tightly, squeezing you closely to him, in a gesture that is as full of desire as it is love.

You’re both breathless when he finally allows you to separate, lips swollen and red from the continued use. You lost track of time, having no idea how much or how little the minutes have passed. All you know is Chan’s all encompassing presence, and finally knowing the feeling of his lips against yours.

You don’t want the night to end here, you realize. You don’t want to return to your room and carry on tomorrow as if this never happened. You don’t want to pretend that you’re not impossibly in love with him, you don’t want to pretend you don’t know how his body feels pressed against yours, or how it feels to have his lips on you.

“Take me to your room, Channie,” you plead, and he swallows, your request making his heart race impossibly fast. The majority of knights live in barracks, but as a royal knight in charge of the princess’ protection, his room lies close to yours, separated only by a few halls.

But despite the relatively close proximity, you’ve never actually been to Chan’s room before due to the risk. Even with your friendship being apparent, going directly to his quarters and staying for a prolonged time ran the risk of spreading untoward rumors.

For royalty, their reputation is of the utmost importance, and while you didn’t care what people said behind your back, it was still something you had to be careful of for the sake of Chan himself. Even if you could easily recover from rumors, Chan wouldn’t be afforded that same luxury– it would undoubtedly follow him everywhere.

And this led to him often being in your room, using the pretense of his knighthood to enter your space and have private conversations and talk like friends, the way you did before he became your knight. But that was always during the daytime, and with other knights still standing out in the hall.

If those same knights saw him enter your room with you during the night, and not come back out until morning, it would certainly raise suspicions. Really, no matter what the two of you do tonight, there is risk, the probability of consequences you can’t come back from higher than it’s ever been.

“Are you sure..?” He asks, clearly worried about what could happen as a result. He wants to be with you, of course he does, but if it’s found out you stayed with him in his room for an entire night, the consequences wouldn’t be pretty. He needs to know you understand that, needs to know you want to be with him regardless of what could happen afterwards. You nod, resolve clear as you hold his hand tighter.

You were aware of the risks, but your love for him outweighed the concern. If anyone wanted to question you about being away from your room during the night, you had the confidence you needed now to fight for what you want. Now that you know he returns your feelings, you won’t let anyone get in the way of keeping you together, you’ll fight for it with all you have. And besides that, you're a princess. You were raised with the belief that the world was in the palm of your hands, so shouldn't you be allowed to have the things you want?

“I’ve thought about this a million times, Chan, I’m sure,” you tell him. Nothing will deter you from being with him– not anymore. “A million times, huh?” He teases with a smile as he pulls you along with him to exit the ballroom, his playful side coming back out as he leads you out to the hall and in the direction of his room. “Shut up,” you smile shyly as you slap his arm, a blush creeping across your face.

You have to suppress the giggle that threatens to leave you as you wind the halls together, a nostalgic sort of feeling welling in you despite this being the first time you are sneaking to his room like this. You snuck him into so many spaces, always sharing fond moments with him in secrecy, and really this is just an extension of that.

The roles may be reversed in this instance, but the way you hold each other's hand and smile at each other is the same. The way you speak in hushed voices, the way you contain your gleeful giggles and the way you look at each other with pure joy, it's all the same.

When you reach his room, he ushers you in the door first, following behind swiftly and locking the door behind himself. “Just a moment,” he speaks softly as he moves carefully past you, lighting the candles he has on his nightstand. You use the dim light to survey your surroundings (as much as is possible, anyways,) taking note of all the things that make his space different from yours.

Chan watches you with subtle amusement; his room really isn’t anything special, but you’re looking around it as if it’s the most interesting thing you could ever see. (And to be fair, it is a stark contrast from the luxurious space you’re used to living in.) His space, while decently sized, still pales in comparison to the size of your room. His furniture is much less exuberant in style, and bed significantly smaller than your own. But you like it better that way, you think– it feels homey.

There’s a moment of silence that follows, not necessarily awkward, but rather hesitant as you turn your attention back to Chan. He’s sitting on his bed, looking incredibly handsome even in the dim candle light. Or did that add to it? You aren’t really sure. All you really know is that the way the subtle illumination and shadows frame his face makes your stomach twist. He really is way too handsome for his own good.

Cautiously, you sit next to him, taking his appearance in more closely (despite the way it makes your heart feel like it’s going to implode.) He looks at you as well, taking you in just as attentively. Now that he can freely gaze at you without restriction, he wants to commit you to his memory. He wants to know your every blemish, every freckle and every line.

You’re so impossibly beautiful– you could appear to him covered in grime and wearing tattered rags and he’d still think you were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Has he ever told you that? No, he doesn’t think he has. Every time he was awed by you, he’d look away before you could notice his blatant stare, never commenting outwardly on how incredible he thought you were.

“Can I kiss you again?” Chan asks tentatively, eyes full of eager trepidation. It may be beyond his capabilities to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he can show you. You nod, a small "yes" leaving your lips. His hands seek you out first, resting themselves on your waist before he kisses you again.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss, one that leaves you full of butterflies. All the romance novels you read couldn't have prepared you for how it actually feels to be in the moment, for how it feels to have his hands holding you firmly as he kisses you.

You want to move without restriction, you want to feel him closer, want to feel his touch on your bare skin. You separate, Chan watching you curiously as your face heats up in preparation for what you intend to ask. “Help me take off my dress?”

“W-What?” Chan stutters, bright red blush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Did he hear you correctly? He’s certainly mistaken, right? “I-I mean, unless you think I should keep it on for the rest of the night..?”

“N-No, right, of course not,” he says, swallowing as he watches you rise from the bed. He follows, hands trembling as watches you turn your back to him, waiting for him to help you untie your corset. He reaches out slowly, untying it as carefully as he can despite his shaking hands.

The layers of your dress follow rather quickly after that, eager to get all the extra weight off your body and allow yourself to feel Chan's touch directly. It's not until you're at the final layer that you feel shyness creep back on you, Chan's hand stilling on your shoulders as his own nerves pick up as well.

When he pulls it down, you'll be strictly in your underwear, the most exposed you've ever been to a man in your entire life. But as much as it makes you shy, it excites you almost equally as much. You turn around now, so that your back is no longer facing him. You cross your arms, placing your hands on top of his, looking up at his face as you guide his hands down your arms, pulling your dress down along with it.

He swallows, eyes following the path your hands lead him on, his face easily the hottest it's ever been in his entire life. You lower your arms once you are no longer able to guide his hands, letting the last piece of fabric fall to the floor around your feet.

Fuck, he really should be looking at you respectfully, but it feels impossible. You are standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, and you encouraged it, guided him to remove your clothing with your own hands. God, you're going to ruin him.

"Can I?" You ask as you rest your hands on his chest, the buttons of his suit easily within your reach, ready to undo them the moment he gives his approval. He does so easily, even helping you with the buttons and letting it fall to the floor the same way you did with your dress.

You watch as he pulls the undershirt over his head, tossing it to the floor with everything else. Your eyes scan his torso, face heating up as you take in his toned physique. You assumed he was strong given his status, but you've never actually seen the proof of it until now. You'd be embarrassed for blatantly staring if not for the fact that he'd done the same to you just moments ago. It's only fair to stare at him as much as he stares at you– tit for tat, if you will.

Chan's hands reach for his pants now, but he stops before he proceeds with removing them, looking at you as if to ask if it's okay with you before he does. Well, if the eager glint in your eye is anything to go by, you certainly want him to. He pulls them down easily after gaining your approval, kicking them off the rest of the way, (perhaps a bit unceremoniously, given the unprecedented circumstances,) not worrying at all about where they land.

You look at each other, an electric tension filling the space between you. The juxtaposition between the bashfulness and the desire leaving you temporarily stuck in place, a silent battle being waged between ‘should I act, or shouldn’t I?’

It’s typical for the man to make the first move in situations like this, isn’t it? But since when have you adhered to the stereotypical things that were expected of you? You hesitated before now out of fear– fear of what could happen to Chan and fear of your feelings being unrequited, but the minute he laid his feelings out for you, you decided there was no more time for fear, no time for hesitation.

When you want something, you get it, and what you want right now more than anything is Chan, simple as that. You lay back on his bed now as if you own it, looking so relaxed, so assured, as you prop yourself up on your elbows and wait for him to return to your side. Fuck, do you even know what you're doing to him?

He slots himself between your legs, his body weight pressing down on you when he lowers himself to kiss you again. Your torso falls back against the bed when you lift your arms to hold his face in your hands, not letting the kiss break and dragging him back with you. His hands travel up and down your sides, always stopping just under the line of the fabric containing your breasts.

He pulls away from your lips, looking at you closely as he lets his thumbs under the fabric ever so slightly. He’s silently asking for permission again, you realize, searching your eyes for any semblance of hesitation or regret. There’s none to be found, of course– all you feel is desire, is love. You want this as badly as he does, undeniably so.

He pulls it up slowly, carefully, and you lift your back off the bed, allowing him to take it off you completely. You watch him swallow as he stares down at you, taking in the unfamiliar sight of your exposed chest. He’ll never admit how many times he envisioned this moment in his mind, but the reality is much better than anything his mind could have conjured up.

When Chan finally tears his eyes away to look at your face again, you offer him a smile, one that makes his heart stutter. It’s soft, yet completely radiant, and patient. There’s no need for you to rush him along, nor do you judge him for taking his time to look you over. When it’s something special, something you’ve both wanted for so long, with more intensity than you can express, why would you rush? It should be savored, with even the smallest of details committed to memory.

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you for what feels like the millionth time. His hands cup your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms for the first time, squeezing (gently, of course,) every so often. When the calloused pads of his thumbs rub over your nipples for the first time, and you let out the most sinfully sweet noise he’s ever heard, he’s done for.

He wants– no, needs, to hear it again. Again, and again, and again, all for him, only ever for him. The small, soft gasps, the shuddering breaths, the shiver that runs along the entirety of your body when he touches you– it’s addictive, so terribly addictive. “Channie–” you whine into his mouth, and he has to suppress the groan that threatens to leave his throat in response.

“Again,” he says as he begins to trail kisses beneath your ear and down the expanse of your neck, “Say my name again.” You oblige his request easily, each small whine turning into a soft moan of his name.

Your voice, so dovelike, its sweetness all encompassing, commandeering all his senses. His hands travel lower, rubbing over the plush territory of your thighs, his fingers always coming dangerously close to your center before being taken away.

He chuckles when you huff, a small pout on your lips that he finds adorable. He doesn’t mean to tease, but he has to admit he likes the reaction it grants him. “What’s wrong, darling? I didn’t think you were so impatient,” Chan says with an amused tilt in his voice, because at the end of the day, beneath all the shyness and desire that was at the forefront, he is still the playful person he’s always been.

“Don’t be mean, Channie,” you all but grumble, your pout growing larger. It’s not like you’re trying to rush anything, it’s just.. He knows what he's doing, and he’s doing it on purpose! Making you all needy for his touch, being so close to where you want him but not actually granting it to you.

He smiles, that dazzling one that makes your stomach twist, confirming that he does indeed know he’s tormenting you on purpose. “Apologies, my love. You’re just so cute when you pout.” You would definitely punch him if the statement didn’t make butterflies erupt in your gut. “Chan, please,” you shamelessly whine, and oh, how that instantly turns the tables back in your favor.

He’ll do anything for you, whatever you ask, everything he can offer, it’s yours. You realize that, don’t you? That even if he teases, even if he pretends he’s fine and not completely and utterly enamored by you, he can never actually resist you. “Tell me what you want, Princess. Anything you want, it’s yours. Anything.”

“I-I–” you start, but quickly stumble over your words. The way he’s looking at you, waiting with bated breath for your answer, eyes eager and so willing to give you his all– it sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow, willing your racing heart to calm so you can speak properly. “I want.. To feel you. Inside me.”

Chan’s breath catches in his throat, cock twitching unceremoniously in response. He wants to, it’d be pointless to pretend he doesn’t, but.. “Are– are you sure?” he asks, the question laced with genuine care despite how eager he is for you to say yes. He wants to care for you, wants to make love to you, to claim you as his in the sweetest of ways, but he doesn’t want you to move faster than you’re ready for.

Even if your confessions were a long time coming, even though there was years worth of yearning and desire, it’s still a lot to entrust yourself to someone like that. To trust them wholeheartedly, to grant them such pleasure and believe that they’ll take care of you in return.

And he needs to know that you understand the risks and the changes it will bring, and you aren’t saying it out of some spur of the moment obligation to please him. Because he’ll be happy, no matter how long he has to wait.

“Channie,” you place your hands on his face, forcing his eyes to stay locked on your own, “I love you so much. I want to do this with you.” You can feel his face heat up under your fingers, but he smiles– one that is shy, but at the same time full of unfiltered joy. Chan leans down to kiss you once more, showing you all the love and care that he can’t express with his words.

His hands resume their original path, tracing up and down your thighs for a few moments before he finally hooks his fingers into your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, not with the intent to tease you this time, but because he knows when he finally sees what is waiting for him underneath the fabric his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

You adjust your legs position to make the removal easier, watching Chan with nervous excitement. It is scary, you admit, being so exposed and vulnerable in front of someone else, but there is no one else in the world you trust more. No one but Chan makes you feel this safe and secure, and he’s shown you over and over how much love he carries for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he admits for the first time aloud. Would it be cliche to compare you to a goddess? Maybe, but that’s the only thing that comes even remotely close to conveying how alluring he thinks you are. More radiant than even Aphrodite herself, with even the wonders of the world paling in comparison to you. “Gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

You watch him bring his hands to his own underwear, slipping them off with relative ease before settling himself comfortably between your legs. “I need to get you ready, okay darling? And then I promise, I’ll give you everything you want,” Chan speaks softly and you nod, entrusting yourself to him completely.

He’s never done this before, so he follows his instinct, doing whatever feels right in the moment. His fingers rub carefully between your folds, spreading around the wetness that accumulated there. Your breathing halts when the pads of his fingers press against your hole, body tingling with overwhelming desire. Slowly, carefully, he pushes his middle finger inside.

The sensation is unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant– in fact, the back and forth motion of his finger as it slides in and out quickly begins to draw soft whimpers from your lips. Soon enough, he’s adding a second finger, watching how they disappear in you with an almost mystified gaze. He can’t believe how snug you feel around his fingers, how wet and warm and fuck, he can’t even begin to imagine how good it’s going to feel around his cock.

“Ah-!” you gasp loudly when, after some exploration, his fingers find a bundle of nerves that makes every nerve in your body erupt in pleasure. Your head falls back against his pillows, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the slew of loud noises that threaten to leave you everytime he rubs over it again.

His fingers pump in and out at a steady pace now, not too fast as to overwhelm you, but enough to have stars constantly erupting in your vision. Your hands tightly grip the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and knot tightening in your gut unbelievably fast. Chan’s name leaves your mouth over and over between breaths and whines, like a looped mantra, the salacious melody you create music to his ears.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud whimpers and moans that rip through you as you come undone on Chan’s fingers. Would it be sacrilegious to call your noises heavenly when the reason for them is so sinful? He wishes more than anything he could hear them unfiltered, to allow them to flow freely from your lips without a care in the world about the volume and who could hear them.

He slowly stills his fingers as you come down from your high, taking in the sight of you and memorizing every detail. The rise and fall of your chest as you catch your breath, the rosy tint of your cheeks, the beads of sweat that linger on your brow, all coming together to create an ethereal image.

Chan plants soft kisses on your face as he gently slides his fingers out of you, complimenting you on how pretty you sound and beautiful you look. "Channie–" you start, and he smiles, knowing exactly what you intend to whine about. "Don't worry, my love. I'll keep my promise."

He takes his fingers, still wet with your release, and rubs them up and down his length, mixing his pre-cum with it along the way. As you watch you realize that his cock is much bigger than his fingers, and you wonder how it'll fit when just two fingers alone already felt like so much.

“Are you ready?” Chan checks in with you when he’s lined up with your entrance, ready to stop at a moment's notice if you decide this is too much too soon. He can see the subtle worry beneath the anticipation, notices the way you unconsciously hold your breath when he presses against you. It's true, you are nervous, but not enough so to make you change your mind. So you nod, and he moves one of his hands to yours, intertwining your fingers.

“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I'll go slow,” Chan assures you, placing a soft kiss on your temple before he begins. There’s a sharp intake of breath from you when he slowly begins to push inside, the sting being much more intense than you had anticipated. It goes beyond the discomfort you expected, eyes squeezing shut and your grip on his hand tightening.

The minute Chan feels you squeeze his hand tighter, he pauses just as promised. You open your eyes after a moment, looking up at Chan to try and push the sting to the back of your mind. He's breathing heavily, brows knit together in a combination of pleasure and concern, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

It takes all his self control to not get lost in the sensation around him, needing to make sure he takes care of you properly. He can't hurt you, can't lose himself before making sure you'll feel good too, needs to put you above all else.

"Do you need me to stop?" he asks, and you quickly shake your head no, expressing again how much you want to be connected with him in every way possible. Leaning down now, he kisses you until the discomfort subsides, whispering sweet words to you when he resumes the push, praising you over and over again until he's completely within you.

You're still squeezing his hand, not due to any pain or discomfort this time, but to ground yourself through the overwhelming sensation of Chan being deep inside you. He continues kissing you softly, going above and beyond to ensure that you're relaxed and comfortable. "Love you so much Channie," you tell him, and he smiles sweetly, heart so full of adoration and infatuation for you.

“Love you more,” he kisses you, ”so much,” another kiss, “never letting you go.” You giggle softly between his kisses, his words making your heart flutter. After graciously accepting a bit more of his doting, you soon notice that no trace of the initial sting or discomfort remains. In fact, being so full of him feels good, your body unconsciously seeking friction.

“Channie, I’m ready now, want you to move, please,” you beg with such a soft and cute voice, he knows there is no way he can resist. Well, not that he would ever deny you what you want in the first place. With one last kiss, and reassuring squeeze to your hand, he finally allows himself to move.

Slowly, as gently as he can, he pulls out, pressing back inside in one fluid motion when only the tip remains, repeating the action through shaky breaths and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Even with the languid pace, it's enough to drive him insane. Every detail of you, from the way you look, the way you sound, the way you feel wrapped around him, so snug and warm and inviting– it’s intoxicating.

Chan’s arms reach beneath you, hooking under your back and hands holding your shoulders, keeping your body closely pressed against his own. His face is buried in your neck, low groans beneath your ear, for you and you alone to hear. You make your own effort to keep him close as well; one hand tangling in his curly hair and the other tightly gripping his bicep.

He’s going slow, not just for your sake, but for his own. Because if he doesn’t he’s going to blow, because he wants to live in this moment for as long as he possibly can, because being close to you like this is everything he’s ever dreamed of. You’re his, finally his, and he wants it to last, wants to indulge in the feeling and the emotion of being your chosen lover.

It takes him a few tries to find the spot that makes you see stars with just his cock, but he knows he’s found it when you (unwittingly) let out a loud moan, nails digging into his skin and eyes rolling back. He picks up his pace now, chasing the sound of your pleasure-filled voice, wanting to hear you call his name over and over again.

He kisses you again when your combined noises begin to grow in pitch, muffling one another in a desperate attempt to keep the sounds of pleasure confined to the 4 walls of Chan’s room. You want to be quiet, you know you should be, but you truly can’t help it. But if he’s being honest, he likes that you can’t keep your voice down, likes that he’s making you feel so good that you can’t suppress it.

Chan is getting close now, and he pulls himself away from your lips, wanting to look at you once more before his approaching orgasm overtakes him. Even now, when you're breathless, cheeks red and hair sticking to your forehead due to the sweat, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

"Wanna cum in you," he manages to say between his low moans, “will you let me, please? Need to fill you up, need to make you mine forever, just like I'm yours."

Once again, your stomach flips, the words having an immense effect on you. "Y-Yes, yes, cum in me, I'm yours, only yours," you answer easily, wanting nothing more than to feel (and watch) him come apart because of you. His pace stutters following your permission, thrusts growing quick and sloppy as he chases his high, groans turning into drawn out whines.

The faster pace sends you reeling, toes curling has the knot in your stomach tightens and snaps in quick succession. You pull Chan back down to you, kissing him deeply as you cum around his cock, both to muffle yourself and as a gesture of the all consuming love you feel for him. He lets out soft, desperate whimpers as he releases inside you, ropes of cum painting your walls white.

You both stay like that for a few moments– breathlessly wrapped in one another's embrace, sharing soft kisses as you come down from your highs, soft admissions of love leaving your lips. You wince when Chan’s softening length pulls out of you, feeling extremely sensitive following the loss of your virginity.

Chan blows out the candles before he lays down next to you, leaving the moonlight coming through his window as the only illumination. He intended to pull you close to him, but he didn't have to– you snuggle up to him the moment you can, laying your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around his torso, legs tangling with his.

His racing heartbeat begins to slow, an extreme relaxation sweeping over his body. He closes his eyes, your soft breathing serving as his own personal lullaby. Carefully, he reaches his free arm out for his blanket, pulling it over to cover your nude bodies.

He’s nearly asleep when he hears you softly call his name, voice quiet but still loud and clear in his ears. “What is it, darling?” he asks as he opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at you. There’s a moment of silence that follows as you consider how best to voice what you want to say, but Chan is patient, looking at you with a soft gaze.

“Do you.. Think we can really get married?” You finally ask, and Chan’s heart squeezes in his chest when you do. He can hear the tremble in your voice so clearly, feels the way you hold him tighter as you wait for him to answer.

If he’s being truthful, he doesn’t know. It’s what he wants, what he hopes for more than words can express, but just doesn’t know. And it breaks his heart to see you like this– clearly vulnerable and unsure. You’ve always sought out Chan for comfort, but it’s different this time. Different because you now know the depths of love you both share, the desire to always be together and the fear that you’ll be driven apart.

You’ll fight for your love, of course you will, because there is no happiness to be had if Chan isn’t by your side. But you don’t want to have to fight for it, you don’t want either of you to suffer, you don’t want Chan to be driven away from you by people who don’t understand and don’t value him for who he is. You want your love to be accepted, to openly profess your love, to marry the only person you’ve ever had eyes for.

Tears are welling in your eyes, and he can see them even in the dim moonlight. “Y/N..” he uses his free arm to reach for your face, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall with his thumb. “I’m going to marry you. No matter what I have to do, I will,” Chan tells you, voice gentle but resolute. He meant it when he said he’s never letting you go, meant it when he said he’ll always be yours and always be beside you.

He doesn’t know what the future holds– if things will come easy for you both, or if you’ll have to fight tooth and nail just to be with each other. But he knows that no matter what the answer is, he will be with you. Whether in your toughest moments or happiest, he’ll be there. Holding your hand, giving you his love, sticking with you until the end of his days.

Whether it’s tomorrow, months, or even years from now, he’ll be your husband. You’ll be the one he shares his life with, the one he starts a family with, the one he sees every morning and every night. He’ll hold you close, starting your days with ‘I love you’s’ and ending them with the same, giving you all he has to give.

“No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together, okay? I love you so much,” Chan says and you nod, a soft smile on your face as you wipe your eyes and lay your head back down against him. “Love you, Channie.” He kisses your head softly, urging you to relax, to fall asleep, and not worry about what could be, but indulge in what is.

Indulge in the love you share, the feeling of closeness as you lie together in his bed, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear and his gentle reassurances. He’ll still be here when you wake up, will keep you in his arms, holding you close and making sure you know how much he adores you, how much he loves you. Because no matter what the future brings, you still have this moment. You still have each other.

#skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fluff #skz angst #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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neetily · 2 months

Text

Band Practice — (SDV) Sam + Sebastian

— ✧ warnings: Threesome - F/M/M, Creampie, Established Relationship, Cuckolding, handjob, Female Solo, Orgasm Denial, Hair-pulling, Nipple Play — ✧ word count: 6,910 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

He just wants to help Sebastian out. Yeah, that's it. It's got nothing to do with the fact that the thought of seeing you get ruined by his best friend gives him an instant hard on, enough to force him into fisting his cock every other day of the week. No, no, no. Also has nothing to do with the fact that Sam wants to selfishly pleasure Sebastian himself, bend him over as Sebastian is forced to fuck into you by the force of Sam's thrusts into his best friends surely tight hole.

Fuck, he's hard again.

The palm that's rested against his growing cock does little to relieve his frustration when the image of Sebastian's lewd face the other day pops up again, Sam accidently forgetting to knock before entering his friends room and catching him jacking it. Permanently ingrained in his brain. Nah, it's nothing so self involved like that. It's purely because he wants to help!

Right?

Sam lets out a defeated sigh, fingers running through his hair as he tries to shake the sinful thoughts off. He knows Sebastian has been a little wound up recently - something to do with his current work project - and that it's affecting his moods enough to also affect precious hang out time when he finally has days off. It was you who had picked up on it first, prompting Sam to ask about it. And though Sebastian was always one for denial Sam knew something had to be up by the increased sarcastic tone he had recently adopted. It was a difficult task gaining information from Sebastian and fraught with constant reassurance, but after some poking and prodding Sam finally got Sebastian to confess. And It's not that Sam didn't care for his best friends issues, but rather they just seemed so small in the grand scheme of things, you know? And he knew of Sebastian's tendency to make mountains out of molehills. It's what cemented this little idea of his, honestly. What would Sam do if he was worrying over the smallest things? Well, simply put, he'd fuck em out.

It helps that Sam knows of Sebastian's crush on you too.

It's been in his mind for a while, actually. From the beginning of your relationship with Sam he's thought about this little crush his friend has. Not in a worrying sense, no, he trusts both you and Sebastian enough to know nothing funny is going down. It's just always been at the back of his mind, masturbation material for when you're not around. It's also been a topic of conversation whispered about under bed sheets, the what if scenarios of including a third. Not necessarily Sebastian, but just to spice things up a bit. Sam couldn't help but smile upon hearing that you were receptive to the idea, eager to begin a conversation regarding boundaries and such. An opening, he thought. An opportunity to satiate this growing curiosity, and knowing that you also felt the same way was reassuring. Eased his anxious heart a little when you brought up Sebastian's name, because he surely wasn't imagining anyone else. "Anything you want!" He'd said at the time, forcing his mind to think of anything other than Sebastian. Shit, maybe he had a crush too?

And on the other hand, he knows of your attraction to his best friend too. Not enough to act on it without consent he's aware, but the little glint of curiosity in your eyes when you all play pool together, the genuine smile that tugs at your lips when hearing Sebastian laugh. He understands, for Sam is the exact same. Curious. Smiling. The stress Sebastian is currently under only provides a perfect opportunity to explore this shared interest.

This is how he decides to move forward with his idea. He takes the time to properly outline his thoughts with you, boundaries shared amongst each other and nervous giggles filling the room at the excitement of his proposition. He kisses you between laughs, hands against your cheeks to pull you closer. "Thank you." He smiles, heart eyes adoring from above at you, because he is. He loves you and is absolutely enamoured by the way you're so readily able to trust him with this thought, this inkling of curiosity. He's also thankful for how you match his energy, the conversation unravelling your own interest in Sebastian, how you'd be more than happy to help take care of your mutual friend so long as Sam is okay with it. He nods, peppering your cheeks with lots of little kisses as you fall back on the bed, his body following yours as he rests atop you.

"Tomorrow, okay?" He asks and shows his toothy grin when you nod back at him, playing with a few loose strands of his hair as he hovers above you. "Tomorrow." You repeat, matching his smile as the anxious excitement hangs in the air. Hearts hammering against each other.

It's with a little bit of luck and a lot of puppy eyes that Sam manages to drag Sebastian out of his self imposed cave, dragging the man away from his work shelter and into your farm home under the guise of "band practice". It was difficult for Sam to hide his excitement, and truth be told he's always been a bad liar, so he suspects Sebastian to know something is up. But he's thankful that his best friend doesn't mention it. That is until they both get to your front door.

"Isn't Abi coming?" Sebastian asks after a final drag of his cigarette, stubbing it out with his foot. It's a good question, seeing as she's a main component in their band. And Sam did say that they were practicing. But there's something about how nonchalant Sebastian is about the lack of Abigail, leaving it until the last moment before inquiring. As if he's known the whole time what's planned and it leaves Sam flustered.

"She uh..." Sam stutters, opening the front door to your shared home with a shaky hand. "Uh... No?"

He hadn't meant for it to come out with such a questioning tone, and when paired with his lopsided smile he for sure knows he's been caught now. Ears turn red as Sebastian stares him down, blank expression difficult for Sam to discern as he steps inside, allowing Sebastian to follow suit.

"Huh." Is all Seb offers in return, brow quirking in suspicion as he enters your home, hands immediately tucked away inside his hoodie pocket.

"Yeah. Anyway!" Sam all but yells, tries to gain control of the situation again, hand raising to his neck to rub at. An anxious quirk of his since childhood, one that when he picks up on it he's quick to throw his hand back to his side, laughing to draw attention away from his red cheeks. It's really happening, he thinks. Fuck, it's really happening.

He won't lie and say he's never imagined doing things with Sebastian before, the two of them always touchier than most but it was always explained away by them just being good friends. Sam was comfortable with how things were, the occasional hand holding and the late night bro talks they had shared through the years. But given how enthusiastic you seem to explore this shared intrigue has it all coming out again. His heart hesitates against his chest as Sebastian looks back at him in expectance, butterflies filling Sam's lungs at the relaxed demeanour of his best friend, though luckily it coaxes him into easing up a little himself.

"We should probably head to the bedroom, yeah?" Sam offers, and Sebastian doesn't reply. Waits for Sam to make the first move, quickly following suite as Sam enters said room. It's cute, Sam thinks. How Sebastian is always waiting for Sam, following him like a little lost puppy. It's how it's always been, and yet he wonders if Sebastian will do the same tonight. When his hands start to travel up his best friends waist. When he grabs at Sebastian's skin, pulls at his clothes to take em off and plays with his cute cock-

Patience. He repeats in his head. Hands itchy to start already, but he doesn't want to scare Sebastian off. Wants to involve you, too. Struggles to contain his excitement when thinking of Sebastian balls deep in you, present in the way he almost slams the bedroom door open.

When they enter you're sitting on your shared bed reading a book. Casual enough to not seem suspicious, but inviting enough to have them comfortable. Sam greets you brightly and you laugh a little at the crack in his voice, eager anxiety getting to him. Sebastian offers you a small nod, but you don't miss the faint blush on his cheeks. Probably from the short pyjama bottoms you've decided to wear. Or rather, that Sam encouraged you to put on. Matching tank top tight against your skin, left strap falling down your shoulder as you put the book to the side.

"Hello boys." You smile warmly, patting your bed sheets to invite them over.

Of course Sam moves first, but you put that down to Sebastian feeling like he's invading. Sam had... neglected to tell Seb that you'd cleared all plans today, and so he takes hold of his hand to pull him to the bed.

It's silent for a moment or two, and though Sam is unsure if it's awkward or not, the butterflies in his stomach force him into action, voice unstable despite his attempts to keep it levelled.

"So, how ya been Seb?" Couldn't have sounded more forced if he tried, internally cringing at his own words.

Sebastian scoffs in response, but theres a slight smile on his face, hands still nestled within his hoodie pockets when he crosses his legs to get comfortable.

"Sam, look. I know you're up to something." He admits, and Sam gulps, quickly glances your way but you only smile in return. It's a reassuring one, but it doesn't little to comfort him.

"This isn't band practice. You thought I'd need a break because I've been working so hard, so we're gonna play Solarian, right? If that's the case then we coulda played at my place, ya know?" Sebastian states proudly, looking Sam right in the eyes as if he'd worked it all out. It was cute, the little smirk Seb was wearing, the way he leaned forward as if pointing an accusative finger at the couple before him, the eyebrow raise at the end of his question. Sam couldn't help but laugh, loud and releasing all of his worries in an instant. At least he was half right.

Sebastian feigned upset at the sound but surprise was written all over his expression, wide eyed and opened mouthed. You wondered if he'd look the same in a matter of moments.

"Yeah yeah, somethin' like that." Sam acknowledges, shifting his weight closer to Sebastian as he talks. Sebastian flusters a little at the action, hands flying out his hoodie in an effort to brace himself from something, but he doesn't account for Sam's hands resting against his thighs, the blonde rubbing barely there circles over the cloth of his jeans.

"What do you mean?" Sebastian asks tentatively, gaze switching between both you and Sam as if to ask for permission. Surely this touch is too inappropriate to be shared among friends? Don't get him wrong, as much as it's a hard pill to swallow he likes it, but he feels as though he's in trouble. "What are you doing?" He prompts again when getting no response, body shaking a little under Sam's touch and your own glare back at him.

"Well," You offer him relief, voice smooth and soothing as someone finally replies to him. "We've been worrying that you're overworking yourself, Seb. You got that right." Sam continues to rub at his thigh as you speak to him, and Sebastian can't help the way his body heats up at this undivided attention. You were worrying about him? His throat feels dry at the thought. Sam, sure, Sam worries about him daily. But knowing that you also care for him causes his heart to skip a beat. "And so we thought you might need a little help with... de-stressing." You drawl the last word, shifting around yourself so that you're more comfortable on the bed. The new position you're in allows for Sebastian to see a little more of your ass thanks to the loose fitting shorts, his eyes drawing up your fame until noticing your perky nipples poking through your top. He's quick to avoid eye contact at the sight though, head also casted to the side as he clears his throat.

"What... What do you mean?" He asks again, even though somewhere deep down he thinks he knows the answer. The thought of what you might mean is something he's only ever fucked his fist to late at night, desperation coated fingers and some mashup of both yours and Sam's name on his lips. He likes you. Likes you and Sam, and the embarrassment that comes with being not only caught out for his attraction but also possibly having his dreams fulfilled is a little much for him to handle right now, mind focused solely on calming his cock down as it tries to spring to life.

Sam takes pity on him, the nervous fidget of his best friends fingers pulling on his heart strings. "Like this?" He questions, positioning himself behind Sebastian before cautiously placing his hands on his hips under his hoodie. Sebastian jolts in response, swallowing hard at the gentle touch as Sam leans his head forward, resting his chin on Sebastian's shoulders to look back at you. His hands are curious, light in their touch to allow Sebastian room to say no. But when no such words are uttered Sam braves a little further, travels his finger tips up and down Seb's warm to the touch skin, feels his best friend shiver against his chest.

You stay seated at the top of the bed, back pressed against the headboard as you open your legs ever so slightly, catching Sebastian's gaze at your clothed cunt as you do so. He tries to look away, really, he does, but his eyes are fixated on the small wet patch seen through your light coloured shorts, breath hitching as Sam takes hold of his hips, tugging gently at his skin in a playful asking of consent. Though, you're the one to verbalize it upon seeing the conflict in Sebastian's eyes, the reluctance to admit what he wants.

"Only if you want, that is."

Sebastian doesn't think he's nodded faster in his life, guilt pooling in his stomach at how easy he accepted his fate before quickly travelling to his cock. Eyes squeezed shut at the sound of Sam's giddy laughter. His heart yearns for more attention, cock hardening at his own admission of want. As if now that his dreams are true he's finally allowing himself to react. Humiliation coats his insides at just how needy he must seem, but the masochist inside of him loves the shame of it all. The attention from Sam pawing at his skin to you edging on playing with yourself at the sight. Was it always this hot in here?

"Don' worry, we'll take care of ya." Sam whispers in his ear, hot breath increasing Sebastian's sensitivity to the situation. Sebastian's chest feels tight, nervous hands twitching against his crotch when he doesn't know where to place them. Sam prompts him into action again, tugging at his hoodie and Sebastian is quick to raises his arms, becomes bashful at his exposed skin seeing as he hadn't worn a shirt underneath.

Sam immediately goes on the attack, rubbing at Sebastian's bare nipples as you watch from afar, content to see the boys play for a bit before you get in on the action. You'd confessed to Sam that the thought of watching them was just as hot as the thought of taking part, and so you're happy to see he's taken your words on board, both men getting a feel for each other before really taking things forward. And the look on Sebastian's red face when he struggles to contain his reactions, the growing tent hidden behind his jeans. It sends a shiver down your spine from how cute he is. You appreciate Sam in all his faux dominance, allow him to play the role in bed with you. But seeing him not only adopt that role with Sebastian, but seeing Seb fall apart in Sam's hands and become the submissive was so cute. No other word for it.

Sam pinches a few times, earning small gasps as thanks from Sebastian. Immediately Sam's cock throbs, his length quickly hardening knowing his actions are having an effect on his best friend. Seeing you enjoy yourself too, fingers toying with the wet fabric stuck to your cunt, going up and down your still clothed slit makes his brain short circuit a little. It at least allows himself to stop worrying, focus on making both you and Sebastian feel good despite the growing erection that's now pressing against Seb's back that's just begging for attention.

A small sigh and all eyes are quickly on you as you start to take your bottoms off, teasing the boys as you slowly pull them down, let them dangle on your legs for a second too long. Revel in the way Sebastian suits his shocked expression when he realises you don't have any underwear on, eyes glued to your cunt the moment you fully remove your shorts.

"She's cute, ain't she?" Sam eggs Sebastian on, whispering directly down his ear but loud enough for you to hear his praise too. Side eyes you with a huff of appreciation at the sight of your exposed cunt. He can hear Sebastian audibly swallow when he gets a glimpse of your wet cunt, feel the poor man tense up when Sam flicks against his nipples at the same time. To test the waters Sam brings one hand down, feather light touches all the way down Sebastian's abdomen, feels the way his muscles tighten at the touch until he's all the way down to his hard cock, the fabric of his jeans stretched from how hard he is. "And you." Sam mutters against him, the fact that he's barely touched Sebastian and he's already this hard goes straight to his own cock, precum leaking from the tip at how easy this all is. How horny he is, hips aching to rub against Sebastian's back for some kind of friction.

"Yeah..." Sebastian sounds like he's in a trance, eyes completely fixed on your cunt as you fully spread your legs for him, pulling your lips apart to play with the slick that's already accumulated there. He suddenly feels thirsty, tongue poking out to wet his lips from the mere sight of your cunt. The hand that suddenly rests on his neglected cock shocks him back to reality, body stiff in Sam's hold as his friend ghosts over his hard on, gripping lightly as if assessing the situation. The contact is more than enough to have Sebastian wanting more though, convincing him to step out of his otherwise shy disposition and into what he's only imagined before. "Cute." He rasps, precum marking his jeans when Sam squeezes a touch harder.

It comes out a little more confident than he'd tried, but it seems to have an affect on you nonetheless. The surprised look on your face suited you, Sebastian thought. Though as soon as he gets comfortable with teasing you, Sam reminds him of who's really in charge, fingers quickly unbuttoning and unzipping Sebastian's pants, digging under his underwear to grip at his naked cock. It winds him, honestly, makes him fall over himself from the tight hold Sam had of him. The fantasy come to life, only somehow better. The reality of the situation dawns on him and he whines, an almost inaudible sound but of course Sam picks up on it.

"Feelin' good?" He asks Sebastian, freeing his friends cock for easier access. He gets a quiet hum in return, Sebastian too busy looking at you casually playing with yourself to form a full reply, but it's enough for Sam.

You look at Sam and send him a playful wink, one that promises a good time. God you're so hot like this, he thinks. Showing off your pretty little cunt to his best friend, watching as he plays with said friends cock, thumb rubbing at the slit in an attempt to hear some more of those pretty sounds Sebastian seems to be trying to hold back. "S'fucking hot..." he mutters against Sebastian's neck, placing a chaste kiss to the sensitive skin and grinning when it causes Sebastian's hips to jerk. He's not sure who it's aimed it, brain fuzzy from lust, but he figures it applies regardless.

"So- Sorry." Sebastian murmurs, embarrassment present in the way he tries to hide behind his hands, but Sam coo's back at him. Peels away his hands and forces Sebastian to look back at you, just in time to see you insert your first finger, watching as your mouth parts at the sensation, how your hips wiggle against the intrusion. "Look at 'er when I jack ya, yeah?" Sam suggests, but there's something in the way it's said that has Sebastian thinking of it more like a demand. One that he's happy to comply with.

The sounds of your wet cunt fill the room, unused hand keeping your cunt spread for Sebastian's viewing pleasure. And just as promised, Sam gets back to tending to Sebastian's cock, hot length trembling under the care. Sam keeps an eye on you as he toys with Sebastian, pussy drunk brain craving a taste, but he's brought back to Sebastian by the way he places his own hand over Sam's. "Please-" Sebastian gasps, attempting to move both hands down his length. "Sam, please-"

"Yeah, yeah. Needy boy aren'tcha?" He taunts, quickening the pace of his wrist, flicking at the end to tease Sebastian's leaking tip, smearing precum all over his fist. The fruits of his labour are almost instantaneous, Sebastian throwing his head back at the rough texture of Sam's guitar hands, the once imagined sensation now real in all its intensity. Has Sebastian salivating, not just from the grip Sam has of his cock, the too easy glide of his hand up and down his length as if he's done this before, but the sight of you masturbating to him getting off at the hands of your husband. It's so good, so so good that even now it's almost unbearable. Sebastian's balls already drawing in as a plea for release, cock jerking in Sam's hands when Sam only speeds up, fisting his cock so well, allowing Sebastian to fuck up into his hand over and over again.

You insert another finger, watching carefully as Sam licks a strip up Sebastian's neck, all the way up to his jawline. Watch the way Sebastian can't contain himself, how his chest heaves and cock jumps, the weight of his balls and how you can only imagine how hard Sam must be. It's just as hot as you'd imagined, the two of them panting over each other, Sebastian falling against Sam and writhing in his hold. You curl your fingers inside, rubbing circles on your clit as you allow a few moans of your own out, the two men snapping their attention back to you and you roll your eyes. Being watched felt so intoxicatingly good, shivers of pleasure making way to your core as you bite your lip. "Fuck." You breathe when Sebastian encloses a hand around Sam's wrist, the pitched whines that match Sam's movements are so so cute. You'd like to hear more, you'd like to be the one causing more.

"Sam-" Sebastian warns, mouth open and brows furrowed as he tries his best to hold off on his creeping orgasm, though you sure as Hell are making it difficult for him. You're so teasing, so perfectly sweet as you touch yourself, the innocence dripping your lewd actions is confusing, but it makes him harder nonetheless. Makes him want to prove his worth to you, fuck the smirk off your face. He's not came this close to cumming this fast in a long time, and you're part thanks for that. And then Sam, the way he so easily takes the lead away from him, how Sebastian is naturally drawn to follow. Doesn't know where to look, how to act, and for as overwhelming as it feels he can't deny the way his cock jerks when you moan as you pleasure yourself, or when Sam grunts when Sebastian's squirming adds just that little amount of pressure to his cock. "Close-" He practically begs, though he's not sure what for. Because as much as he'd love to cum right now, cock milked so perfectly well he thinks Sam was meant to fist his cock, and the pleasure of seeing you enjoy yourself, oh God how he wants more. Even if it hurts, even if it leaves him unsatisfied for now, he wants more.

And Sam picks up on it. Course he does. Stops his wrist the moment the words exit Sebastian's lips. And even though it's what Sebastian wanted, he's still whining at the loss of contact, the edging feeling particularly bad given how you continue to finger yourself in front of him. You're so wet, the lewd squelch of your cunt is something Sebastian could cum from right now, but Sam holds the base of his cock for him, takes hold of his jaw to make sure his eyes remain on you.

"Jus' a lil longer." Sam promises, and God he hopes he's right. Not sure how much longer he can hold off himself, cock tip red and angry from neglect. He'd like to think of himself as a patient man, but he knows that's nothing more than a facade. He needs to fuck right now, not caring for whether that was you or Sebastian, but he has an idea of your preference. The thought alone teasing him enough to make him hum in frustration, face contorted in concentration as he watches you edge closer to your own end. He's never been this needy before, all blushed and wet before even being touched himself.

Being the centre of attention is fun. You feel beyond exposed when both men stare you down, desperation, though different, present in their features. Sebastian looks obscene, grabby hands itching to touch any part of you as you continue to finger yourself, scissoring and poking at the spongy nub that you know will secure your end. Sam on the other hand looks dissatisfied, but masochistically enjoying himself regardless. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he watches you get closer, and closer, the circles drawn on your clit getting faster, and faster. You don't think you've felt this good before, and knowing that both Sam and Sebastian are waiting for you to get off first is enough to have you cumming before them, back arching and head thrown back as you moan out loud and clear for them as a reward, making a show of how wet they've made you as thanks.

"Wow.." Sebastian croaks out, throat far too raw from the moans Sam pulled from it. You take a peek at them as you calm down, drink in the way Sam looks at you with dark eyes, curse under your breath when you catch a glimpse of Sebastian's leaky cock, the way it jumps at your meager attention.

Sam is the first to make a move, removing himself from Sebastian's back to lightly push the man forward. Knows he's being impatient, but he's been deprived for long enough. "Gon then, Sebby. She's all yours." He drawls, devious smirk sent your way as you shift a little closer to Sebastian, laying down on your back before him. Your movements are a little shaky, impaired by your orgasm and Sam rather than helping opts to coo at your wobbly state as he busies himself elsewhere.

The room is far too hot, Sebastian thinks. Or maybe it's just him, lust fuelling his next actions as he scrambles to get next to you, swallowing hard from the way your hair sticks to your face, how your eyes look ever so slightly gazed, and of course, how your cute cunt clenches around nothing in expectation. You rile him up so much it should be illegal. All indecent and laid out for him like this, God, he could cum on the spot. And when he accidently climbs a little to close to you, cock head accidently brushing against your wet hole, he almost does cum right then and there, sensitive tip feeling so deliciously abused from Sam's denial earlier.

He's not aware of what Sam's doing, far too focused on lining his own cock up to your entrance to be aware of anything else right now. He watches you as he takes grab of your thighs, pushing them apart to allow himself easier access. And you're so soft that it makes him a little dizzy, wonders how soft you'll be when he finally puts his cock in. "Seb, c'mere." You whisper to bring him out his own thoughts, humiliation present on his face when he realises he's just been staring at your cunt this whole time, cock in hand.

When you reach up for him he eagerly lowers to your level, allows you to take hold of his cheeks before you pull him closer to your face. He should know what's going on but man is so lost in how slippery your cunt feels that it catches him off guard when you press your lips against his, instantly swiping your tongue against him. He gives the moment you bite at his lower lip, hot and heavy breaths shared among friends when you lick at the inside of his mouth. You taste so good. So good that he can't help but jerk himself off as you lead the kiss, hips jolting forward and humping against your clit every time you let a small sigh escape.

It's an accident when his tip catches against your hole, but it's probably the best mistake he's ever made. His whine matches your own at the intrusion, your previous orgasm working wonders on allowing him to slip further in, his stuttering hips struggling to find a proper pace to enter without causing harm but you don't seem to mind. Not with the way your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp when he enters inch by inch, his own mouth zipped in a tight line, eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of your hot walls fluttering against him as you attempt to accommodate his length.

"Fuck..." He hears you moan and it's the hottest thing he's ever heard. He really wishes he could give you some feedback too, tell you just how in love he is with your tight hole, how this is so much better than what he's imagined on lonely nights, how he's so thankful for you letting him use your body, even if only for a night. But you have him all choked up and gasping, head hung low in determination to not cum yet, pushing in tiny bursts before his hips rest against your ass.

He wishes that he can allow you a second breather to get properly adjusted. Hell, even so he can get used to the tight squeeze of your cunt, but his legs shake in anticipation, heart racing from just how well you wrap around his cock, hips needy to get moving already. So he's babbling sorries when his cock controls his brain at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, when his hips almost instantly begin hammering into you the moment he's flush against your thighs. You keen into him and arch your back, Sebastian tugging and pawing at your top as he struggles to manoeuvre it up and over your tits, body jerking forward with each of his thrusts. Though, when he finally gets your tits free he's latching on to them like a puppy, licking and sucking to his hearts content as he bullies his cock into you over and over again, lungs heaving in their attempt to catch up to his fast fucks.

"Easy tiger." Same laughs behind you both, but it does little in slowing Sebastian down. You feel too good, you don't want him to stop, right? Want him to keep fucking into your tiny cunt, fill you right up- Yeah, especially when your hole refuses to let him out like that, all snug and tight. God how he wants to cum so deep inside you so bad. He's panting, struggling to breathe under the sound of your appreciation, the whiney little moans and almost cries of his name. Can't think of anything other than how good you're making him feel. How tight your cunt chokes his cock.

"Oi, 'said 't slow down, Seb." Sam reprimands, tone stern though not angry. The command sends a shiver down Sebastian's spine, cock twitching at the want to abide. Sam grips at his hair too, hauling him off your tit with a wet pop, the action driving Sebastian into your cunt harder, moaning into the room from the rough tug.

It's hard to stop when you're silently pleading up at Sebastian with those big wet eyes of yours, closed mouthed whines for him to disobey, but it's made easier when Sam grabs at Sebastian's hips, forcefully making him come to a halt.

"What s'it?" Sebastian asks, accent poking through all breathless and shaky. Sam shushes him from behind, the bed dipping as he moves around to get into position.

"Wan' in on the fun s'all." Sam replies, and the shock of cold as Sam presses a lubed up finger to Sebastian's hole jolts him into unintentionally fucking into you again. Just once, only twice. You clench around his cock and he stares down at you, telling you off with a look that's quickly wiped off his face when the lubed up finger enters his hole, the sensation not new by any means, and yet new all the same. He's played with toys before sure, but never once has Sam taken place behind him like this.

"Yer 's tight, Seb. Keep movin', yeah?" Sam gasps, letting his grip on Sebastian falter enough to let him move, yet still keep him in place enough to scissor inside, loosen him up in preparation for his cock. Sam wishes he could contain himself, but he's too giddy, so worked up watching Sebastian fall apart before even entering your cunt. And oh does Sam know how good of a fuck you are, tightest cunt he's ever had. Happy to share you with Sebastian, even if only to show off.

"Doin' s'good." Sam insisted, intending it for both you and Seb at the sounds you're both letting out. He listens as Sebastian whimpers when he fucks another finger into his ass, stretching his hole perhaps a little more than is necessary, but he can't help it. He's enjoying himself. Hears your soft mumbles too, little moans escaping at Sebastian's attempt to keep fucking you.

"Sam-" Sebastian breaths, hips rocking back into Sam just as much as they rock into you. It's signal enough that Sebastian is ready and so Sam removes his fingers, grabs a hold of his cock and very slowly pushes into Sebastian, and in the process, pushes Sebastian further into you again.

He's tight, much too tight for Sam's resolve. Between teasing Sebastian earlier and watching you come undone on behalf of his best friend he's been at his limit for a while now. The straw that broke his back was hearing you call his name in-between drawn out moans as Sebastian slowly rolled into you again, the way you look up at him despite another man's cock currently buried deep inside of you. Sets something primal off in him, and after a brief apology he's starting a quickened pace.

It leaves Sebastian wrecked, practically collapsing on top of you as Sam fucks his ass. The grip Sam has on his hips is rough, pulling Sebastian back to meet his unfair thrusts and shoving him forward into your welcoming cunt every time he re-enters. You wrap your arms around Sebastian, grabbing a fistful of his hair to ground yourself but it only really turns him on more.

"Fuck, Seb, baby-" Sam groans, uncertain voice matching his shifting eyes as he can't settle on where to look, who to listen to. All he knows is that he's never been this hard before, Sebastian's slicked up hole sucking him in as if begging for more, and by the sounds of Sebastian you're doing the exact same to him.

It's embarrassing the way Sebastian can't form any coherent words, the most he's able to get out are curses against your sweaty skin. The sound of skin on skin drowns him out for the most part, but he babbles nonetheless. Literally fucked dumb, fucking you dumb. His hips try to regain control of their thrusts, attempt to fuck into you with much more precision than he's giving at the moment but Sam slams into him when noticing his attempt. Cocky laughter filling the room in response. "Be a good boy, eh?" He teases, voice rough as he focuses on each thrust.

You're not faring much better either, the way Sebastian is now positioned gives you extra relief to your clit and you wail against him, watching the way your husband stares down and stretches Sebastian's cheeks apart so see his cock disappear. You try to snap your hips up to match Sebastian but he's too sloppy, so messy with the way he tries to keep you satisfied and it's so endearingly erotic. It's not the most skilful, but the coil in your stomach tightens with each gasp he lets out, each pitiful plunge of his cock.

You tug on Sebastian's hair and he lets out the most sinful sound you've ever heard, a quick glance at Sam and he seems surprised too, the shock on his face and the falter in his thrusts evident of the effect it has on him. "Shit, Seb-" He's trying to ask a question, inquire as to if he's okay, but is cut off by Sebastian's frantic moans in reply, high strung voice muttering strings of "Close!", "Feel s'good!" "Don' stop!" and it's the slurred speech that gets to you and Sam both, you joining in with Sebastian's incessant cries with your own begs for release.

"Please, Sam. Fucking us s'well-" You manage to utter, nails dragging down Sebastian's back as you get closer to the edge for a second time that night.

Above you both Sam grits his teeth, jaw tight as he focuses his thrusts to be more powerful than before, grabbing at Sebastian's ass and hunching over him, chest pressed tightly against back and in turn squishing Sebastian against yourself. It's so sticky, so hot and wet and Sam doesn't know how to stop, hips acting on their own accord as he relentlessly ruts into Sebastian. He's unable to warn when he finally releases inside of his tight hole with a low growl, one of claiming.

It's not his fault, really. What else is to be expected of him when Sebastian's needy hole is begging for cum, when you're crying out for him so prettily like that. He doesn't stop fucking as he's cumming, cock greedy in it's want to mark, to breed Sebastian right in front of you. It seems his own orgasm triggered Sebastian to finally cum too, the feeling of being filled up more than he's ever been before too much for him to handle. The tight clutch of your cunt as you convulse around him with your own high. You're both so loud compared to Sam. He wonders if the whole town can hear how good you feel, slutty sounds coming from two bred sluts. Sebastian is mortified at the thought of cumming inside you, but it only draws more and more cum out of him, milking himself dry as he's forced to fuck his cum deeper into you, tip brushing against your cervix from the sheer strength of Sam's thrusts. The intensity of it all leaves you breathless, the weight of two men on top of you growing increasingly burdensome as you come down, body tired from how hard both men fucked.

You cough but both Sam and Sebastian are dazed, glassy eyes behind hooded lids as you try to get their attention but fail, Sebastian falling against you in exhaustion and Sam dog piling on top, hard breaths being the only thing heard between the minimal space of bodies pressed together.

Taking it as a sign of things going well you opt to stay like that for now. And, given how tonight went, you wonder if Sebastian would be up for it again. The small whimper he lets out as you unintentionally clench around him makes you think that yes, he probably will. And the sneaky smirk Sam sends your way lets you know that yes, you probably will.

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sam smut #stardew valley sam smut #sdv seb smut #stardew valley seb smut #sdv sebastian smut #stardew valley sebastian smut #sebby🐸#sam🛹

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itsbubbleteataro · 4 months

Text

Radio Host and The Reporter

1928 - summer

You and Alastor had been going steady for a few years now, still keeping your little escapades a secret, not wanting your boe to alert your father. Tonight was a special night, Alastor having planned a little picnic for the two of you. Currently you are fixing your hair after getting yourself all prettied up, awaiting a knock on your door from a certain curly haired radio host.

It was not long at all before your little wish was granted. You slipped on some kitten heels and answered the door with a smile. Alastor gave a flourish of a bow, before pulling out a bouquet of flowers.

“My lady you look positively swell on this evening”

“Oh Al! You didn’t have too!”

“Oh but I wanted to,” Alastor stuck his arm out for you. Before you took his arm, you went ahead and slipped one of the fur coats he had gifted you as the night air was chilly. You took his arm walking with him as he led you down the street and towards his cabin on the edge of the bayou. He led you in towards a spot he had set up in preparation for this evening. Candles outlined a plaid blanket with a basket containing all kinds of food. Tonight he was going to do something he never thought he would ever do, propose. His mother was right, this was the woman of his dreams and he intended to make his dreams a reality just as he had done with his radio show.

The two of you snuggled up, starting to enjoy the jambalaya he had made after his long day at work. The two of you were too focused on each other to notice a rustling in the bushes. Alastor turned away, reaching into the basket for something when a shot rang through the night. Alastor’s eyes shot to yours, who were blown wide. You gasped, coughing up some blood, before slumping forwards into Alastor who quickly wrapped his arms around you. He felt helpless, he could not stop the bleeding, the bullet lodged in your lungs making breathing incredibly difficult.

Coughing up blood was not a good sign either. The amount of blood you had lost made it difficult for you to even see straight, your vision swimming as you looked at your man. Seeing the horrified look on his face, you forced a smile to your face. You knew you did not have long, but wanted his last image of you to be of you smiling. He did say you were never fully dressed without a smile.

Alastor was horrified as you finally slumped over in his arms, your blood staining the white of his dress shirt, your breathing coming to an end as your soul plummeted straight down to hell. He saw red, eyes finally locating the hunter who had done you in. He laid you down on the blanket gently, placing the ring he had fully intended on giving you on your ring finger, the fine jewels reflecting the soft jewels embedded in the ring.

He was seeing red, eyes settling on the hunter. He again reached into the basket and pulled out his hunting knife, the game a foot. He laid low, moving like a shadow, before tackling the hunter. He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, tears pouring out of his eyes as the hunters blood bubbled to the surface, guttural groans and bubbling sounds the only thing heard aside from Alastor’s last guttural scream. One last stab to the throat later, his blade still plunged in the body he let his shoulders drop. The smile, twisted and cruel on his face as tears streamed down his face. He broke down, breaking mentally. The one person aside from his mother that he cared about, dare say loved, lay dead mear meters away from him.

Panting he sat back on his heels, mind spinning with what to do, settling on the ever unsettling idea of murder.

1930 - Summer

Alastor hummed as he sharpened his knife. Around his neck on a thin golden chain, was the other half of the set of rings he wanted to propose to you with, keeping a part of you wherever he went. It had been two years since you departed from this world, he had learned to cope in his own strange way. He had yet to go through your stuff despite his coworkers suggestions too. He was in your home currently, keeping the property just as it was the day he picked you up for the faithful date. The one room he could not let himself go into was your room.

He placed down the knife, starting to get curious as he recalled how you never did let him into your room. Surely he could just open the door and keep everything undisturbed? And so he did. He grasped the brass handle and opened the door, eyes landing on the type writer you were always so fond of. What really caught his eye however, was the writings on the page. He read the headline, talking about some serial killer. He could not figure out the emotion he felt, being the very person you were writing about in your articles. He simply could not believe his eyes as he started to look deeper into your drawers, finding out that you were in fact, the very same pesky reporter that always seemed just on his trail, yet never finding out his identity. Alastor was proud of you, for being undetected even by him, yet he was upset, you had been placing yourself in danger just to solve the silly little mystery.

Sighing he placed everything back where it was, looking around. The room smelled like you, everything just reminded him of you. He left the room, hand holding the ring around his neck as he closed the door behind him.

1933 - Spring

Alastor cocked the shotgun in his hands, a twisted smile on his face as he followed a trail of blood. He chuckled darkly, his curly hair clinging to his forehead thanks to the humidity of the bayou. He found his victim, panicking, clutching his side, pleading for his life. Alastor aimed the barrel at the man's head and pulled the trigger. Blood, brain matter and skull fragments painting the green earth in a gory display. Alastor stuck his finger in the man’s blood and brought it to his lips. He grimaced at the taste, much too sour for his liking. Al picked the body up and flung it over his shoulders. He ventured deeper into the bayou, throwing the headless body down and picking up his shovel. He heard barking in the distance, choosing to ignore it as he started to dig a hole for the body.

He felt something off and looked up and into the forest, seeing the glare of a gun barrel off the moonlight. A shot rang out, hitting him between the eyes. He fell backwards, feeling his life start to leave him. His life started flashing before his eyes before more pain started to shoot through his body. His eyes looked around desperately, spotting the dogs he had taken note of earlier now tearing his body apart. White hot searing pain filled his senses, soon enough, he felt his soul plummet down to hell.

#x reader #(y/n)#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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I recently finished reading your book Unlearning Shame, and I absolutely loved it. I found the conceptual framework of Internalized Shame and your techniques for it so very helpful, especially when most ideas of mental health (anxiety and depression, trauma, etc.) have seemed insufficient and useless to me.

However, there was one thing that kind of bugged me the whole way through reading it. Your primary focus was the shame people face as part of marginalization, but often, this too felt insufficient for me. Like, I do face a lot of this flavor of shame: I'm an autistic trans woman, feeling like I'm cringey or childish or creepy or obscene or whatever are things that bug me daily, and restrict a lot of my freedom.

However, a lot of the shame I deal with stems from some kind of awful things I've done in the past, and this is perhaps the loneliest and most difficult kind of shame I deal with. To be fair, I think a lot of this has been very closely linked to my marginalization: people would interpret genuine mistakes of mine as signs I was some awful, manipulative predator, and quickly oust me from their friend groups as a result. If I had been an allistic cis man I would have faced far gentler behavior, or at least far more people would have justified the shit I did.

Regardless, very little in the book dealt with shame tied to guilt and wrongdoing. I remember there was mostly just this one tantalizing line about how even previous members of neonazi groups can benefit from speaking shame, but other than that, I didn't see much.

So my question here is, do you know how to deal with the shame of doing something really bad, and facing the consequences?

Thank you for asking, I'm glad you liked the book!

There are answers for you throughout the book, I think. Arguably, many of the examples of shame I outline involve feeling regret or shame over one's actions. People who do not recycle "enough" and feel profound shame and anxiety about it are people who have done something "wrong," in their minds. So are people who have repeated internalized transphobic/racist/fatphobic/etc messages to other people who share the same identities as them. These people's actions are systemically caused, and they are suffering from those same systemic forces that provoked them to take actions they feel bad about.

You aren't any more morally culpable than any of them, and you aren't qualitatively different from them -- even if you are likely telling yourself that what you did is so much "worse" and so much less justified.

You can find much of the advice that I apply to people who feel ashamed about an experience (a rape survivor, say), apply equally to you as someone who might have done something you view as "wrong." You can also look to the material in chapters 7 and 8 about finding grace and perspective for others who have done wrong to us, and apply much of that yourself. A person must be held in community before they can be held accountable, for example. Understanding the circumstances that contributed to your behavior is important, which it sounds like you've already done some work on, as is contemplating the needs you were attempting to meet with your actions, and the social supports you currently still need in order to move forward.

If someone has taken actions that go against even their own morals and they feel profoundly ashamed about it, I'd say they are generally still in a state of far-reaching systemic shame that goes far deeper and requires far more healing and support than just addressing the morality of their own actions. There's usually a lot of shame about one's identities, deprivation one is facing, fears of abandonment and attachment insecurities, and other major issues going on. Because a person wouldn't just violate their own moral precepts for no good reason.

No one wants to feel that they are a horrible person according to their own personal standards of goodness. A person's actions always make sense within their own context, and so when someone does something "wrong," either they have done something that they do not actually believe to be wrong, but fear societal judgement for, or they have been pushed to the brink by extreme distress, deprivation, abuse, indoctrination, political repression, exclusion, or likely a combination of those things.

I hope this is making sense. If you feel ashamed of something you have done, you need the exact same healing, safe vulnerability, social support, and trust as someone who is ashamed about something over which they have no control. There is no difference, you are no more deserving of that shame, and shame still will not prevent you from changing your behavior for the better. You can believe wholly that your actions in the past were wrong, and uphold your current values in the present, without deserving to feel any more shame about it.

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beefrobeefcal · 11 months

Note

you are dieter’s new personal chef and you’re supposed to be responsible for making sure he eats fairly well just to maintain his current weight while he shoots a movie… but you can’t help how much you like it when you make him something particularly indulgent and he melts at the taste of your food, spewing compliments left and right and a couple of flirts here and there too 🤭

To Nonnie Love Beefro

A LONG TIME COMING, BUT HE'S HERE NONNIE! And I hope he lives up to the hype.

I-just-want-to-thank-you-sweet-baby-for-getting-me-through regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Dieter One Shot

Please welcome Dieter Bravo to Beefro's Bistro!

a 'Dieter Bravo & Cookie' One Shot: Contract Conundrum

Pairing: Dieter Bravox F!Reader

Summary: You're hired to get Dieter ready for a heavyweight role.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 4,274

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, mention of porn, loads of dirty talk, table top sex

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I know.. I KNOW. Between sinus infections depression and house guests, Dieter took the brunt of my willy-nilly gumption. I'm sorry, my babies... I hope he lives up to the hype and you're left sated.

Major thanks to @neverwheremoonchild for beta-ing the hell out of this for me, and to @theywhowriteandknowthings + @rebel-held for being champions!

--------<3----------

Generally, when you are hired for a new job as a private chef, it’s to help your client lose weight or introduce a new lifestyle – like veganism – to their household. But this was new; Dieter Bravo needed to gain weight for a role, and you were the one hired to help him do it.

Before you had even been introduced to him, you were handed an NDA by his manager along with the contract and the job requirements. Outlined in both were the meal plans, expectations, conduct, and specifically the amount he had to gain and time frame in which you had to help his achieve this. You sat across from his manager, Dan, while you read through the documents.

“If you have any questions…”, Dan started, voice pleasant but sounding like he really didn’t want you to ask him anything.

You looked up from the paperwork and nodded politely, then your eyes went back down. You noted under Requirements, it stated that you would be living on site with Dieter, and you would not be compensated for any adult activities you chose to engage in, nor would you receive any additional compensation for anything produced because of them. You had a good idea what that meant and any confusion as to why it was written in your contract evaporated when you remembered who you would be working for.

Dieter Bravo had a reputation based on rumours, and this contract just confirmed them all to be true. You smiled to yourself as you finished reading the documents. You picked up the pen and signed your future for the next year on the last page.

*****

You had a finite time to get Dieter heavier, and he was making it difficult. You were just over a week in, and his picky eating habits were hampering your efforts to do your job. He’d told you he liked fancy food, but everything that you made him had come back to the kitchen barely touched, and he’d refused, like a spoiled child, to tell you what he actually wanted.

According to his assistant, Frank, Dieter took this movie role for a paycheque and sighed the contract before being told he’d have to gain weight for it. His vanity had come into play, but the amount he would have to pay to get out of the contract was ridiculously high. After tantrums and screaming matches with Dan, his manager, Dieter finally agreed to do the role, but he wanted a private chef.

“He swore me to secrecy.”, Frank whispered to you in the kitchen. He took a look at the door then turned back to you. “Don’t tell him you heard this from me, but he’s a classic stoner… grilled cheese, burgers, pizza… y’know?”

You gave Frank a grin and motioned your lips being sealed. “I heard nothing. You were never here. I just happened to take a chance and hit the jackpot.”

That evening, Dieter wandered down to the kitchen to rebuke whatever five-star dining experience you’d conjured up.

“Hello, Mr. Bravo. Dinner will be served in just a few minutes.”, you said, looking up and smiling at him.

“Evening, Cookie....” He gave a half-hearted smile back as he went to the dining room and plunked down at the table. His grey t-shirt and black sweatpants had seen better days, and he fished a joint out of one of his pockets, lighting it up and taking a few drags.

You walked in, pushing a cart with a personal pepperoni pizza and garlic bread sticks on it.

“What in the fuck?!”, Dieter coughed as he blew out the smoke, his eyes wide.

“I’m… sorry, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked, placing the food onto the table.

“What… what’s this?!” , he asked, waving his hands at the pizza. “Cookie, where’s the… th-the fancy shit?!”

“Do you not want pizza, sir?” You were playing dumb and thankfully he was too flabbergasted to notice.

“Of course, I want fucking pizza!”, he yelled angrily. “That’s not the fucking point!”

He stared at you, chest and shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. You stared right back, beginning to question if taking Frank’s advice was a good idea… or even if it was good advice.

He slowly brought the joint back to his mouth and took a puff, holding your stare. You waited for him to throw you out of the house or berate you. Instead, he blew the smoke out of his nose and said in a sinister growl, “This better be the best goddamned pizza I’ve ever had.”

Apparently, it was the best goddamned pizza because he ate the entire thing. You attributed his appetite that night to the amount of weed he had in his system.

*****

This became the new routine: each night, you would make another one of his favourites for dinner and he would behave appallingly, then eat the whole thing. You were amused by his show each night, and he really wasn’t rude or mean to you, he was just loud with a lot of swearing, that was followed by him cleaning his plate.

It didn’t take long for this routine to start to make an impact on him. While he wore loose fitting clothing, after a few months of him indulging in your cooking, the softer jawline under his scruffy beard and the belly that would pop out firm under his shirt on occasion told you that you were doing your job well.

Over the next few weeks, he seemed to become more appreciative of the effort you put into the food you made. Dieter would often come into the kitchen while you were prepping for the meal and watch, commenting on how you were creating art for him to consume and how that was the perfect metaphor for a capitalistic society. While you appreciated his enthusiasm, you could not help but roll your eyes when he went on rants, waving his arms around, yelling about how life is fleeting, and art is forever or some other bullshit. Despite this, it was endearing how passionate he was, even if you had no idea what he was talking about.

As you spent more time with him, however, he started to make little passes at you that you would ignore and take in good humor, playing innocent to his flirting. It wasn’t anything serious or off putting at first; he would comment on how nice your outfit was or asking what you were doing after you were done your shift with an eyebrow wiggle. As of late, though, the harmless flirting and compliments started to become a little more aggressive. He was far more overt with his eyes washing over you and his hands finding their way to touch you, and he would ask you to sit with him while he ate. He eventually started asking you what you would do if he didn’t finish his dinner or if he was good and ate it all up, what reward he would get. It was definitely weird to begin with, but you came to accept it as part of working for eccentric artist who paid you very, very well.

You weren’t one to dip your pen in the company ink and breaking that rule for none other than Dieter Bravo seemed a little too cliché for you.

*****

“What’s on the menu?”, he called out from down the hallway as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Mr. Bravo.”, you responded casually, not looking up from the pasta sauce you stirred on the stove top.

“Gonna be enough?”, he asked with his hands in his pockets, watching you from over his sunglasses with a wide grin.

Looking up, you gave him a questioning look. “Mr. Bravo?”

His face looked over you as his tongue darted out quickly. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “You heard me, Cookie.”

You hummed with a slight eye roll and nodded, then went back to the pot on the stove. This was obviously not the reaction he wanted because he came around the kitchen counter and stood next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“You ready to feed me?”, Dieter stated in a low, almost sultry voice, bringing his hand up to your lower back.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Bravo.”, you nodded again, trying to ignore his tone and touch, eyes down on the pot of pasta sauce you were stirring.

He huffed a laugh and moved behind you, nudging his nose against your neck, his hands gently holding your shoulder.

You shrugged his hands off you and turned around. You were not in the mood for him being so overt.

“Mr. Bravo – behave!”, you snapped, pointing the mixing spoon from the sauce at him.

Dieter grinned at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

“If I behave, do I get a reward, Cookie?”, he crooned with a flicker in his eyes.

You stared at him, trying to find words to tell him off, but the lookhe gave you had you feeling weak in the knees. You clenched your jaw – and thighs – and turned back to the stove top.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, Mr. Bravo.” Your voice cracked, unintentionally letting him know he’d broken through the first layer.

*****

Prior to Dieter finding you in the kitchen, he’d been upstairs in his room, looking at porn and lazily stroking himself. Despite the debauchery on his laptop, his mind wandered to you downstairs. He thought about you often, enjoying the way you squirmed and flushed when he teased you and how you politely listened to his ramblings about ‘true art’ and the way your eyes would drift over his body, landing on his now fuller middle. He smiled to himself and looked down at his bare stomach. His smile fell a bit, noting that his decadence was really starting to show, and a pang of insecurity washed over him. He’d seen the recent papshots of himself, round belly protruding as he left a restaurant completely stuffed along with the heading ‘Dad-Bod Bravo Almost Unrecognizable!’ along with the numerous comments that he’d come to expect, critiquing his physique to cruelly mocking him. His dick went limp at the thought of it all.

He turned off the grainy video of a 65+ orgy that was on his screen and searched for those papshots again. If he wasn’t going to get off, he was going to punish himself. He clicked on the link to a gossip site and sighed, scrolling and rereading the comments until one made him almost choke on his own spit.

‘DIETER BABY YOU EATIN WELL. LOVE THIS FOR YOU.’

His eyes went wide, reading and rereading the comment, looking for any sign that this was a joke. He clicked on the comment, opening up the thread of responses, all of them being along the same line.

‘i want to feed him while we cockwarm’

‘CANT EVEN AT HOW FUCKIN GOOD HE LOOKS LIKE THIS’

‘Is it wrong to admit that seeing bravo with a big belly has awoken something in me?’

‘HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE HAD TO PACK AWAY TO GET HERE? COS HE DIDNT LOOK LIKE THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK BB DIETER.’

He stared at his screen, shocked. The final comment made his dick at once stand at attention:

‘who’s the lucky bitch getting to stuff our husband’s tummy? think they know how fucking blessed they are?’

*****

Dieter sat at the dining room table and watched as you plated the spaghetti for him with a wry grin, giving you a wink when you looked at him. Frank, his assistant, had warned that Dieter was a kinky bastard who liked to set up scenarios in his head then execute them with most being none the wiser until it was too late. When you asked him to elaborate, he just gave a sympathetic shrug and said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

You were pretty sure you were seeing it now. Fuck.

“Sit with me, Cookie?”, he cooed with his head tilted.

You shook your head. “I need to clean up, Mr. Bravo.”

He pouted. “Please? I’ll be good…”

You sighed and moved to sit down in the chair across from him.

“Closer.” His tone was low. “Please.”

You sighed and pulled out the chair next to him; as soon as you sat down, he reached for the leg of the chair and pulled it right next to him, your legs touching.

The heat that had been building up under your skin all evening felt like it was going to burst as the hand that pulled your chair was now on your thigh, fingers softly touching and gently lifting your skirt higher. His nose nuzzled your ear as he mouthed kisses to your neck.

“So soft, Cookie… maybe you have a treat for me if I’m a good boy… if I fit every fucking bit of this in my gut, you’ll let me eat you raw…”

Every nerve ending in your body screamed at once, and the goosebumps that erupted made your skin feel electric under his lips. Despite this, you still tried to move away from him, not wanting to cross that line. You stood up and stood with your chair between you and him.

He didn’t stop you. And when you looked back at him, he didn’t look disappointed - he looked… encouraged?!?

“Cookie… nothing is sexier than consent.”, he growled with a lupine grin, picking up his fork. “But I don’t think you really wanna stop… just want a different position, huh baby?”

He twirled the fork in his pasta and stabbed the meatball, then shoved the whole forkful into his mouth. With wide eyes, you watched him; your mouth went dry as you tried to swallow, and your panties got wet as you crushed your thighs together.

As a chef, one of the great joys was seeing people enjoy your work, but this was on a wholly different level. Dieter was commanding you with just his intense gaze to watch him devour the meal you prepared him, and you couldn’t look away. You were now fully engaged in his scenario, yet you weren’t tethered or being held in place – it was just the magnetic pull of him eating your food that kept you in place. Bite after bite, he held eye contact and the only sounds he made were the occasional hum of appreciation and his quiet chewing.

He finished his plate and held it up towards you, a wry smile and a dark gaze on his face.

“More, please, Cookie.”

You nodded and stepped towards him, moving the chair between you out of the way. You took the plate from him, and his hand ghosted around your wrist, testing the waters with you again, but you didn’t pull away this time. Your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a ridiculously innocent and sweet smile before his hand slid up your skirt and he kneaded your ass cheek.

“Mr. Br-Bravo!”, you breathed out.

He was being so gentle, so soft; it was breaking your resolve.

“Oh Cookie… fuck…”, he groaned as he placed wet, hot open mouth kisses on your neck and jaw. “Dieter, baby… call me, Dieter.”

He moved the hand that was under your skirt to your wrist again and he pulled you down, placing your hand to his stomach.

“Feel that, Cookie?” His voice was soft, almost like he was praising you. “Making me fat...”

All you could do was nod, feeling the heat blooming in your cunt. You knew any sounds you tried to make would only come out as a whimper or a whine. You palmed his chubby middle and sucked in a breath, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, baby... I know what you want, I see you watching me...”, he grinned, his voice keeping that low register. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he held it firm. “No shame in it, Cookie... everyone should do what they’re good at...”

He suddenly pulled you down further by the wrist into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He pulled back and looked at you.

“I wanna eat you raw... get on the table.”

You stared down at him, knowing the moment you got on the table, legs open for him, there would be no going back.

You shook your head, and his raised eyebrow in response threatened the tantrum he was willing to throw, that he’d become so famous for when he didn’t get his way. You weren't going to let him win this... at least not yet.

The voice that came out of your mouth even surprised you. “You need to finish your dinner. No dessert until then.”

A giant grin that ripped across his face. “Kinky Cookie... bad girl... I like it.”

*****

By the time every bite of spaghetti and meatballs were safely tucked away in Dieter’s overstuffed belly, he’d removed his shirt and pants, only sitting in his boxer shorts and his green housecoat. Every hiccough made his tummy condense and he would wince. He held it gently and let out a whine that turned into a burp.

“Good work, Mr. Bravo.”, you cooed, kneeling beside him as you gently cupped and palmed his belly, feeling the light layer of fat stretched thin over the immense amount of food jammed in it. “Did so well for me.”

He leaned back, eyes glazed and mouth open, panting. He gazed down at you and a small smile tugged at the left side of his mouth.

“Get on... get on the fucking table.”, he grunted as he sat up.

You thought about defying him, making him work harder for you, but before you could voice it, he, with great effort, pulled himself up and stood to his full height above you. His hand cupped your jaw and pulled, telling you to stand up, and as you did, he turned you so your back faced the table.

“I cleaned my plate, Cookie.”, his tone was gentle yet dark and he never broke eye contact with you. “I deserve a treat, right?... my dessert... right?”

You realized this situation was not in any way shape or form in your hands. Dieter, despite him wanting you to egg him on, encourage him to eat, was seizing back control, taking what he wanted, what he felt he deserved. You nodded dumbly at him, eyes wide as your breathing shuttered.

He nodded back, like he would have if he were scolding a child.

“So, you’re gonna get on the table, right, Cookie?”

He backed you against it, his belly being the last bit of force to shove you backwards. Once you were on the table, he gave you a dark, lupine grin as he grabbed your hips and shoved you further up and leaned down between your legs. He shoved your shirt up and pressed wet, sloppy kisses on your exposed middle, humming in delight. His hands moved to your thighs and pushed your skirt up to the waist, then he pulled your underwear down and moving to get them off you before he pulled them to his nose, took a deep breath, and tossed them across the dining room.

His eyes zeroed in on your core as he dipped his index and middle finger int your folds, smiling.

“So, fucking wet, Cookie... you get off on it, don’t you... this why you’re a chef, baby?... making people fat and round on your food gets you worked up?”

You whined and writhed on the table in response, and he let out a low chuckle, circling his middle finger around your throbbing clit.

“Come on, Cookie... tell me how much you like it... tell me what goes through that fucking beautiful head of yours when you see me get bigger... fill out... pant and moan as I try to swallow down every bite you put in front of me...”

He replaced his middle finger with his thumb and pumped two fingers into your cunt, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. You whined, hearing the sloppy wet noises he was pulling out of your sopping core.

“You like that, huh?... stuffing me stupid, then leaving me each night with a raging boner... leaving me to fuck my hand or anything else I can fit my dick in... but it’s getting harder, Cookie... this gut is getting in the way of everything...”

He watched you as your legs shook. He could feel your walls flutter, and he smiled, knowing he had you right where he wanted.

“Making it so hard... but you want that, don’t you?... want me to need you... want you to feed me... want you to fuck me...”

He began to pump harder, and you cried out arching your back. He was working up a sweat, between working you over and his belly trying to digest the ridiculous amount of food he had in it. Dieter pulled his fingers from your core and sat down in the chair, gripped your thighs and dove in. He sucked your clit hard, and you screeched out, hands going into his messy curls. He shoved his tongue into your weeping, twitching hole and his nose pressed your clit perfectly, sending you screaming into your orgasm, and he happily lapped at your spend.

He worked you over as you started to come down, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved back to your swollen and sensitive nub, and he pushed the two fingers back into you repeatedly. He wasn’t letting you go now that he had you, and he hummed in response to every whine, cry, and moan that left your mouth.

“Mr... Mr. Bravo...Dieter!... Please... I-I can’t!...”, you cried out, your body writhing and shaking.

He shook his head vigorously between your legs, grunting ‘uh-uh’ back to you and continuing his assault on your quivering cunt.

The noise his work pulled out of you as you came again was deep and animalistic, and he gave your clit one last, hard suck before he pulled back and stood up. In one swift movement, he pulled his boxer shorts down and pumped his cock, then pushed it into you, letting out a long, low moan as he did. He gripped your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him as best you could.

Goddamnit, he was big. Your eyes rolled into the back of yoiur head as he seated himself in you deep.

“Move ... please move, Dieter... fuck... so big... have to move... need you to... ”, you whined, tilting your hips to encourage him.

He started to set his pace, each pump pushing a squeak or moan out of you.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ... yeah, Cookie... soft as shit pussy sucking me right in... fuck you for holding out on me... fuck you, Cookie, for carrying around this tight little pussy and not telling me...”

The sound of your wet cunt being impaled repeatedly by Dieter’s thick cock was obscene, but the filth coming from his mouth was even more so.

“Lucky little bitch… getting to stuff me… feed me… make me fat…”, he grunted through gritted teeth as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good… you like being fucked by a fat guy, Cookie?... you did this, baby… you did this to me… the fucking envy of every god damned kinky fuck out there… yeah, you are a fucking lucky bitch…”

“Fuck you, Dieter… fuck you and your big fucking cock… and your fucking ap-appetite!... you eat so good, too… fuck… oh fuck…yes… just like that… yes… uhhhgod… yes, Dieter… keep going…”

Your tight walls fluttered and clenched on his cock, and he groaned and grunted.

“Yeah , so close, baby… oh fuck… come on my dick, Cookie… be a good little bitch and fucking come on my dick… wanna feel you cream on me… then I’m gonna – Fuck!... then I’m gonna fill this pussy… it’s fucking mine… come on… lemme have it… lemme have it, Cookie baby…”

The white-hot bolt of energy traveled down your spine and exploded in your core, sending you screaming and arching your back off the table. Dieter held you firm as he pounded you through your orgasm.

“That’s fucking right!... yeah, baby… yeah… fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck… Cookie… gonna come in you-your pussy… you’re mine… you’re fucking mine… yeah… yeah… yeah!”

With a final grunt, his hips pushed hard into you as he came hard. His hand moved from your hip and came down beside your face as he panted, his forehead resting on your chin.

Both of you were quiet, minus the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the air.

“Fuck you and your fucking pussy… god damnit, Cookie…”, he breathed, and you smiled.

“Fuck you and your monster cock, Bravo.”, you huffed back with a laugh.

Silence filled the room again until Dieter slipped his softening cock from you, and you let out a small whine. He smiled and chuckled.

“Don’t leave… come upstairs.”, he said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your collar bone.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with his big, pleadling brown ones looking up at you.

“Are you a post-coital snuggler, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked teasingly, smiling.

“Yeah… yeah, I am…” He looked down and grinned bashfully, nodding.

He brought his gaze back up at you, a soft and warm look on his face. He leaned in close, lips almost touching as his bely pressed you into the table.

“Yeah… plus I wanna see your tits and be comfortable in bed.”

--------<3---------

thank you @toxicanonymity for the moodboard!

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @southernbe @starkeydaviss

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #you ask beefro answers #beefro's bistro #chubby!dieter bravo #chubby dieter #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #weight gain fiction #beefro is thankful #🥩#👌🥩💜

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ask-the-meteor-crew · 2 months

Text

FAQ Behind The Curtain

How do you draw so fast?

I'm currently double majoring in Animation and Creative Writing. I'm built different and also just, not trying very hard on most of these drawings. Drawing fast is kind of the backbone of animation and I've noticed coloring everything makes most people assume whatever line quality or level of finish on the outlines is a stylistic choice rather than laziness. What program do you use? I used Clip Studio Paint until about #021 when I picked up after haitus and used Procreate out of comfort and convenience. Do you use stock backgrounds or make them as you go? Every time I decide a scene needs a new background I draw it out in it's entirety and save it to my collection of backgrounds to use. So yeah, I'm not redrawing the background every single time it appears, I'm basically building out the meteor one room at a time in hopes of one day not having to draw backgrounds anymore. Where do you get the space photos? NASA's Hubble Space Telescope team has politely made all of the telescopes published photographs public domain, I imagine as a service to the planet as the intersection between photographers and people able to go that far into space is understandably zero. Font/Handwriting questions I stopped handwriting for most panels as I realized my best handwriting is all caps and it would be a shame if Karkat was the only character anyone could understand. I still use handwritten text for "special speech" which is whispers, and shouting, anything that's supposed to feel or sound radically different from the rest of the yapping. It did take me a while to settle on a font, I found a really good one for Dave that didn't have apostrophes and gave everyone else a typewriter font for a while, until I found the alternate version of the font I used for Dave that had all the special grammar symbols and numbers I could ever need. It's called the Atari font in the actual file but I have no idea if Atari ever actually used this version of it. Does the ask box ever close? When will my question be answered? It doesn't close and I have more questions than I'll probably ever answer. Some are confused about canon, others have had the core idea of their question asked multiple times already and I just didn't feel like collecting them all as screen shots. And some I just don't have answers for. Some get deleted because I don't like the tone, don't get the joke or found a typo particularly difficult to parse. No biggie. Questions will be answered if and when I feel like drawing a comic for it. Some questions are a better starting point for a comic than others, don't take it personally. Can the characters still talk to John and Jade? Can they run into them in the dream bubbles? According to canon, no. According to this blog, also no. Do you take magic anons? No. While I've gotten flimsy on the vlog framing device in order to make a more entertaining comic overall, the truth still remains that anything beyond messages in a digital inbox from some far off unspecified rift in paradox space would have some pretty immersion breaking implications on the setting overall. I know I answered a question offering Dave some clothes but the clothes were not given to him, I used it more as a prompt for him to take the clothes he already had out of the dryer. Is this blog safe for minors? This blog contains canon typical violence and themes, however when it comes to sexual content (the one thing minors absolutely CANNOT legally interact with) this blog is rated T for teen. Think like The Big Bang Theory or How I Met Your Mother. Sex can be implied and a frequent topic of conversation but never occurs on screen. Ultimately it's up to you and maybe your parents to decide if you can handle the blogs contents as you are responsible for curating your own online experience. TLDR if you're old enough to be on tumblr you should be fine.

How do I address the author?

My name is Sky, she/her pronouns exclusively. Please don’t try to hold conversations via the ask box. Just DM me.

Where do I send questions and comments for the author?

@meteor-crew-after-dark

#sky speaks #faq

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fancyfade · 1 year

Note

i've seen you say (at least i think it was you) that they should retcon Damian's origins in order to get Talia to stop being seen as a terrible awful person. I agree but I'm also curious if you had any ideas on how you'd like it to be done? I personally think Damian being a trained assassin is important to his character and getting rid of that would be kind of boring.. so would you want to nix that completely or would you just want Talia to not be involved/not know about it etc?

I am one of I assume a few people who talk about retconning Damian's origins.

I first gave the idea serious contemplation after this post (link). It pretty much perfectly outlines how you can get current Damian and pre-Morrison Talia in the same verse. Damian wasn't even initially raised by his mom in Morrison's comics, he says he met her on his 8th birthday and it was like being introduced to a movie star, and he explains that she wasn't there for him often and running an organized crime empire didn't leave time for raising a child.

Which like. this was all in Morrison's 'talia as supervillain' thing, but it could easily be retooled in the way the OP outline.

ANYWAY rather than repeating the OP I linked word-for-word, I shall shamelessly plug my fanfic that works on this same concept.

The way my mother didn't raise me (link).

Talia al Ghul, who believes she left the world of her father and the League of Shadows behind, discovers that her father has been raising her son she believed died in infancy as an assassin. Damian al Ghul, who has never met his parents before, is baffled when he finds his mother is nothing like he expected her to be. The premise of this fic is partially trying to unify Damian's existence with pre Morrison Talia, which is somewhat difficult but I don't think impossible, and that means partially trying to give Talia a place in 2000 era comics after her Lexcorp run is over (and they start writing her terribly ;_;) The general idea is: after Talia's Lexcorp mission is done, she finds out about Damian's existence and makes it her goal to subtly extract him from the League.

#talia al ghul #damian wayne #dc comics #my fanfic #anon #ask

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blackandwhiteandrose · 2 months

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You wanna talk fic?

thanks for the tag @hippolotamus!

1. How many WIPs do you have currently?

Just one! I've never been able to really work on more than one thing at a time. But I also decided to focus on trying to write original fic. I'm totally in love with what I've got... I just wish life did not be life-ing so hard right now and I could do more with it.

2. Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

Since I'm only working on one... it's that one. The last 3-4 months have been probably the most difficult time in my life, which has really put a damper on any kind of creativity and/or energy to make words.

3. What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

It has looked like everything from pulling over in a restaurant parking lot to make voice notes, to furiously typing out a vague outline in the shoe aisle of TJ Maxx, or with the original fic idea, calling my bestie to freak out (literally in tears) because I had a whole ass book plot pop into my head and I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it.

4. Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

I have always had specific songs that matched the fic (or at least the vibe of) that I would listen to while I wrote, and I have had a generic writing playlist for years.

This original fic is the first one that has ever had a very specifically curated, dedicated playlist.

5. Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

Organization has never been my strong point, so any kind of outline was always just a random collection of thoughts ideas that may or may not guide the actual writing.

But again, this one is different as I fairly meticulously planned every single chapter. And then have again only used them as a guide. I mean, every writer knows your characters are the ones that decide what happens. You're just responsible for doing the typing.

tagging: @mostlyinthemorning, @smallumbrella369, @kiwiana-writes, @dinnfameron, @missgeevious

#talk about fic #writer Qs

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months

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Tech and Hondo Ohnaka ( Part 2 )

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Violence, death, injury, all comparable to what we see in The Bad Batch, pain mention, broken bones mention, attack by a wild animal, blaster fire.

Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired my Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

Chapter 1 | Read on Ao3

“Could you keep et down?”

“I have not said anything.”

“You are breathing much tuu loudly.”

“I cannot help it,” Tech argued. It was true, his breathing was labored. Though they had taken their time, the trip was slow-going, and his broken ribs were making it difficult for him to absorb lungfuls of oxygen.

“Perhaps… ef you took dat helmet off,” Hondo suggested, “den et would not be like listening tu an orbak chuffing en my ear.”

“Then I would not be able to see,” Tech reminded him, adjusting the weight of his pack. It felt heavier than normal. He was sure it was because he needed rest though now was an inopportune time.

“And you du see dat overgrown tooka, yes? De big blue one de size of a landspeeder who es currently feasting on de carcass of some nasty, six-legged vermin?”

Tech could not understand why he would ask this question. “I was the one to point it out when I saw it on my thermal readout,” he was quick to answer, the Weequay’s eyes constricting into two tight diagonal lines.

“Den you should know he will be able tu hear you!” Hondo emphasized, the feline in question at once perking up its ears.

Tech already did not appreciate the pirate’s boisterous personality, despite having dealt with so many others like him in the past. The clone’s brow creased beneath his visor as he lowered his voice to a whisper, all too aware of the current situation they had found themselves in. “Then perhaps you should be following your own advice,” Tech shot back evenly.

Hondo grumbled a closed-mouth complaint, turning his head slowly back toward the apex predator, sizing up their options as it was currently blocking their forward path. “We must find a way tu skirt past dis furry monstrosity; he es en our way,” Hondo stated, Tech assuming that had been quite obvious from the start.

“The best course of action may be to wait it out. Once the animal has consumed enough sustenance to—”

Tech paused, jerking back as Hondo rounded to face him. They were stationed on the ground, camouflaged behind a fallen tree trunk and copious amounts of shrubbery and grass. “What is it?” he questioned brusquely.

Evolving under rather merciless conditions, Weequay were adept at many things to ensure survival, one being the ability to detect sounds that were of a suspicious origin (should they quiet down long enough to listen in Hondo’s case). While most of his species communicated silently through the use of pheromones, Hondo preferred spoken language, yet even he knew when it was time to take things a little more seriously; he had not survived this long by being stupid.

“Footsteps,” he muttered, voice deeply resonate. “Et appears we du not have time tu, how you say, ‘wait et out.’”

Tech repositioned himself just enough to glance back over his shoulder, catching the outline of something warm, and alive. Many somethings, as it was another squad of TK troopers hot on their trail.

“They have yet to spot us,” Tech informed him, realizing they were now sandwiched between a deadly carnivore and half a dozen soldiers who were hellbent on finding and most likely killing them, if not something far worse than that; being a prisoner of war was not something Tech was looking forward to, nor was being shredded to bits in the jaws of a ferocious beast.

“Let us make haste! De mining facility es tu de northeast of here—"

“—I do not think we should make any sudden movements. It is best to give the feline a wide berth, as we do not know if—”

“—I du not intend tu die tuday, so unless you wish for me tu leave you behind,” Hondo gave him a sidelong look, “you will follow closely, hm?”

Tech did not have time to offer anything more in the way of protest, watching as the pirate crept to the edge of their hiding place. Ohnaka stood halfway, keeping low to the ground, advancing in the direction of a more heavily wooded area.

Tech sighed, exasperated by the whole ordeal, and still in quite a lot of pain; it felt as if his entire being had been run over with a HAVw A6 Juggernaut turbo tank, yet he was not a quitter. He would keep pushing forward until his body decided to give out, whenever that might be.

He followed the Weequay’s heat signature; it ran hot in comparison to other species, much like his own, Hondo’s outline burning brightly through the cracks in his head-up display, not to mention his gaudy red coat would easily give him away. Tech wondered why he did not dispose of it if he was so worried about being found. It would be like wearing a large bullseye across your back - very conspicuous.

For a moment, Tech thought they might be in the clear, both men having made it to the edge of the tree line, the clone unable to help glancing behind himself at intervals. He only realized something was amiss once he had turned back around, hearing the pirate speak, and not to him.

“Uh—hello,” Hondo said dumbly, Tech’s eyes widening at the appearance of a lone TK, his blaster poised and ready to shoot, though for the moment he seemed to be caught off guard just as much as they had been, the trooper not moving a muscle for several precious seconds.

Then, he called for help to his squad mates, or attempted to, via his comm; his transmission was cut short as Tech himself took the soldier out. Hondo watched as his armored form hit the forest floor like a sack of Corellian potatoes with a dull and lifeless thud, the Weequay speaking in low notes with a hint of indifference lacing his voice. “Eh… so much for stealth,” he shrugged.

Tech whisked back around, knowing his comrades would soon be on their way. It did not take long for bolts of plasma to scorch the trunks of trees surrounding them, thankfully these new troopers being unable to aim properly to save their lives.

“Iiiiii am not sure ef we should fight dem,” Hondo interjected between the pew pew sounds of laser fire, Tech having held his ground until this point, both men zigzagging between obstacles to find much needed cover.

“Please, explain what you think we should do,” Tech sardonically retorted, both of his DC-17’s withdrawn from their holsters as he prepared to engage the enemy.

“I tink we should wait for—”

At that very moment, the colossal, azure feline had been roused from its meal, considering these newcomers a threat to its territory and to the kill it had worked so hard to slay. Blaster fire only seemed to irritate it further, as the white-clad soldier’s attention had been diverted from the pursual of their quarry to the idea of staying alive.

“—dat,” Hondo finally finished.

Screams echoed through the forest as teeth and claw bore into plastoid, easily penetrating the TK’s armor as if it was nothing more than flimsiplast. Blood spurted as limbs were shredded and torn apart, the angry beast leaving a trail of viscera in its wake. Tech stood stock-still, riveted by the scene before him. “Fascinating,” he admitted beneath his breath.

“Now we go, ah?” Hondo asked, shooting Tech a quizzical look infused with mild disgust. He was not sure what he found so “fascinating,” and Tech’s only regret was not having his recording device at the ready to immortalize the ferocious, guttural sounds the beast was making as it mowed through nearly a dozen men.

Tech only snapped to attention when Hondo rapped his knuckles on the outside of his helmet. “Wake up en dere!” he growled, at once beginning his journey in the opposite direction, the one that was now a straight shot toward the general area of the lommite mine, Tech surmised, and he was content to follow, as he did not want to be next on the menu should the feline tire of its current entertainment.

“So nice of you tu join m—” Hondo stopped short, another TK Trooper having dropped before them from his hiding spot in the trees, blaster rifle held high and a smug tone permeating his voice as he gave his demands.

“Drop your weapons, and put your hands in the air!”

Both men glanced to one another, this being a rather unfortunate turn of events. Tech obeyed, but Hondo knew better; he had never withdrawn any in the first place. His lip curved just slightly; he could hear a rustling sound coming from a patch of nearby brush.

“My friend, we are de least of your worries,” Hondo relayed dryly. “I would put dat blaster away, ef you value your life, hm?”

Tech’s eyes darted as he registered the thermal readout of the very large feline stalking their way, calculating the odds of their survival mentally, which presently did not appear to be very good.

“Shut your mouth, Quay, and get on the ground!”

“Ef you insist,” Hondo replied, the pirate taking his time in bending first one leg, and then the other, his knees dropping onto the soft dirt below as if kneeling in prayer.

“You too, traitor,” the TK snapped, his blaster aimed loosely at Tech as the clone was forced to abide this man’s orders. He lowered himself beside Hondo, keeping his eyes trained not on the weapon’s barrel, but on the animal that was slowly creeping forward toward the unsuspecting soldier. He thought to warn him, but what would be the point? To face death head-on was not a privilege afforded to all. Sometimes, it was a surprise.

“Hands behind your head,” he barked. His “prisoners” obliged, the TK calling for assitance on his comm. “Found the terrorists a kilometer down from the mine, requesting back up.”

“Terrorists?” Hondo thought, meaning to give the man a piece of his mind. Even so, Hondo was privy to something he was not, keeping his mouth closed - if only just this once - as hypnotizing, unnatural yellow eyes shone like two bright suns just behind the soldier’s helmet. The head of the overgrown took’, not to mention its fangs, were both wider and longer than his head and arms. It was as if he was this man’s big, blue shadow, sooo massive in fact, it captured his attention; the sky had appeared to darken as if anticipating a rainstorm, the trooper looking up.

“Huh?” was all he managed to say, the TK’s head tilting for a better vantage just as the fanged maw of the creature enclosed around his throat. There was a terrible crunching sound as the ginormous cat severed through cartilage and bone as if they were nothing more than twigs, leaving both men to stare on in revulsion and awe as his body fell to the ground at their knees.

Hondo could feel Tech itching to rise and fight. Or. Perhaps to flee. “Du not. Move,” he instructed.

Tech decided to listen. He remained still. He was not sure why he had opted to trust the pirate on this matter, but he knew he would not be able to outrun the beast regardless. In other words, what did he have to lose besides his life? It was a kind of running joke at this point, he mused.

Hondo bothered to follow his own advice this time; he kept calm and motionless, even as the feline raised its eyes to look squarely at them. Blood dripped from its elongated eyeteeth like water drops from a leaky faucet, the formidable lifeform beginning to slowly prowl in their direction.

Tech took a breath to speak. Hondo interrupted him.

“Stand your ground. Du not panic, and du not run. Retreat only when I give de signal.”

Tech wanted to ask what the signal was, or explain that tactics that may work on one member of the Felidae family did not necessarily mean they could be employed against every feline they encountered. Still, Tech did not have experience with this particular species and wished to know more about them; perhaps Hondo had dealt with this kind of predator before. It was a shame that his equipment had been so badly damaged as to cease functioning properly, otherwise he may have been of some use.

A low growl emanated from the beast; Tech centered himself and relaxed. If it was his time to die, so be it, though he had not died yet when he had been almost positive he was going to only hours before.

Hondo lowered his head and stared at the creature’s feet; he made note he was so very fluffy, and if he was not so sure that he would get his face torn clean off for doing so, he may have been tempted to stroke its fur.

The cat bared its fangs; it roared only inches away. The wave of hot, stinky breath that followed did not impress Tech, though the Weequay beside him made a point to wrinkle his ridged nose.

Then, its attention turned solely to Hondo. Its snout was close enough to kiss. Hondo lazily lifted his head, the feline snorting out a blast so powerful, it sent one of Weequay’s braids behind his shoulder.

Hondo spoke; his voice was low and soothing. If he was at all afraid, he did not make it known, Tech observed, though he kept his eyes averted toward the wildcat’s legs. “We can be friends… yes?” he whispered huskily.

The behemoth stuck its nose against the Weequay, inhaling sharply to sniff Hondo as if he was a flower growing in some tranquil meadow, not a pirate in a crimson coat. Then the creature nuzzled his oversized head into the crook of Hondo’s jowls just below his frills, its broad, rough tongue brandishing itself to lick a stripe that would inevitably saturate his entire face.

Hondo laughed, a throaty chuckle indicative of something a little more than amusement. It was as if he knew to expect this all along.

“Dat’s right, what a sweet beast you are,” Ohnaka crooned as if talking to a lover, or a child, the pirate having spent many long hours in the fellowship of creatures both great and small, loving each one individually not for what they could do for him, but because, in most cases, animals were far better company than man.

For one, they did not double-cross him. Usually.

Tech thought the creature was giving Hondo a taste before deciding on whether or not to make him a second course, but to his surprise the feline began to produce a sound that was not unlike a purr from the bowels of its throat, it being somewhat reminiscent of the activation of ion engines set to embark on a journey through time and space.

The muscular mammal nearly knocked Ohnaka backward, so strong was the headbutt it administered against the Weequay’s Desevrar Infantry helmet that Hondo teetered on his knees, but managed to keep his place. Then, he did what he had wanted to do without fear of repercussion, placing one striated hand along the feline’s muzzle in a gentle pat. “Such a good boy,” he offered in the way of praise.

Tech was baffled; this was not something he was accustomed to. He had only witnessed Jedi commune with animals. This had occurred once during his time in the field under the leadership of the Republic, and never quite like this.

The scoundrel stood, and the cat allowed it. Hondo had the audacity to scratch it beneath its chin. “Ah, but you remind me of someone else blue with sharp teeth, hm? All hiss and no hunting us, yes?” he asked, as if the thing could speak its mind, and he would be able to understand its meaning.

The fuzzy leviathan seem to agree, circling the pirate to wrap its tail about his waist before releasing him and nudging Tech against his shoulder. Tech withheld a gasp, his body aching, and while the feline seemed not liable to attack them, he would not bother to stand quite yet.

His pack was most definitely weighing him down, Tech feeling as if one hundred duracrete bricks resided inside. He kept his nearly useless eyes fixated on the dead and drying leaves of the forest floor, Hondo speaking to the clone as if he was much more self-assured.

“Animals, beasts, de wily creatures of de forest, dhey love me,” he boasted. “I treat dem with kindness and respect, and dheyyy du not eat me. Isn’t dat right, blue one?” he inquired to the affectionate feline.

Then, the creature’s ears twitched, and his stark, golden eyes narrowed. Hondo withdrew his hand and cocked his head, turning toward the direction the feline was now focused on and asking it another question, never having received an answer to his first. “What es et, my darling? Du you hear someting?”

The varied shades of blue fur along its back bristled; the differences in its coloration formed alternating stripes like waves in a vast ocean. Tech could not help it— he held his breath. The king of Eriadu’s jungle quickly leapt away to disappear amongst the foliage, the distant sound of men screaming echoing through the otherwise peaceful woods.

“Our cue tu leave, no?”

“Affirmative,” was the only thing Tech could think to say, rising to his feet, albeit with great difficulty. He decided not to question the Weeuquay, or his ability to commune with the native fauna. This man was proving to be odd by all definitions of the word, his prowess for taming wild carnivores only one of his unusual traits, Tech suspected.

Tech’s thoughts were interrupted by an ache in his chest as he had bent to gather his blasters; he could not remember ever feeling so exhausted, nor could he recall a time when he had found it this laborius to breathe. Ambulating slowly forward, Hondo once more took the lead, Tech wondering what Phee might say should she learn that he had coincidentally, “run off with pirates.”

Unknown feline attacking a young Tarkin:

#tech #TBB tech #hondo ohnaka #tech AND hondo ohnaka #Star Wars #the bad batch #tbb #clone wars #TCW #fanfiction #AU #tech’s not dead #galactic empire #my writing

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